Is This Really What She Wants

Is This Really What She Wants? Ch. 01

by DontJudgeMe

This is the first part of my latest story. It's pretty long, so if you're looking for something quick and dirty, this is not it. It's also about cheating (or extra-material affairs, at least), so if you don't like that, this one is not for you.

If you want a *somewhat* grounded story about consenting adults exploring newfound sexual desires, this might be right up your alley.

Thanks to my wonderful wife for proof-reading it and encourage me. You're my everything. <3

"Ahhhh!" I sighed as I sat down on the bed and looked at my watch, "2.30 am. Thank God the kids aren't home! It's just impossible to get Tim and Lisa-Ann to go home before two!"

My wife, Barbara, nodded as she crawled under the covers. The new dress she'd been so proud of 10 hours ago lay in a crumbled heap on the floor next to her shoes.

"It was fun though," I continued while peeling off my socks, "Did you see Greg? That guy

cannot

dance! Jeez, haha!"

"You looked like you had fun," she commented, "dancing, I mean."

"Oh yeah," I sighed as I lay down next to her, "it was great. Glad you agreed to a few songs, honey."

"And thankfully Helen was there to pick up the slack when I got tired?" she asked, and this time there was a noticeable edge to her voice. Had I drunk less, I might have paid attention to the minefield I was heading into.

"Well, she likes to dance, and it's not like she gets any from Howard anymore." About half a year ago, her now-ex-husband Howard had upped and left for greener pastures with his 20-something secretary in tow.

"Well, it's one thing to dance with

her friend's husband

but does she have to rub herself against you like that?" she wondered. Alarm-bells should have gone off in my head at this point but the alcohol had fogged my brain, so I just shrugged, "it was a slow dance. What's the harm?"

"The harm?" she exclaimed, "the harm? Did you see the dress she was wearing? Oh, excuse me, of course you did! You and the other guys were ogling her with drool running down your chins like a pack of damn dogs. And you danced with that big-titted harlot all night and letting her rub herself all over you!"

"Ah, come on, Barb, I didn't dance with her all night!" I protested.

"Oh please! I sat from 8 till at least 11 watching you dance with

other women

, and you danced the most with her!" she spat accusingly.

"You watched me... for three whole hours? Just... watching me?" I wondered perplexed.

"I... eh... well, yeah," she said, suddenly mumbling.

"But... why?"

"I... well..." she stammered, "I just like to keep tabs on you... when we're with... with other women. Especially slutty divorced ones..."

"Why are you keeping tabs on me?" I continued, brows furrowing, "don't you trust me?"

"I... Yeah, I do," she said.

"Then why do you need to keep tabs on me?" I asked again.

She didn't say anything for a while. Then, finally: "I... I like it," she admitted in a low voice.

"You

like

keeping me under surveillance?" I asked, not at all following her anymore.

"I like... watching you... with other women... dancing, I mean, and... and even when you just... talk with them," she explained, still keeping her voice low and eyes downcast.

"You were just complaining about me dancing with other women!" I pointed out.

"I... yeah, it... it makes me jealous. But it also..." her voice trailed off.

"It also...?" I prompted her, genuinely curious.

"It also... feels... good," she mumbled, looking down.

"Feels good? What do you-?" I tried.

"It turns me on, okay?" she said pointedly.

"It turns you on? Then why are you making such a big deal out of it?" I wondered, "not just tonight but that time at the Christmas-party..."

"Jesus Christ, James, do you think it's easy?" she all but shouted, her temper flaring, "I watch you with that... that

skank

with her huge boobs, and I

know

you think she's hot," she looked at me accusingly but I had nothing to say, just sat there caught off guard, so she continued: "and on one hand, it churns my stomach - it feels like she could do things for you that I could never do! But at the same time, I get all wet and I feel like I want to make love to you right then and there! So yeah, maybe I'm making a big deal out of it, but what the heck do you expect when I'm this messed-up?!"

With that final outburst she threw herself down on the bed, turned away from me, as if to try and sleep.

Now, here the road diverged in the wood, as they say, and the correct road was to hug her and tell her how much sexier she was, how much I loved her, how wonderful she was. To make up with her, to make her feel good and to love her.

But I? I took the road less travelled by. I sat for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts (and well, the room had started spinning, so I needed to hold on to my stomach for just a second) before laying down next to her. I put a hand on her thigh and ever so slowly and started rubbing her in little circles, just like I knew she liked. And I mean *liked*.

"She really does have a great rack, doesn't she?" I asked in a slow, intimate voice, my breath hot on her neck, "big and fake, and you just know she wants us all to look at them..."

She didn't respond, so I was kinda 'in for a penny, in for a pound' and kept going.

"At that last slow dance... did you see how she pressed herself against me? Mashed her big boobs against my chest..." I continued and started slowly letting my hand rub upwards on her thigh, "mhm... I could feel her hard nipples through that thin dress..." Okay, that last part was a lie but I was testing something here.

"They were hard as rocks! Guess she enjoyed the dance too..."

Her breathing was speeding up, there was no doubt about it. Either she was about to explode or she was getting aroused by this. My hand had reached the top of her thigh and was slowly working its way across and down towards her groin - that, sadly, was blocked off by her other leg.

"She was enjoying rubbing her big, beautiful tits against another woman's husband! Against a friend's husband! What a slut! What a sexy slut!" I kissed her neck, first gingerly then with some tongue and teeth.

"I just wanted to squeeze those huge tits. Feel their softness, their weight, tease her hard nipples. Do you think she'd let me? I bet a sexy slut like her doesn't care that I'm married or even that my wife's in the room.

"Mhm..." she sighed and parted her legs juuust a little. I got the message and moved my hand closer and closer to her pussy while I talked about Helen and her big boobs.

"Can't stop seeing her for me. Big, fake tits in that little, tight dress - she just wanted us to stare, didn't she? Her cleavage was so fucking hot! I couldn't stop checking her out! All the guys just wanted to be with her but she kept dancing with me. Do you think she likes me? If I asked her, do you think she'd show me her ta-tas?"

I slipped my hand in between her legs and under her panties and felt my wife's little pussy.

She was wet. Drenched. Sopping. Much more than a couple of minutes of dirty talk and some light rubbing should have made her - even if she were drunk.

Guess I'd hit a nerve.

I easily slid a finger into her wet folds and enjoyed her aroused moan. She spread her legs a little further, and I found her little, hard clit, just begging to be touched, caressed, loved. I did so, of course, making her moan again, while I kissed her neck and told her of Helen and our dance.

"You should have seen her when you went to the bathroom - she just went wild and grinded her juicy ass against me."

"Oh God," she gasped and spread her legs further, allowing me easier access to her moist secrets.

"Oh yes, you can imagine it, can't you? Just that tight, little dress between me and her delicious ass. Oh, it was so soft, so soft..." I whispered and rubbed her clit faster.

"She bent over a little and her dress rode up her thighs. I could aaalmost see her panties, and I'm

sure

she'd love to show them to me..."

"Ah..." she sighed as one of my fingers, slick with her juices slid up into her.

"If she was even wearing panties! Maybe a sexy slut like Helen comes to such a party to find a bored husband to seduce? You think that? You think I'd have seen her pussy if I'd just pulled her dress that last couples of inches?" I wondered. She just moaned in response. Or maybe it was the second finger that I slid up into her wet pussy.

"What do you think she felt when she grinded into me? Just my pants? Huh? When I'm dancing with a sexy woman like that? After having felt her hooters against my chest? While feeling her delicious ass against me? Or do you think she felt something like this?" I asked and crept closer, all the way to her, grinding my boxer-clad groin against her butt. Grinding my hard dick against her butt.

"Oh, God, she felt your cock!" she gasped, humping my fingers. Shit, she was already getting close to cumming - this was going faster than I expected.

"Hell yeah, she did!" I exclaimed and pulled out of her pussy to quickly lower her panties. She eagerly cooperated, lifting her butt to let me slide them off her, all the way down her left leg. I pulled my boxers down too and lined my dick up against her pussy, rubbing her labia with its hardness.

"And the way she looked at me! She would like to feel

more

of it!" I promised her and thrust forward and upward, entering her warm, welcoming pussy.

"Oh yes!" she gasped as I found a good hold of her hips to leverage my thrusts.

And then I fucked her. Hard. The time for foreplay was over, now I needed to fuck my wife.

"You think she'd like this?" I gasped, "getting fucked by your husband? You think she'd like my hard dick?"

"Yes! Yes, she'll love your cock! Oh, do me like you'll do her!" she gasped, meeting my every thrust.

"I'd play with her big tits while I fucked her," I told her and reached up and pinched her nipple. Kinda hard, I think, but I was really caught up in the moment. Barbara didn't seem to mind though, she just moaned and fucked me back. I built up a steady rhythm, fucking her and pinching her nipples, and she soon moaned louder and louder. My wife's usually not overly loud during sex but she was really into this!

"God, I want to see her tits," I groaned into her ear while thrusting into her, "I want to play with them, I want to lick them, suck them! And I want to fuck her!"

"Oh! Oh! Oh, fuck!" she gasped in reply.

"You wanna watch us? Watch as your devoted husband makes another woman cum?" I grunted.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" was the only answer I got. That's not good enough!

"Tell me! You wanna watch me fuck your slut-friend?" I demanded and and slapped her thigh.

"Oh, yeeees! I wanna see you fuck that big-titted skank!" she cried and lost control. With a long, high-pitched moan, her entire body spasm as she came in the biggest orgasm I could remember. Holy fuck!

"Yeah, I'm gonna fuck her good. I'm gonna take her right here on our bed and you're gonna watch!" I exclaimed and hammered into her as fast as I could. Instead of calming down, she went into overdrive, fucking me back and crying out and moaning and telling me to "fuck that slut!"

Seeing, hearing and feeling my calm, collected wife cumming with such abandon was one of the biggest turn-ons of my life!

"Yeah, Helen! I'm... gonna... cum!" I grunted, calling out to her friend as I emptied myself in my wife.

"Yeeesss!" Barbara gasped, "cum in her. Cum in your hot slut..."

I collapsed next to her, and we lay there for a moment, getting our bearings back. As the sexual haze lifted, I realised what I had done - well, what we'd done, and I had no idea what to say to her. 'I love you' seemed lame but I needed to reassure her of my loyalty to her. Without the need for sex driving me, this whole thing seemed kinda weird, and I didn't really want to talk about it.

Still, something needed to be said. I turned to her, about to ask her how she felt, when I noticed that she'd fallen asleep.

Well, guess that saved us from an awkward conversation...

---

The next morning, we slept in late and didn't mention Helen Hart (I was pretty sure it was Hart again, after the divorce...) or the crazy sex we'd had. I didn't want to bring it up - it just seemed awkward - and neither, it seemed, did Barbara. I figured she was ashamed or worried about my (or, possibly, her own) reaction, so almost by silent accord, we ignored it and moved on.

Well, for two months, then I kinda had to bring it up. Friday night, the night before another party, this time at the Andersons, Tim and Lisa-Ann.

"So, ehm, tomorrow," I hesitantly began as she came to bed. I was already there, waiting for her and trying out ways to say what I needed to say.

"Yeah, it's gonna be fun," she smiled. Apparently, she wasn't thinking what I was thinking. Or was she? Was *that* what she meant by fun?

"Yeah, it is," I agreed, "we need to relax a little... have some fun."

"Uh-huh," she agreed and crawled under her quilt.

"Speaking of fun, well, there's gonna be dancing, like always," I said, nearing the subject carefully. She went silent.

"And, eh... I wanted to make sure... I mean, I mean I don't want anything to be weird..." I said when the silence had stretched long enough to worry me, "after last time, I mean. Ehh... well, Helen's gonna be there..."

"And you want to dance with her?" she said in a very neutral tone. Shit, what did that mean?

"I mean, I'd prefer to dance with you, but I know you don't like it all that much," I said in a hurry.

"Yeah, but do you want to dance with Helen?" she asked again. Was she mad or did she want me to dance with Helen? This seemed like a trap, a trap rigged with explosives and poisons and other disasters...

"Well, do you want me

not

to dance with her?" I tried, carefully.

"That's not what I asked. Do you want to dance with her?" she repeated, like a damn broken record, still not giving me anything.

"Yeah, I do," I finally relented, tiring of her little game, "she's fun and a great dancer, and to be honest, I think she's lonely."

"Okay, then dance with her," my wife said and shut off her night-light and laid down to sleep, her back to me. Well, what did

that

mean?

"Honey, don't be mad. If you don't want me to dance with her, then I won't," I tried and gently stroked her shoulder.

"I'm not mad," she stated and turned to look at me, "if you want to dance and have fun with Helen then by all means!" She even forced a smile before turning her back to me.

If it hadn't been for that crazy-good sex we'd had the last time I danced with our big-boobied friend, I would have been smart enough to leave well enough alone. But now? Now I wanted to dance with that little sex-pot...

"Okay, good," I said in a fake-cheery voice, "I will, then." I kissed her cheek and went to sleep.

---

This party followed the routine we had established over the years. We arrived around five o'clock, bringing a bottle of wine for the hostess, complimented her on the smell from the kitchen and went into the living-room to relax, talk with our friends and have something to drink. I quickly got into a discussion about football with Tim (who's a Man U-fan, God help him). Everything was normal.

Except that my eyes kept wandering to Helen who sat in the opposite end of the room, talking to, well, Barbara, of all people. Barb seemed a bit... weary but Helen seemed quite happy and was animatedly telling a story. She was probably happy to have someone to talk to - her divorce from Howard had caused quite a stir in our social group and her subsequent boob-job (which had been the gossip of the month) had left her... a bit isolated. Not that we shunned her, but rumour had it that she was on the prowl and husbands who wanted to avoid fights with their wives had best leave her alone. There'd only been two other of our little get-togethers since she and Howard split, and it'd been awkward. Well, until I drank myself some courage last time and danced with her for - according to my wife - hours. I had briefly wondered if I had been the subject of gossip since then but I hadn't noticed anything.

While Tim droned on about Premier League (his favourite subject, especially how Man City is grossly overrated, and he was really getting into it), I nodded and spent the time checking out the two ladies. They really were opposites - Barbara tall and slim, tiny, perky boobs, a small, tight ass and wonderfully long legs across from the curvy, shorter Helen with her huge tits, in a dark blue dress that showed off a generous amount of cleavage and her round ass. Barb's dark-brown hair was cut short in a bob and tussled, Helen's long blonde hair hung down her shoulders in wild cascades. Where my wife was wearing flats, Helen wore black faux-leather pumps with a decent heel - I'd always found high heels incredibly sexy but Barb rarely, if ever, wore any.

I realised that the thought of dancing with Helen later had me quite excited. It never had before - I mean, she'd always been sexy but I'd always stayed loyal to Barbara, even in thought. Now, however, thinking about being that close to her, even touching her made my heart beat.

At the first pause in the conversation, I left behind any thoughts of football and went to the beautiful pair.

"Hey honey," I said as I bend down to give her a quick kiss, then I went to Helen and gave her a little peck on the cheek, "and hey Helen." Technically, we don't usually do that kiss-on-cheek thing but it wasn't too far out of order, and if anyone would find it strange, I'd point out that I couldn't very well hug a sitting woman! Mostly, though, I wanted to feel her soft skin under my lips and see my wife's reaction to it.

"Hey James," Helen smiled warmly at me, while my wife said nothing, just giving me a quick, intense look.

"I hope to take you two lovely ladies out for a little dance, later," I said, smiling down at both of them but mostly focusing on the blonde. My wife muttered something affirmative but Helen's smile grew wider, sexier and she said: "I'd like that."

"Great."

"I had fun last time," she continued and crossed her arms across her stomach and bent over a tiny bit, resulting in a very deep look down her mesmerising cleavage, which, from my standing vantage-point was incredible. Maybe the rumours of her being on the hunt were true? Or maybe she was just harmlessly flirting, having a little fun with me? Either way, Barb downed her wine but said nothing.

"Me too," I smiled at her, shooting my wife a quick, knowing glance before returning to the bombshell in front of me, "so, is this a new dress?"

"Why, yes, actually," she answered and looked down at herself, straightening it and managing to make it tighter around the chest, "how did you know?"

I leaned in, as if to keep my wife out of a little conspiracy and said softly: "I'd have remembered it."

She got a slightly predatory look in her eyes and her smile seemed like an open invitation, and suddenly I realised that I was heading into deep water with this little game of mine. After all, Barb and I might be playing but Helen? What would she make of all this?

"So, anyway," I tried loudly to backpedal, "what've you been up to since last?"

Her brows furrowed for a second, but then she cast a quick look at a my wife and gave me a knowing glance and a quick nod - as if she'd understood my message - and answered by telling me - us - a story of a student of hers who'd taken five hundred photo-copies of his face and then pretended nothing had happened, as if no-one would ever know who'd jammed the school's best photocopier.

She was quite funny, actually. The way she imitated the little idiot's expression made me laugh out loud, and almost,

almost,

made me forget that she probably hadn't understood my message at all. That I'd probably for all intents and purposes told this sexy woman that we needed to get away from my wife before we continued our... discussion. Which very much hadn't been my intention. Had it?