(c) 2012 Padma Bear
No part of this story may be reproduced in any form, including electronic media, without the written permission of the author. We mean it.
Apparently, this isn't the kind of story that gets a high score around here, but please don't let that deter you. If you haven't read the other parts of this story, you'll enjoy this one much more if you go back and at least sample the earlier parts. The build-up is worth it, trust us! And if you like surprises, don't look at the story tags.
So, this is the end of our little experiment. It's gone on for much longer than we expected -- what began as a private bedtime story has taken months to put down in writing. It might not be for all tastes, but we've put a lot of effort into it, and now that it's done we look forward to your comments on this last installment and on the whole series. We'll try to answer everyone, but please..be nice.
We hope that at least some of you have read like a good mystery -- not ever sure where it will end up. Our greatest hope is that somewhere along the way we've really upset your expectations; especially for those readers who have very fixed ideas about what the correct formula for a Loving Wives story should be. You know who you are!
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Sarah stood at the foot of the bed, facing her husband and Mr. X, regarding them, savoring the moment. She felt a little pang of regret. Not regret for what had happened, or even for how she'd made it happen, but simply in recognition that anything with a beginning must also have an ending. Of course, it was right and proper that this event have a definite end. As she'd told Mr. X at the very beginning, she had no reason or desire to ever see him again. There was one and only one purpose he served -- to satisfy her need to be taken. Once this happened, the experience would be over. This realization only made her appreciate more what was about to happen next more.
"Gosh. You guys really used me well, didn't you?"
Both men nodded, even trading a brief conspiratorial look -- if not exactly as compadres, at least as two men who appreciated each other's taste and good fortune.
"But there was something important missing from that whole arrangement. Can you tell me what it was?"
Her husband, ever the eager student, responded quickly in a slightly cracked voice, "Your clit, Sarah. You didn't get your little clit rubbed."
"That's right. You took me from behind and fucked me hard, and I love to be fucked that way, there is nothing like it. But it doesn't really get me off, does it?"
"No, it doesn't, baby."
"What do you think we should do about that?"
"I guess you need a proper fucking now."
"You guessed right. And who should be doing this fucking?"
"Me."
"Why?"
"Because I'm your husband. And your pussy is mine."
"Both excellent points. Okay, how should we do that? Me on top or you?"
He thought for a moment, and she thought she could almost see the image from last night popping in to his head.
"You. I know you love that position, and this way our friend here can get a nice view of your naked bouncing breasts."
"Sounds good. Maybe I'l play with them for him. Why don't you lay down and get ready for me?"
She looked to the clearly disappointed Mr. X and pointed to an armchair facing at a slight angle to the bed. "And why don't you take a seat over there? It's a good spot to watch." She wasn't mocking him, it was simply an invitation.
Mr. X went to the chair and sat down, not taking her up on her suggestion that he jerk off, just watching her, his eyes moving deliberately from her face to her crotch and back again. Her husband settled himself into the bed, and began idly stroking his cock, also watching her, moving his eyes from her face to her pussy and back again.
She turned so that she was facing Mr. X, her back-quarter toward her husband. She remembered the thrill of the encounter in the elevator. How this stranger's unbidden entry had made her feel. The exquisite shame at her loss of control under his finger's insinuations. She moved her legs apart, hip-width; reached between them, running her fingers through her lips, dipping them up and into herself, remembering how Mr. X had shoved his fingers up into her the same way. She felt an urgent need to have that happen one more time. She walked closer to him sitting in the chair.
Beyond her need to be touched again by this man, there was something she needed to know about him, something that required a momentary break in anonymity and created the potential for emotional intimacy -- a kind of intimacy that could be much more dangerous than the physical intimacy of having him in her mouth.
She took his left hand in her right while she continued to feel herself, her well-lubricated finger making small circles around the dense, moist little bump of her clit, getting herself right up to that line and then back again. He had the hands of a pianist -- long, strong, elegant fingers, with well-manicured nails.
Looking at the hand, she made a show of regarding his ring finger. There was a suggestion of where a ring had been, perhaps a faint outline against his late summer tan. She affected a teasing tone.
"What would your wife say," she cooed, "knowing you'd been getting your cock sucked off by a married woman you met at a bar?"
She watched a run of involuntary emotions play across his face, all in a few brief moments: a flash of memory and fondness, a wince of pain, and finally a deliberate composure.
"She wouldn't say anything," he said ruefully, a bare trace of amusement on his lips. "She's been dead for eighteen months now."
"Oh." She gasped, her hand dropping his and flying up to her mouth. "I'm so sorry."
She felt sudden regret at her assumption that he was a man without his own ethical standards -- and at her presumption in moving beyond the rules that she herself had established.
"Don't be." And now he grinned boyishly. "You're the first naked woman I've seen in all of that time."
"How long were you married?"
He looked at her, baffled.
"Fourteen years."
She had to ask:
"Did you ever cheat on her?"
His pissed-off reply was thoroughly genuine:
"What kind of question is that? Of course I didn't. I loved my wife."
He brought his hand up to her breast level, showing it to her.
"In fact, if you must know, I only took off my ring a few weeks ago. I'd grown tired of my friends pestering me to find a new woman, or to 'at least go out and get layed'. But as much as I like the latter idea, I'm just not ready to face the consequences of the former one. And, women being women, I knew that emotional complications are inevitable whenever sex is involved. I can't deal with that. Not yet."
He paused and laughed.
"But I didn't count on you. Here there aren't any complications. You just happen to be an available slut looking to have her body used but who's tied down with other commitments."
He glanced at her husband significantly, eye-brows raised.
