Ch. 1 -- Rarely, one simply has to say yes
"Honey, do you remember the time we were shopping in that cute little town on the north shore, and we saw Nicole and Tom shopping for a party they were throwing?"
When my delicious little wife Angelina asked me this out of the blue, she happened to be mounted upright on my well oiled cock, pressing down astride my pelvis as I lay flat on my back in bed. And she had flat out stopped moving. The old up and down had come and gone, and all I felt was her pussy's tight grip as I lightly fingered er oh-so-velvety outer thighs. I wanted to now what she was referring to, but I was, you might say, a bit distracted. And then came her special trick. Still pressed down hard, impaled as it were on her husband's most urgent need, her inner muscles began to tighten and relax, tighten and relax, like an inverted milking machine invented by Aphrodite herself. Omigod, Omigod. And while she was doing that, I was looking up at the peppiest, firmest pair of breasts in creation.
"Did you hear what I asked, Hon?:" She was talking again. I didn't dare admit that I couldn't care less what she had said. I was fixing a kind of zen concentration about two feet south of that mouth of hers. My cock wanted to tell her to shut up, but my cock wouldn't have to deal with her later.
Then, suddenly, she said, "OK, we need to finish this, don;t we, or I'll never get an answer." Oh no, don't finish. I'm on the backstretch. But no, before I knew it, Angelina's slippery slot was sliding rapidly upward. I didn't think fast enough and bang! there was a breeze on my juice coated organ.
No, No, sweetheart, not yet. I know I meant to say it out loud, but it came out more like "Nrmphlswat!" But before I could sink in despair, this wonderful little creature had slid down, nestled between my weakened knees and said, "Time to make short work of you. Let me get a taste of that girl juice." And her mouth slid warmly over the head of my cock. I could feel her tongue sliding around the shaft as she moved her head up and down. Slow, fast; stop for a beat and just pump with her hand; Then she backed her mouth off long enough to say, "Mmm, I'd forgotten how sweet my pussy juices can taste after fruit salad for lunch." Then she plunged down one more time till the whole damn thing disappeared and the real sucking/licking began. It wasn't long.
With that skillful manipulator on me, I soon felt myself hardening and swelling inside her mouth. But she knew the signs, too, and just in time replaced her mouth with her hand, and said, "This one's on me." With her eyes and mouth wide open, and her hands pumping, she made me buck upward as I spurted a huge, thick load that shot up, right into her right eye and hair, trickling down the side of her nose. I know the cum in her eye must've stung, but she kept 0n staring at my cock, just letting it start to drip out. The second and third squirts, not as powerful, landed on her upper cheeks and inside her mouth. then she just stuck out her tongue, and let all of it drip down into her mouth, where it disappeared, never to ne seen again.
"Now, back to my question..." she said, sitting up on her haunches, absentmindedly wiping stray cum into the corners of her mouth with her fingers.
" But what about you. You stopped in mid screw. Let me at least suck you off."
" Oh, forget about that, I'll break out he old rabbit vibrator and do myself later. You can watch, if you want. But for now, I want to know if you remember what happened with Nicole and Tom, and what we said about certain stars." She was already slipping on one of my tee shirts, so I knew the sex was at least on hold.
"Of course I remember sweetheart." I'd re-told that story God knows how many times to friends, relatives, hell, whoever would listen for several years. Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise had long since split up, and I'd declared that that settled it for me. The man is definitely gay.
My wife, Angelina, and I had trailed along behind the couple at a discreet distance, as did a few other summer shoppers. This was a "cool" town, and one simply didn't walk up to the occasional passing celebrity and shove a piece of paper in his or her face and ask for an autograph. It was accepted that celebs came here to live like real people, at least for a while.
But we couldn't help gawking at them, her gorgeous, tall figure towering over him, as they picked up a few things, apparently for a garden party (based on what they were purchasing).
This event became kind of iconic for us. My wife agreed that Nicole Kidman was, indeed, stunning, and that she wouldn't blame any man, even a married man, for wanting to "be with her." So Nicole became my symbol of the impossible: spouse approved infidelity.
"If you could have sex with Nicole Kidman," she'd say on appropriate occasions, "I'd understand." Wow, what a concession. That was as likely to happen as a win on the $150,ooo,ooo Mega Million Lottery run in our state. In fact, it was less likely, because if I won the lottery, the check was highly unlikely to take one look at me and run away screaming.
My sweet wife made a few more "concessions" along similar lines, allowing me my best shot with Halle Berry, Cameron Diaz and a few assorted other impossibilities. She was SO accepting, my wife.
Of course, in return, similar concessions spilled freely from my love besotted lips. My wife is many years younger than I, but she likes more mature men, so I granted her her best shot at Tom Selleck, Sean Connery, etc. This was, of course, not really any more likely for her than for me. We live in humdrum circles in a middle income town, and we talked often of our little brush with fame that day on the north shore because it was such a rare event.
Still, unlike me, Angelina is at least distinctly a "catch." She's thirty-three, but petite at five one and a half, a hundred twelve pounds, she really does still look twenty-three or -four. She devotes herself to looking young and beautiful and succeeds enormously. Her skin is flawless, she has shoulder length auburn hair and is all leg. I kid her about her legs, because it leaves her with a tiny, flat belly that emphasizes her breast size. She's a full C cup, and I kid her that she has no need for a bra because when she has none on, her little, hard nipples "point at the sky." She loves to hear that, because she was raised with a low opinion of her own looks, and every bit of praise goes straight to her heart. And as far as her face is concerned, let's just say, "adorable," and you can fill in your own image.
I hope I don't have to say how lucky I am to have Angelina. She needed a more stable, mature man in her life, and it took me years, literally, to get her to wear outfits that showed her legs, which she used to think were skinny (believe me, they're smooth, curvy and wonderful). And she's never given me any reason to doubt her faithfulness. Every time a man has come on to her, and there have been many, she's told me about it, and she's pretty good at handling it.
Angelina doesn't go out gallivanting "with the girls." We prefer to do things together, and, anyway, she's terrible at finding her way anywhere that she hasn't been to before, so she's very timid about going out without her "honey."
We started a family pretty early. I married her when she was nineteen, just out of high school, and a couple of years later, we had a girl, Daniela. Another, Rose, came two years after that. Now, they're both old enough to be in school and Angelina has returned to work after staying home to raise them. She needed to go to work once they were in school, because the house became lonely for her. Of course I supported her decisions, and I've been able to rearrange my own schedule to be there when the girls are home, most of the time. So we rarely have to use a baby-sitter.
So life has been pretty straightforward for us. Angelina and I (my name is Paul, by the way) live a normal middle class American life. We love our kids, we love each other and the sex, though not as frequent as it once was, is still full of passion and affection.
* * * * *
But life throws you a curve every once in a while and it's how you react to that curve that can determine the course of your days.
It started with Angelina's job. She works not far from home for an organization that provides rehabilitative care to disabled children. She doesn't work directly with the clients, but instead helps see to it that therapists and other care givers are properly assigned and that their work time is tracked and properly compensated. Basically, Angelina is office staff at a place that does very good things, relying almost exclusively on private and government gifts and grants to pay for it. It makes us both feel good that she's involved with an organization like CoBRA (Community Based Rehabilitation and Assistance).
But it's still a job, and she comes home tired each day, often with complaints about workplace pettiness. So it's actually with pleasure that Angelina, once a year, volunteers for the big organizational fund-raising night, known as Celebrity/Community Gala (CCG). It's held each spring. and the well connected heads of CoBRA reach out through mailings and phone contacts to a huge list of local donors, past and hoped for - people with loads of money from the affluent communities in our area.
To attract these hoped for donations, celebrities are contacted. We live near a large eastern city, so there are plenty of famous types living or visiting nearby, some of whom have made the CCG and Cobra an annual cause, others who have to be solicited each year. Baseball and football players, past and present, authors, show business types. More often than not, they just get their names in the program as "supporters," but some come regularly. And each year, a dinner is held at which these celebs and potential donors are feted generously (the donors paying a high per plate fee, and guests hope to rub elbows with the famous).
Each year, "lowly" CoBRA staff is asked to volunteer as hosts/hostesses, whose main duties are seeing to it that everyone finds his or her seat, and then going about photographing guests with the celebrities. Staff are asked not to chat with the famous, ask for autographs, or otherwise "forget their place." And, of course, I get to enjoy quality time with my daughters.
* * * * *
Which brings us back to the reason for Angelina's reminding me of our old agreement about bedding certain stars.
This most recent sex session took place the day after CCG, and I hadn't really heard much about the event yet. Angelina had returned rather late the night before, a Wednesday, and all I'd heard before leaving for work the next morning as Angelina slept late, allowed a late arrival following fund-raising night, was a murmured, "Hon, it was the best CCG ever. Wait'll I tell you later."
