Jeanne met her second husband after a Board of Education meeting. Normally, she wouldn't attend them but she sometimes went just to see how much bullshit members could cover without once talking about what happened inside a classroom. As usual, they didn't disappoint.
Joe was a newly elected member and Jeanne taught history in the high school. At the time she was also the girls varsity volleyball coach and one of the items on the agenda was funding for sports.
"That's you!" Joe exclaimed as Jeanne walked past him afterwards. She gave him a funny look. What a lame pick up line. "Duh, hey lady, like don't I like know you from somefuckingplace?" Whatever the phrasing, what they all meant was, "Do you put out?" Cute guys like Joe, she learned, can be just as sorry-assed as the f-ugly ones. But just because Joe was handsome didn't mean he was like the others.
"In the picture," Joe continued, pointing to a photo of the championship team in the trophy case. "You're the coach! I cannot believe that. You look like a student...and no, I'm not trying to pick you up. I play for a team in one of the recreational league and we REALLY need some help. Any chance we could get you to coach us. We might even be able to pay you a little."
Whether Joe was trying or not, he picked Jeanne up. She had a long-standing weakness for salesmen and Joe was an outstanding one. Like any sales professional, closing was so paramount he wasn't above using any means available to achieve it. In time, Jeanne discovered that included her.
It was all in fun and Jeanne really didn't mind when Joe sometimes suggested she help entertain his clients. Sex wasn't required of her, but if everyone was agreeable, it wasn't out of the question either.
If the guy was attractive enough, Jeanne would suck him off. Occasionally, she'd get carried away and fuck one of them, especially if his cock was the exact, somewhat larger than average, size she knew would make her shiver right down to the soles of her feet.
During this time, Joe was no stranger to strange pussy. Attractive and persuasive, he was a magnet for the receptionists and secretaries who populated the companies he called upon. Especially the receptionists, those women who are hired because they can present a striking face to represent management.
There was nothing like having one's boss's boss say, "Nice to see you again Mr. Hatfield" to focus the attention of a woman counting on her good looks to curry favor and garner advancement. Married or single, they rarely turned down Joe Hatfield's offer of dinner even if it was room service at his hotel.
The most difficult thing for Jeanne was explaining Arley to Joe. She continued to date her fuck buddy throughout her courtship. She introduced him to Joe and told of her relationship going back to before her first marriage but left her future husband with the impression the friendship was now platonic. In truth, Jeanne wasn't certain when the proper moment would have been and, when she and Joe became serious quickly, discussing the fact that she was blowing another guy seemed risky in the extreme.
It wasn't until after the wedding that she told Joe she was still fucking Arley and, in fact, had never stopped. Joe was upset but didn't have a lot of moral underpinning to his position. It wasn't just that was he fucking other women. After all he argued, that was part of his "sales presentation." When he'd proposed, Jeanne's acceptance was conditional. If there was one thing she'd learned from her first marriage, it was that she couldn't be limited to one man sexually. If anything, it excited Joe to have such an erotic mate.
The "Arley issue" was worked out and Jeanne began having threesomes with Arley and her new husband just as she'd had with her first. Jeanne continued seeing Arley on her own as his or her needs required. Even when Joe wasn't on the road, Jeanne might have Arley over to their house for a romp without Joe participating.
Sometime into their second decade, Jeanne worried that more and more, Joe worked hard but played soft. Sucking a limber dick wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Often, cum-less nights with him would have her thinking about harder tasks and she knew just where to find them.
"Hand me that bra on the chair, Joe," Jeanne requested of her husband who had walked into their bedroom to retrieve his golf shirt but stayed to watch the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen walking half-naked around their big master suite. He loved the way her perky breasts jiggled especially when her nipples were distended as they were then. She was going out and Joe knew why.
Handing his wife her bra, she held it dangling from her forefinger rather than put it on immediately. "Do you think these stockings look better, or should I just leave my legs bare?" she asked him pulling up the hem of her short skirt and showing Joe where the nylon ended and she began.
It is such a pleasant image and one of unsurpassed heat: the vista of the upper thigh of a beautiful woman where stocking and flesh met in an erotic horizon that men don't tend to forget. Joe felt the beginnings of an erection that was, cruelly, about twenty hours late.
Last evening, Joe was working on the most important reports his job required. Every quarter, there is a push to close as many sales as possible so the numbers met or beat forecast. A lot of bonus money was riding on those reports. Joe had to convince his superiors which customers he should focus company resources on and which to let go for the following quarter.
Joe was very good about knowing his customers, and people in general, and his presentations were always convincing, but great care and effort were needed to get them right.
Jeanne knew that when her husband concentrated on providing their comfortable life, he was often unable to provide for her in other ways, emotionally, and especially, sexually. Like so many others, for Joe, stress was the great libido killer (although for Jeanne, it seemed an aphrodisiac). The blood vessels flowing into his cock seemed to be blocked by some psychological detour sign when his reports were due but happily re-opened the on-ramps to Hardon Highway once the quarter ended.
Last night was another unhappy reminder that, four times a year, for two fiscal weeks, Joe's cock belonged to his boss, not her. She enjoyed a reasonably decent orgasm as Joe lashed his tongue up and down her swollen slit while pressing urgently on her clit.
Cunnilingus, though, was one of Jeanne's least favorite activities given the old saw that sex is the greatest thing in the world; even when it's bad, it's good. It was the phallus that Jeanne craved, and sex that didn't involve a hot, hard one, always left her less than completely satisfied.
"You know I prefer your bare legs," Joe told his wife. Both knew she was teasing him.
"But you always tell me how hot you get when you see the tops of some woman's stockings," Jeanne protested mildly. "Are these two dark? Should I wear lighter ones?"
"Something closer to your natural skin?" Joe asked, hardly aware that he was offering his wife advice on how to look sexier as she prepared to go out alone. "Yes, I think that would look better."
Jeanne dropped the bra on their bed and strode sultrily across the room. She smiled inwardly as Joe followed her nipples as they bounced toward him. Retrieving a pair of light, tan, hose, she cocked an eyebrow and waited for Joe to nod his approval.
Sitting in a chair, Jeanne crossed her leg and removed one of her four-inch stiletto-heeled, open-backed, ankle-strapped white shoes and rolled the dark gray stocking down her honey brown leg. As always, Joe was amazed and delighted by the way his wife could, seemingly subconsciously, position the hem of her skirt so far up her leg and not reveal her panties. There was no doubt in his mind that less than an inch of white skirt protected her womanhood from his eyes.
Joe was completely hard now, watching his wife change her stockings. Should he attempt to change her plans? A few years ago, that wouldn't have been a question. But now that he'd failed to deliver the goods a few times, he was less confident than he'd been in his younger days. He knew that sooner or later, those customer reports would interrupt his thoughts limiting his abilities in other areas. Even now, he was losing firmness as he contemplated returning to his work.
Jeanne noticed. "Go ahead and get back to your work, honey," she told him, knowing he had become preoccupied. "I know how important they are. I'm a big girl, I can dress myself." She knew he didn't want to leave.
"I know, sweetheart, but you know how much I love to watch you when you're dressing sexy."
Jeanne had finished changing her stockings and was back at the bra she'd laid on the bed. "Do you think I should wear a bra?" It was a question without realistic alternatives. If it were up to her husband, Jeanne wouldn't own a bra. He knew they were necessary for her job but he practically forbade her from wearing them otherwise.
Jeanne wasn't large breasted (a "B" for those who require an identification using the morning beverage container standard) by any means, but she used what nature had provided her to her best advantage. Even at age forty-four, they were firm and buoyant without being hard. Like her husband, she preferred going without. Her nipples tilted upward and she could call them to attention whenever she pleased. It was as if she'd sent them to military school for tits.
Jeanne's jugs also benefited from the flat tummy from which they jutted. One of the delightful byproducts of a twenty-three inch waist is that any woman whose breast management wardrobe doesn't contain the word "training" as part of its description looks positively well endowed.
Jeanne held up a camisole before her so she could study the effect in the full-length mirror. It was her favorite color: pink. Turning toward Joe, she let one of the thin straps drop and cupped her exposed breast, clasping the distended nipple between her thumb and forefinger rolling it lightly and pulling it outward.
"So you think no bra, then?" she asked naughtily as the silk top slid over her creamy nakedness.
