AUTHOUR'S NOTE: As before, apologies for the long delay between chapters – I don't get paid enough to sit about and write all day, sadly. This chapter is much more explicit and hardcore than the previous two, which I recommend you read before getting into this one. Story contains a wife being naughty out of wedlock. If this offends you, you can either (like a sane person) skip this story and read something else or (like the swivel eyed, mouth-breathing hordes you will no doubt see in the comments) complain about being offended despite the warnings in BIG ANGRY CAPS LOCKS!! Honestly, I don't get why you bother – it really doesn't bother me.
We fucked like teenagers in the days that followed the barbeque. Far from disintegrating into the expected waves of shame and self recrimination, the electric, erotic, high of that night rolled on, injecting an urgency and passion into our marriage again that I hadn't noticed was even missing.
We fucked all over our house. We fucked hot and furious, with Katie bent over our dining table, her face pressed into the wood, her breath coming fast and shallow, my hands wrapped around her dark glossy hair. We fucked slow and languid on the stairs, me back on me elbows watching as my wife took her pleasure reverse cow-boy, her eyes anxiously watching our un-latched front door.
It was better than our honeymoon. Rather than being dragged around Florentine piazzas my sight-seeing involved watching as my petite, blue eyed bride sucked on my thick dick on her knees as I reclined in front of our widescreen, the mindless drone of daytime T.V. soaps overlaying the slurping of my wife's work.
It was stunning, really. Only days earlier all of this would have been unthinkable, relegated into the 'disgusting' section of Katie's conservative mind, too obviously out of reach for me to even hope for. But no longer. Five blow-jobs in six years of being a couple and now? I had literally lost count since we bought that dress. As I watched Katie's compact, athletic body spread out below me, her thick lips wrapped around my sore but iron shaft, I wondered again at how this side of my wife had been floating under the surface all of these years, how it took such a small push, a small thrill of being watched, being lusted after, to push her into a full on avalanche of sexual liberation. More maybe, wholesale personality change.
"I want you to fuck me in the garden baby, fuck me behind the shed," she growled at me as she fisted my cock, her eyes a deep, crystal blue. That nearly sent me over the edge. Who was this woman?
I nodded and we stood together. I expected Katie to run for her dressing gown but she simply grabbed my cock and guided me to our back door, completely un-concerned that it was the middle of the afternoon in the commuter belt and that our neighbours on either side could (like most houses in England) see straight into our garden.
"Katie!" I hissed "What if John or Mary are at their window?" Katie's hand tightened around my cock and she glanced over her shoulder at me smiling.
"Well, he will get quite a show," she replied, dragging me forward.
The sunlight felt wonderful against my bare skin and the grass was warm and fresh under my toes. My wife walked naked ahead of me, her athletic back glowing with sweat and her soft tan accentuated by her thin bikini tan-line.
We made it to the shed and Katie turned around to kiss me, her tongue exploring my mouth and her free hand wandering up my gym honed torso. Without ceremony she pulled me to the grass and guided my rock hard member straight into her. She gasped and wrapped her legs around me, pulling me in deeper, a low, moan of pleasure rippling out of her, like the purr of a cat.
"Yessss – that's good."
I grabbed the back of her neck with one arm and her ass with the other, pushed her down with force onto my cock with every stroke. Katie bit into my shoulder as she came and I went into a fury, bringing her off once more before pouring into her with an exhausted moan.
Once done we stared at each other and burst into giggles. The spontaneity of the moment over, Katie reverted, somewhat, back to the woman I married and demanded that I go back and fetch her robe while she hid behind the shed. I sighed and agreed and took a furtive, concealed route back, watching each window for lurking figures.
I slipped on some shorts and walked back out and handed Katie her robe, laughing at how she was cowering behind the shed, unsuccessfully trying to conceal all her goodies at once. Even then she was comically wary of darting back into the house, insisting that she had seen a curtain move or that "she was being watched".
That night we made love, slow and languorous. We were both sore, tired and emotional. We didn't need to talk about it, but it was clear that we had crossed a Rubicon in our marriage. We didn't talk about Eric or what we had done, or what it had meant. We just enjoyed each other, spooning, conscious that the next morning brought us back into work, and the shackles of the real world.
As expected, work was a total nightmare. The nightmare's name was Project Vectron and it nearly killed me. My boss, who was in the middle of his third divorce and had just had his second bypass, was like a kettle coming to the boil. I could only hope the sick bastard's heart exploded before he managed to break me. Long story short – I was suddenly in the office until 10pm most nights. It was not ideal.
Katie was working as a teaching assistant at a fairly posh private school nearby – mostly to keep herself busy during the day, she told me. While she was disappointed, she understood the pressure I was under and so she didn't whine about it, but decided that it was the perfect opportunity for her to start on some of her creative projects while I was away. Like I said, I am a lucky guy.
The second week that I was back to work I had an especially crappy day. My sociopathic boss had, in addition to all of the actual work I had to do, dumped a trio of complexly useless new starters on me and I spent most of my afternoon babysitting them through such impossible tasks as: using Excel and Booking a conference call. I drove home in a dark and vengeful mood. At least one of them had been deliciously cute, if especially hopeless. The kind of girl that caused over-worked married men problems, I realized – or would, if the man wasn't married to my wife, the sex goddess.
As I pulled into my drive I noticed that Katie's studio light was on, as was the kitchen light – which was normal. Less normal was the Ducati parked up next to Katie's little sports car. I grabbed my lap-top bag and opened the door to my house.
I heard voices from the Kitchen and made my way there.
"We are in the Kitchen love!" Katie called as I set my bag down and loosened my tie. Opening the door I saw that Katie, sat in her art clothes and covered in spots of paint, drinking a big mug of coffee and talking in friendly banter with Eric, who was dressed in uniform. I also noticed the large bouquet of flowers and the bottle of wine propped up on the table.
As I walked in Eric jumped to his feet and stood to rigid attention all but throwing me a salute. Katie smiled up at me, slid off her chair and padded over on bare feet to give me a welcoming kiss.
"Welcome home, love. Eric brought us some gifts!" I smiled at her and glanced up at Eric, who was still stood to attention, clearly uncomfortable, his massive frame taut and tense, his blue eyes not meeting mine.
There was an awkward moment which Katie broke by announcing. "Well, I think we better try some of this red then," and moving off to get out the wine glasses. I slid into a dining room chair and accepted a grateful glass of wine with a world weary sigh before I noticed that Eric had not moved a muscle. I glanced up at him and then at Katie who raised her eyebrows and shrugged.
"Eric," I said, my voice thick from shouting at idiots all day. "Why don't you have a seat?"
Eric seemed to fight with himself for a moment and then visibly found his resolve.
