Just Deserts

As usual on a Friday lunchtime I was in the works canteen chatting to my best pal Stan. We had actually not got very much in common and would not have been natural friends were it not for circumstance. One factor was that we were both employed by the same firm but, he was in the works while I spent my time on the road in the local area as Customer liaison/ Salesman/Trouble shooter - so this was not sufficient basis to form a lasting friendship.

We also lived diagonally on opposite sides of the same road but where that fact need not have thrown us together the combination of the two connections seemed to have done the trick. To tell the truth, the real reason for the friendship is actually Stan's lovely wife Diane because it was only after I first met her that I began to cultivate him. Now I spend every Saturday afternoon round at his house in front of the box, talking soccer with Stan while feasting my lustful gaze on the delectable Diane. I habitually sit with their newspaper on my lap although I seldom read a word but it is invaluable for concealing my state of arousal throughout the afternoon.

Diane is small (the correct word is petite) with short black curly hair, flashing brown eyes and a vivacious personality. She is what is usually described as a 'Pocket Venus' with breasts just a trifle too large for her slim frame and the most perfect arse I have ever seen. The reason that Stan was able to pull such a cracker is that when they met and married he was a professional footballer. At the age of twenty he only played in the second team of a low division side and probably would never have amounted to much but Stan maintains that he had potential. That is academic because, when they had only been married for only five months, he suffered a terrible playing accident. The injury was so horrendous that it not only ended his career but made him incapable of even turning out for an amateur side. Despite this Stan still loves the game - hence the Saturday afternoons and my ulterior motive for keeping him company.

Diane always wore a thong under very tight trousers of a thin material, usually white or some pastel colour and you have got to understand that it made the mouth water just to look at her. In general she always wore figure enhancing very revealing clothes, in contrast to my wife Olivia who was more restrained in her dress sense - apart possibly from Friday nights. On Fridays, Olivia and Diane, together with some other young married women, went night clubbing while Stan and I consoled ourselves down at the local pub. To complete the picture of our situation, I will mention that Diane worked from home using her PC and Olivia was employed by a hosiery firm. My wife's job was similar to mine in that she had to travel round different product outlets but instead of being completely local there were an average of two nights a week when she was unable to get home. Olivia and I had been married for eight years compared to the mere six racked up by our friends but, for various reasons, neither couple had as yet produced offspring.

I admit to casting an appreciative and thorough glance over every attractive woman I saw (and with Diane it was a case serious lust) but this should not give the impression that I thought little of my wife for the opposite is true. Although my conscience is not completely clear, after eight years of marriage I am as deeply enamoured with her as I was at the start. Olivia is tall for a woman at 5' 8" and her three and a half inch heels bring her to exactly my height, (she has a couple of pairs over an inch higher that she wears on Friday evenings).

She has a far more classical beauty than Diane, long honey blonde and a slim elegant body. I liked to think of her as being exclusive, using the word with a fashion connotation as well as her relationship to me. She has all the special womanly parts to a pleasing degree but it is her legs that are exceptional. I once overheard a man describe her as having legs right up to her armpits and although an exaggeration this does reflect the impression that she gives. The current trend for women to wear trousers does Olivia no favours at all but she has opportunity to display her prime attribute at work. When we met, Olivia was doing modelling work and for the first two years of the marriage she was occasionally paid to attend exhibitions and pose on the stand of a hosiery firm, wearing the company product. Then the firm decided to employ her full time at the company headquarters, primarily as receptionist but with duties as in-house model.

After two years of this, the boss of the firm thought the she might have selling ability and decided to train her. So two days every week, he started taking her with him when he visited other cities. After a year he had turned her into a good saleswoman for the company, although I never understand why her training could not be more easily accomplished locally. Olivia took over his two days selling in distant locations and was allocated a local patch for the other three days. At about the same time that she started her training, Stan and Diane bought the house across the road and for the reason described above, I quickly forged a friendship with him. The two women also quickly hit it off and I honestly believe that they are the more genuine friends. We took to socialising in each other's houses on Friday nights.

After some months Stan and I started popping out for a quick pint to the local pub before returning to our wives and only a week or two later were spending over two hours every time with our elbows propping up the bar. This continued until the night that the two girls struck back by saying that instead of staying behind being neglected while we got blathered at the pub, they were going to start going to a night-club together. I think that they only went that first time to make a point but enjoyed themselves so much that it soon became an established part of the Friday ritual.

Having, rather laboriously painted a picture of the situation, I can now continue with the story.

So there I was in the canteen with my pal and more to make conversation than anything else, I asked, "What's up Stan, you're looking pretty glum?"

"Nothing," he said, putting a second dollop of ketchup on the opposite side of his plate to the first.

"Come on," I urged. "You've been as miserable as sin for weeks now. Something is bothering you so you might as well spit it out."

"If you must know, I think that Dane is cheating on me," he said unhappily.

I could not help laughing. "I don't believe that for a second. What the hell has given you that idea?" Stan always did tend to be paranoid - for instance he had a conspiracy theory to explain why he never got promoted and yet from what I heard he just was not very good at his work.

"It's true. I wish it wasn't but it is - I've got the evidence."

"Such as?"

"Cigarette ends. On two occasions I found tab ends of a brand that Di doesn't smoke in the ashtray. I did ask her who smoked that brand. She seemed a bit flustered and then said that a guy from the firm that employs her had called to talk about new work."

"That seems very plausible to me."

"It doesn't explain why there was a tab of the same brand in an ashtray by the side of the bed.

I didn't mention that one to her though." Stan got a bit confidential and explained, "If she is cheating and thinks that I don't know it will restrict what she is able to do but if she knows that I know and carries on anyway then there will be nothing to stop her."

"There is almost certainly an innocent explanation for that one as well," I told him. "You really should have asked her."

"Ever since then the ashtrays are always empty when I get home but it didn't fool me. I rooted around and found that she empties them in the trash bin in the kitchen. Since then I have spotted three different brands of cigarette in there and even a couple of cigar butts. I've also found an empty ashtray in the bedroom and we never take them in there."

"Is that all?" I asked trying to sound dismissive but my faith was rather shaken."

"A wet patch in the bed," he said. The first time we had made love the previous night and I assumed that it was from then but when it happened again it had been three days since any sex and I know she had changed the sheets since then."

"A wet patch?"

"It was cum - you can't mistake that sticky slightly slimy feel."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, he said triumphantly, "I found a gent's watch under my pillow - a real flashy thing. The following night all the furniture had been moved and I knew they had turned the house upside down looking for it. It gave me a lot of satisfaction to know they must have spent the time searching and not screwing. Diane did ask very casually if I had found anything but when I asked, 'Such as?' she just said, 'Oh nothing important'."

"Have you still got the watch?"

"No I pawned it. It must have been pretty valuable because I got a hundred quid for it." Stan forced a rueful smile to his face and said, "Diane may be getting fucked but at least I got some beer money out of it."

Despite my soft spot for his wife, this catalogue did seem rather damning. "What are you going to do about it," I asked - the sober tone of my voice showing that I was taking his allegations seriously.

"I don't know - I was hoping that you might have some ideas," he said helplessly.

"I admit that it doesn't look too good but it could be a mistake to jump to conclusions too soon."

"That is where I hoped you might come in," Stan said eagerly. "I know you're at home for a while every morning and you could easily keep an eye on my house. I'd like you to watch and let me know if you see any men either going in or leaving. I think I might be able to handle it better if I know who the bastard is." Despite reservations I agreed to do as he asked. "Good," he said with real enthusiasm, "We can play this as a game of two halves, you keep watch for at least part of the day and I'll carry on searching the house for clues at night."

In the pub that evening we did talk some more about his problem and I remember having to constantly reiterate that I would keep my eyes open on his behalf but having sunk a good few pints between us, I can recall little of the conversation. Next day I mentioned Stan's suspicions to my wife. "The silly man - wherever did he get that idea?" she said scathingly, "Diane tells me everything so I would be the first to know if she was up to anything like that."

I did not mention his 'evidence'. To be honest, the moment I spoke I regretted having betrayed my pal's confidence because I guessed that Olivia would pass on what I had told her at the first opportunity. In addition, I felt that she had rubished the possibility far too quickly and the words ' cover up' had flitted across my mind.

On Monday morning I messed about and once she had gone I rang my client to delay the arranged visit for a couple of hours. The time thus gained I utilised by updating documentation on my PC. The advantage of this activity was that from my work station I could gaze across the street to Stan and Diane's house. The difficulty in observation was that Stan had put up trellising that extended from the front door to terminate in an arch at the gate and he had trained Clematis and climbing roses to completely swamp the framework. This was almost a burglar's charter because it was it was almost impossible to see beyond it. It was luck more than anything else that caused a slight movement to catch my eye but with my gaze focussed in I could make out a male figure lurking within the arch. He seemed to peer furtively in both directions and then, judging the coast to be clear, he stepped out quickly and walked briskly away down the road. I was staggered because it seemed that Stan was right.

I hardly slept that night wondering what I should do but one thing was certain, I had to act before my wife had opportunity to speak to the guilty Diane. The next day, as soon as Olivia set off on a one-day trip away, I wandered across the street and knocked on Diane's door. When it opened, she was wearing her usual high-heeled slippers and a short bathrobe with she held closed by clutching it in front. She looked surprised but not unhappy to see me. Inside the house, without wasting time on preliminaries I blurted out, "Stan thinks that you are screwing around and asked me to watch and see if any men visit your house."

Diane did not twitch a muscle. "And?" she said.

"I was watching out of my window yesterday morning when I did see a strange male sneaking away."

As I said that, Diane released the front of her robe and the next moment I found a rosy red nipple pointing at me, then, changing her weight from one foot to the other caused the robe to swing and reveal half of her bush to my avid gaze. By this point I was not looking at her face but I would swear that she was laughing as she asked, "So what are you going to tell Stan?"

I had to take a big swallow before being able to say, "I don't particularly want to tell Stan anything."

"In that case, perhaps we should go upstairs to discuss it," Di invited softly. I stumbled after her unable to believe my good fortune - but I fear that a psychologist might fairly easily prove that I had secretly hoped for just such an eventuality. Ahead of me Diane bunched her robe up behind her like a pheasant's tail. Then very slowly, she sassed her way up the stairs, swaying those beautiful naked buttocks before my eager eyes and as she moved, a small tuft of brown hair peeped cheekily between the back of her thighs made me almost cream in my pants before we reached the top step.

Halfway across the bedroom, Diane sloughed the robe off her shoulders and allowed it drop to the floor. Reaching the bed she turned and let her body tip backwards to fall with legs stiff and held wide apart. On her lower abdomen was the usual triangle of brown pubic hair but the mons itself was covered only by a soft down and this allowed every detail of her sex to be clearly delineated. But this was no time for aesthetic appreciation so I hurled myself forward and thrust my eager tongue between her moist pink inviting cunt lips. The heady intimate aroma and delectable taste was almost overpowering. I could happily have spent an eternity supping that nectar of the Gods but after I had made her cum a mere two times she ruffled my hair and begged, "Fuck me now please."

It was only these words bringing me back to reality that let me realise that my painfully stiff penis was making its own eagerness known. Almost clumsy in my haste I got rid of my trousers and clambered on top but as I was about to plunge home Diane pushed her hands against my chest to make me pause. Looking straight into my eyes whispered, "This isn't a one way thing Ken - I've wanted you up me for years."

She then went on to prove it by really fucking me back, her pubis pneumatically grinding against mine. Nor was this simply first time enthusiasm because many times in the future I was to be again impressed by the verve of that versatile vulva. Her orgasms were frequent, loud, obscene and very obviously a whole body experience. I had never before met such a totally sexual creature. After we had gradually slowed to stillness, I was convinced that I had just enjoyed the most fantastic fuck of my life.

As I lay enjoying that after sex euphoria, the last thing I wanted to think about was her husband but Diane felt the need to point out, "I still love Stan you know and I'll never leave him. The trouble is that he is not very highly sexed and that duff knee of his doesn't help. That's why I need other men because, if I don't get sex every single day, my metabolism starts to suffer."

"Well, now that you have me you can kick the others into touch," I stated confidently.

"If you could see me every day, I would get rid of them like a shot but we both know that that isn't feasible," Diane said bluntly. "I want you to fuck me every chance you get but when you can't make it, my pussy will still need keeping happy."

I was far from pleased to hear this but it was much too early in the relationship for me to start setting conditions so the inevitable jealousy would just have to be handled as best I could.

I did not feel at all guilty and this was mainly because I had trodden this path earlier in the marriage by indulging in a very enjoyable four-month affair. This had ended quite naturally with no harm done and there was no reason why that precedent should not be repeated. Out of interest, I asked Di if her conscience ever bothered her for cheating on Stan.

Diane thought for only a moment and then said, "Women never need to feel guilty because there is no reason for it to affect their husbands at all but the same thing doesn't apply to men. When a man fucks a woman during the day most find that either their ability or enthusiasm has diminished by night-time but a woman can screw a lover all afternoon, have loads of orgasms and still be able and eager to do exactly the same with her husband that night. For example, one Friday a couple of months ago, after spending the afternoon doing some really heavy humping, I let myself get poked again in the back of a car, by a chap I picked up at the club that night. Then when I got home, Stan was waiting up for me. Usually he is asleep but this time he was awake and extremely randy for some reason - that was quite a day."

The news that she had sex with men at the night-club was a shock and it put a further nasty thought into my head but I prefaced the inevitable question by first asking, "How often do you have sex when you are out on Friday nights?"

"More often than not - in fact a lot more often," she told me without a trace of shame."

"Does Olivia do the same?"

"Not that I know of. In all the times I have been there with her I have never known her to go out of the club with a bloke. I do a lot so I can't be 100% certain that she doesn't leave after me but I don't think she does," Diane told me honestly. She paused and then added, "But it's never a good idea to take any woman for granted."

After we had screwed another twice in quick succession, Diane slipped out of bed saying, "I'm going to get us some refreshment - you stay there and conserve your energy." I lay back with a big smile of self-satisfaction for I ejaculated three times in, what was for me, an amazingly short time period. But, as I lay waiting for her to return, I could not escape the truth of her remark about the limitations of men for I was very glad that Olivia would not be home that night expecting her conjugal rights. When Di came back upstairs her arms were full. Her load included a wine bottle and one glass, cigarettes and ash tray and a different counterpane to throw over the bed.

The purpose of the last soon became apparent for very little of the wine was consumed from the glass. To start she had me tip wine on to the base of my prick while she knelt in front with her mouth open - to a spectator it must have looked as if I was pissing wine down her throat. Inevitably, a lot splashed over her tits and I was duty bound to lick it off. This could have been a never ending task because, as I licked, she poured more down the valley between her breasts and, pursuing errant rivulets lower, I was soon savouring the combined taste of wine, vaginal juices and semen.

Despite this appetiser, I was still not ready for a return to the fray so Diane lit up, regretting that I did not smoke as she found sharing a cigarette with a lover to be a very intimate pastime. This remark reminded me of Stan so I warned, "You will have to be more careful because your husband is getting very suspicious and keeps searching around for clues. He mentioned in particular finding a patch of wet cum in bed when he had not made love for you for three days."