Behind His Bac

WARNING:

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!

This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.

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Many of the situations I find myself in are funny and/or accidental, always with sexual context. This tale is all of those things, plus ironic. Boy, isn't that ironic!

The story could have been called "FOX RECRUITED TO GUARD HEN HOUSE" but then my readers, devoted or potential, would have ignored the category and believed that I was writing about sex with animals. And believe me, I would never have sex with an animal. Unless you count that marathon session with a coed named Wren back in college. Ah, but that is yet another story.

Read on, and don't worry about allergies to feathers. Or eggs.

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Why do all of these things always start with a phone call? Because no one would believe that I'd accidentally run into these folks while walking along the street, or shopping in the local mall. No, these folks want something from me, and so they call. And call. And call.

This time, the voice was not the least bit familiar. A guy named Gary, probably selling siding or wanting me to donate money to a perfectly good cause from my perfectly empty wallet. I was about to hang up.

"Gary, Gary Bigger! You remember me, from the Technical Interface Standards Task Force? Two years ago?" It sounded like Gary was in a freezer in his underwear.

The memories came lurching back. My roommate Gary, who I was paired with by lottery and shared a hotel room. Kept expenses down for both of our companies, and at least one of us out of trouble. Everyone at the conference had a silent or public chuckle at Gary's expense, because at five feet, six inches, he was the shortest guy there. "Sure I remember. Gee, I haven't talked to you since that meeting."

"Yeah, not since Vegas. What a time, right?" Gary's voice didn't stop quivering.

"Yeah." We all promised to leave those stories at McCarran International. They'd be unwelcome baggage back home. "What's up?"

"We did such good work, they didn't need to reconvene the team," he said. "Did you hear, the standard made it to the International body? I'm attending the vote in Copenhagen next week, to represent us."

No, don't send good old Harvey Marcus to one of the sexy Scandinavian countries. He'll increase the birth rate by 25% in just a week. "Have a nice trip." Gary hadn't volunteered the reason for the call. To gloat about how his forthcoming trip made him a bigger man? I tried again. "Is there something I can do? Review something with you, before you go?"

"No, nothing like that. Oh man, this is so difficult."

I pictured him pacing. "What is?" Flying? It's a hassle, but Gary wouldn't be the pilot, merely a passenger, probably feeling up a flight attendant or two. The thought of all of those Scandinavian women. Gary, the horny son-of-a-bitch, was going to be in heaven.

"It's kind of personal. Shit, I should just say it." Gary took an audibly deep breath. "It's my wife. She's having an affair. I just know it."

Gary had bragged about his new wife back then, and how it was tough to leave her home. The implication was that she was dynamite in the sack; Gary wanted us all to believe that he was tending to all of her needs, and that he'd miss the hot nightly nookie. "You're probably mistaken." Which is what I hoped someone would tell Harriett if she suspected me of fooling around behind her back. Over and over.

"I wish. She goes out at night. Says she's working late, or taking some kind of class or something. Anyway, I did that pencil-rubbing trick. You know, bringing the impressions of handwriting up from the sheet below. There's a pad on her desk, next to the phone. The impressions said 'Bar at The Biltwell, Michigan Avenue, Friday, 7 PM.' I leave on Friday. Go there and watch. See if she meets someone. I have to know. I'm not getting any younger. She's so hot, she could have her pick of anybody. Please?"

Gary had told us about the age disparity, mostly to brag that he could keep up with her, sexually. Now, that confidence was gone. He sounded like he was in genuine pain. "Listen, I don't have detective skills. There are professionals who do this kind of stuff." And in the paperback books I'd read, lots of times the detective hooked up with the spouse. This was a very bad idea. "Can't you ask somebody else?" Gary and I weren't that good friends.

"She knows all of my buddies but not you. Besides, you owe me, Marcus."

He was referring to the hooker incident. Gary got drunk. Stinking drunk. And he'd just gotten back from his honeymoon when our meeting got convened. All we heard was how insatiable his wife was and how frequently they had sex. And where. In bed. In the outdoor patio. On the beach. In a public Jacuzzi. Everyplace. So what happened when he's away from his hot honey? He got horny. On the second night. I'm in our shared room and he staggers in with a young woman with short black hair in a very tight dress. So tight I could see she'd skipped underwear.

"What are you doing, bringing her to our room?" I'd asked him. Not that his taste was awful. She had a young face, but she was a pro and looked a bit weary of the street life despite her girlish demeanor.

"I couldn't help myself. She reminded me of my wife."

I'd seen one wedding photo, the one he passed around at dinner. The black haired hooker with modest breasts looked nothing like his busty blonde bride. "Your wife-"

Gary passed out on the bed.

"He paid me in advance." She stood, dress high on her thighs, legs spread. "Fifty bucks. You interested?"

In getting a communicable disease? "No thanks."

She brushed her long bangs from her eyes. Too much mascara. "How about a tension reliever?" She pulled the dress down. Her tits popped out. Nice, just a little loose. I expected the same of her pussy. "Hand or mouth?"

"Hand." I didn't want her bright red lipstick on my cock. Then I'd have to scrub it off and that would only get me erect again, and she'd offer to take care of that, but it would cost me, in cash and reputation. Harvey Marcus doesn't pay for it.

She pounded my penis, occasionally spitting on it for lubrication. When I felt the rush I didn't announce it. I just splurmed onto her face and neck. She lifted strands of goo from her cheek. "Can I clean up in the bathroom?"

"Sure."

After she left, Gary was short an electric shaver and I'd lost an expensive nail clipper. So how did I owe him? I guess I never paid him back the fifty bucks. "All right. I'll stop by the bar Friday night, have a drink, look around a bit. If I see something, I'll let you know."

"Great! Thank you so much." He sounded relieved, and I hadn't done anything yet. I thought about skipping the bar and telling him she met a girlfriend. But I don't like lying. "I'll email you a recent picture, from our trip to Cancun, so you can identify her."

The message came through almost immediately. Thank Rudy for the Interwebs. [author: see Bill Cosby routine for Rudy reference] Patricia was gorgeous, with a body that would stop any man's heart. The bikini she wore held no secrets, and barely held her tits and ass. If the swimsuit was any smaller, or she was any bigger - shit, she was a Bigger. At least I'd get some nominal pleasure looking at her from afar.

"Got it. So tell me, what if she leaves the bar with a guy? Should I stop her? Follow her? What?"

"No, don't do anything. Just let me know if she meets someone."

"Okay, but only because you insist."

***

On Friday after work, I walked across downtown to the Biltwell Hotel on Michigan Avenue. There was one bar called Bottoms Up adjacent to the far end of the lobby. The bar was separated from the rest of the lobby by two half-circle walls. From where I stood, it looked like somebody's ass cheeks, the crack where the two walls came together. Maybe it was intentional, or just the irony of the design and the name.

I sat along the inside of one of the curved buttock walls, on a stool at a small round table, as far from the modern brushed aluminum bar as I could get and still have a view. From the photo Gary showed me, Patricia hadn't arrived yet. I was curious if she'd arrive on the arm of her paramour or alone.

I nursed my drink and checked my watch too often. It was seven fifteen. Finally, she sashayed in and took a seat at the bar. I watched her in profile, from head to waist. Her face was beautiful, and the promise of her body was evident even under a suit coat. I kept an eye on her, except when she turned around. Then I examined my hands. She was approached a few times, had brief conversations with men, and sent them on their way. Good for her. Maybe she was meeting a girlfriend. The one female who approached got the same polite heave-ho. Finally, after about half an hour, she got up to leave, choosing a path to the far side of the curved walls that led right past my table. I studied the lifeline creases of my palms as she passed within smelling range. I held my breath. After she passed, I exhaled slowly and lifted my glass to finish my drink. The glass was still aloft, tipped towards my mouth when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I prayed it was the waiter, asking if I wanted a refill. I swallowed and turned.

It was her. "You couldn't keep your eyes off me, could you?"

"No." I couldn't keep my eyes from elevatoring her body, now fully in view. "I mean, I didn't-"

"I saw you." She pointed back at the bar. "In the mirror."

Sure enough, the backsplash behind the bar was all mirror. She'd watched me watching her the whole time. I needed a slick exit line. "There's no law against looking." Sure it was lame, intentionally.

She reacted badly, which is to say, she took the bait. "Come with me and I'll give you a close-up view from the best seat in the house." She grabbed my hand and practically dragged me from my chair. The best seat in the house was hers, round and wiggling.

She acted like she was eager to shack up. This wasn't a good sign, from Gary's perspective. I wanted to break off, but a part of me was curious how far she'd take it. I mean, she could just be a prick tease, get me up to her room, and dump a bucket of ice down my pants as punishment for my crime of staring. I let myself be coaxed. As we passed the front desk on the way to the elevators, she waved at a desk clerk. In one smooth motion, Patricia lifted a plastic room key from the clerk's hand at the end of an outstretched arm and kept walking. Wow, they were prepared for her! She must have done this before. Poor Gary, he was right. Was she hustling Johns at the bar? But she'd turned away so many prospects, guys who were younger and better looking than me. In the elevator, she stood too close for comfort. Fine if we were headed for a sexual encounter, but this was Gary's wife, for cripe's sake. I was here to observe, not participate.

The room wasn't just any plain room, it was a suite. The living room had a big TV and a huge overstuffed round chair. As I walked past the chair, she pushed me into it. The chair absorbed me. It was so large and over padded, my feet didn't touch the carpeted floor. I couldn't even adjust my position, because every time I pushed for leverage, my arm sunk deep into the foam.

"So, did you like what you saw?" She stood blocking the TV, which was off. Why did Patricia have ready access to a suite in the hotel? I couldn't tell Gary his wife was a hooker. Maybe his comment about the Vegas street walker being like his wife was true. Ironic! "I'll show you a little more, and then I'll teach you a lesson."

"I was never very good at school." Did she mean sexual lessons, or a punishment? Was she into bondage? Gary never mentioned whips or any other kinky stuff.

She threw her suit jacket on a nearby sofa and unbuttoned her blouse one tantalizing button at a time. "Do you like my tits?" She spread the blouse open.

They were still mostly hidden behind a red bra. It was difficult to discern nipples behind the lace cups. "What I can see of them." And then I realized she might interpret that as asking her to remove the bra. I didn't want that. "Very nice." Actually, I did.

The blouse sailed across the room. With an unbutton and an unzip, her skirt fell. Her panties matched her bra, in color and material. She put her hands on her hips. "So, what do you think?"

"You're really sexy." Which was the truth.

"Let's see how you really feel." She unbuckled my belt, unhooked my pants and unzipped my fly. My jockey shorts stuck out from an obvious erection. "Wow, you weren't kidding!"

"Any man would get excited, looking at you." I stressed looking. This had gone further than I expected. We shouldn't have been in that room, taking off clothes. I certainly didn't want to touch her. Actually, I did, but she was Gary's wife.

"Excited enough to do something?" She didn't wait for an answer. Her sexy come-on face melted into a scowl. "Well, tough shit. I'm not doing anything with you, because you're not just some guy in bar, are you?" Her face got red, matching the lacy undies. "Gary thought I wouldn't recognize you. It took a while, but I did, from that group photo from Vegas a couple of years ago."

I was flattered that she'd remember my face from just one photo, and not a recent one at that. Was it memorable, or just sufficiently odd? "Yeah, we were there together. But tonight I was just sitting alone, having a drink-"

"I'm not stupid. You've been busted, you sneaky little creep." She was the one who was full busted. Why did she need to strip? "Gary sent you to spy on me, didn't he?"

I stuttered. "No."

She took that as a challenge. "Bullshit! Gary doesn't trust me."

She was standing there in bra and panties, lecturing me about trust. She could have walked out of the bar and had this argument with Gary when he got back from fucking Danes or Swedes or both. She didn't have to take me upstairs, and she certainly didn't need to take her clothes off, or open my fly. Why didn't she call me out in the bar? "Does he have just cause? What's with you and this suite?"

"Her hands dropped to her sides. "If you must know, I'm planning a surprise birthday party for Gary. It's a big one, ends in zero, and I'm holding it here. Mr. Caldwell, the facility manager, gave me access to this suite as part of the room rental."

"Oh." Not guilty. I tried to keep Gary off the hook. "The only reason Gary asked me to do this is he loves you so much and doesn't want to lose you."

"Oh, he's not losing me." She smiled. "I can see you liked the free show. Come on, let's get you up and out-"

"I'm really stuck in here."

She extended her arms, leaning over to pull me free. "It kind of swallows you, doesn't it?"

My cock throbbed at the thought of Patricia's mouth. No, that wasn't going to happen. She'd help me out of this padded pit, and we'd go our separate ways.

Her tits hung in a lacy hammock. I wished that her bra would burst, and they'd hang there bare for my inspection. Not that I'd do anything. After all, this was Gary's wife. Gary's well-built and horny wife. Despite how we were partially undressed, there was a line, and I wasn't going to cross it. Gary wasn't a good friend, but he trusted me.

I was deep enough into the chair that she had to lean way over, not a balanced position. She grabbed my hands. When she tried to pull me up and out, she flew forward, landing on top of me, her tits in my face. I was close enough to see the nipples pushing against the fabric. Damn if I didn't want to suck them through the lace, but I controlled myself. "Don't slide to the side, or you'll get stuck too."

"I'll just scoot down." She wiggled against me, tits rubbing my chest. Her legs were slightly spread, searching for leverage and finding none. She made good progress until her crotch collided with my erection. Good thing we both had underwear on. Still, the pressure of her pussy against the base of my dick made it even harder, and she didn't seem to be able to raise herself up and get over it. Given the circumstance, there was no way my erection was going to fade any time soon. "Do you have any idea how horny I am?" She ground her crotch against the obstacle. "God, this feels good." She clamped her legs together and humped my cock. "Oh, God! Mmmmm." My prick was rubbing her the right way. I was afraid to touch her, lest I distract her from her determined erotic movements. She screeched and pressed firmly. "Oh God, oh God." Then she collapsed against me, dead weight.

"Patricia?"

"Huhhh?" She slid to the side, her legs scraping the floor. She melted off the chair in slow motion. I remained stuck, cock erect, in a padded prison. "That's never happened before."

"What?" Getting stuck in an oversized over padded chair?

"I've never been able to achieve an orgasm except with penetration. You know, fucking? That was amazing!"

She tottered to her feet. "God, my panties are soaked." She slid them off. Shit, now her cunt was exposed, shaved bare. This was torture. "Can't you get out? I did."

I wiggled and pushed with my elbows. I even bent my feet and tried to lift my ass out but the foam seemed to extend to the depths of the planet. How was this thing designed, anyway? "Nope. I guess I'll have to live out the rest of my life, ordering room service and hiring servants to feed and bathe me." Humor sometimes relieves the tension, although Patricia's orgasm had reduced hers.

"Well, the position of sex partner is taken." She pulled my jockeys down. "God, that's one fine prick."

"Thanks." Too bad this was Gary's wife. "So do you have any suggestions?"

"Uh huh." She reached out her hands. "Let's try again."

The definition of crazy is doing something a second time and expecting different results. "You don't have any leverage, and I weigh too much."

"Don't argue. I'll brace myself and you lift yourself up." She took a stance that put one foot forward, one back. That separation exposed her even more. My cock throbbed.

I held her hands tight. My head and back came out of the enveloping foam. It was working, I was sitting up. "Great!"

Then she tugged, breaking the smooth motion that had been working. My body came up and then momentum carried me back down, taking her with me. She was back on top. "I can slide off, just like last time." She smiled.

Last time, she got hung up when our privates met. This time, she reached behind and aimed my cock so that when she slid down, my bare cock met her naked pussy head on. "Ooh, this feels even better."

This was the line I promised myself I wouldn't cross, the crease between her labia. "Can't you get off, like last time?" I meant, off the chair.

"I sure can, with your help." With a bit of a slide, she moved low enough for my cock to slip into her. "If we work together, we can both wiggle out. Hold onto me."

Her cunt was squeezing my dick. I hesitantly wrapped my arms around her. Her body was warm and smooth. I rubbed her back and copped a feel of her ass. She lurched and I drove deeper. "Oh God, you're so big. It feels really good. Hang on!"

I held her tight against me, tits against my chest. She undulated her hips, and we were fucking. But, we were also moving gradually down the chair. Our legs were still flailing in the air. "Is it working?"