I kept replaying what I had seen in my mind - the scene in the forest, with Ben fingering my half-exposed wife to orgasm followed by her giving him a blowjob. It was sexy and exciting almost beyond belief, but it lacked closure. I knew that my wife would not allow penis-to-vagina fucking, but there were a lot of degrees of physical intimacy between what they had already done together and what they could get away with, according to our liberal marriage agreement. There was a crackling tension in the air, so that I knew they would get together again as soon as an opportunity presented itself. It remained for me to find a way to watch when it happened. I got hard as a crowbar just thinking about it.
The only concern I had was that my not telling Suzy that I was watching felt a bit dishonest. Should I tell her that I knew, or should I keep it a secret? I finally concluded that it would be more fun for Suzy to pretend that she was cheating on me, something she couldn't do if I spilled the beans. So I decided not to tell Suzy that I had watched her in the forest with Ben.
That night in our motel room, Suzy was a study. She was nervous, unable to sit still and continually fussing. While we were watching TV, several times she walked to the window and peered out as if expecting to see someone or some thing. Standing there, she would absent-mindedly pass the back of her hand over her breast, unconsciously rubbing the nipple with her knuckles. Eventually, she sat next to me on the bed and began to caress me. She rubbed my erect penis in my pants (she didn't ask why it was already that way when she started) and took it out. She mouthed it just long enough to get it wet and then jumped me, flinging off her panties and sitting on me, nightgown and all. She rode me wildly in the cowgirl position, eyes closed, and we soon came to a groaning, screaming orgasm together. Her eyes remained closed until she slid off of me. We were both still completely dressed except for her moist panties.
The next morning, I woke in bed alone. I figured Suzy was probably getting coffee and a couple of donuts from the continental breakfast in the main office of the motel. I meant to say 'resort'.
I did my morning ritual for a few minutes, but Suzy didn't show. I decided perhaps she was waiting for me at the main office, so pulled on some clothes and headed there. I didn't see her there. I thought to myself, "Surely she wouldn't just go to Ben's room. That would be much too blatant. I checked the swimming pool, but she wasn't there either.
It occurred to me that she might be exercising. It was a possibility, although Suzy is not normally the type to jump up and work out because it takes a while for her to wake up. Suzy doesn't care to run outdoors; she prefers a treadmill or stair step machine. The motel had a little exercise room next to the laundry room, with a Bowflex machine, a used-and-abused treadmill, a couple of benches and an odd assortment of free weights. Perhaps she was there. At the main desk, I borrowed the key to the building, which was used only by the maids and exercisers.
I let myself into the building stealthily, and closed the outside door silently; then crept down the unlit hall. As I approached the exercise room, I could hear the rhythmic pounding of a treadmill in use over the background of CNN. The entrance to the weight room was off a dim hallway, so I was able to look into the sunlit room without being seen. It had three occupants. The two engineers were in shorts and tee shirts, sitting on the bench, ostensibly cooling off between sets. I say ostensibly, because neither of them had broken much of a sweat. They weren't watching the news, either - in fact, they were facing the other way entirely. They were watching my wife and drooling.
Suzy was running on the treadmill, dressed in a t-shirt that was loose, but not too loose to evaluate what was underneath, and grey elastic exercise shorts. By the sleek appearance of her shorts and the mesmerizing complex of motions on her chest, it was obvious that she was wearing no underwear; neither panties nor exercise bra.
Suzy knows better than this. She always wears at least an exercise bra while running; never an exception. She was deliberately teasing these two men. Although her eyes didn't leave the TV, I knew that her peripheral vision was glorying at the two men's tongues hanging out.
The guys mumbled to each other, and then Ben addressed Suzy. "It's really hot in here. Do you mind if we take our shirts off?"
Suzy smiled and replied a little too encouragingly, "Yeah! Go right ahead," and then watched intently as they put on a show of pulling off their shirts and displaying their muscles. They weren't bodybuilders, but their bulging pectorals, nicely cut abs and upper body definition showed that both boys obviously worked out regularly. Suzy hit a button on the treadmill, starting the cool-down phase of her run. The boys watched her as they curled dumbbells.
Suzy stared back as she slowed the pace of the treadmill at regular intervals to a trot, a fast walk, and then a slow walk. Her breasts wobbled and bounced invitingly with the twin focal points of their nipples rigid, obvious and inviting. Sweat soaked the front of her shirt and darkened the pubic area and butt crack of her pants. Although they tried not to be obvious, the two young men she was candidly watching were obviously engaged more in striking poses than in doing any real exercise. Suzy appeared to appreciate this and when she had stopped the treadmill, she sat on a chair near to them and watched them preen for her, wiping her forehead and cooling off.
"I've always wanted to learn how to use those weights, but I never had anyone to teach me," she said. Then she took on a confidential tone. "A friend of mine was saying that there are exercises a woman can do to build up her chest, so her boobs don't droop. Is that true? Can I do something to keep these from drooping?" She had taken her breasts in her hands almost absentmindedly and hefted and caressed them.
There was a moment's silence as the men gaped; then Mark started to say, "Gee, Suzy, it doesn't look like you have anything to worry..." but Ben slapped him below the ribs and interrupted, asking, "Have you ever done bench presses? They're very good for the pectorals," and looked down at his own impressive chest.
Suzy claimed not to have, so Ben demonstrated by putting a couple of 25 pound weights on the bar and lying down on the bench, facing upward. "Now this isn't very much weight for me, but if it were, it would be very important to have a spotter to help ease the weights down in case they got too heavy for me. Would you like to be my spotter?" Suzy nodded, tongue-tied at the young half-naked stud lying below her with an obvious semi-erection.
She said, "Tell me what to do. Where do I stand?"
Ben directed her to stand just behind his head. She stood back from him like a spectator, but adopted that famous fuckable posture of hers. Her ass was pushed out and she leaned forward, shoulders back, thrusting her perky little tits out and up. Mark moved in, placing a hand on her shoulder, and palmed her butt with the other, pushing her closer to the bar. "You need to be close," he explained, "where you can catch it if he can't support it all alone."
He left his hand on her butt as she smiled at him and said, "Thanks."
This position put Ben less than a foot from her cute little camel toe and gave him an unobstructed view up her t-shirt, which she ignored. The fact that she did not object to Mark's firm hand on her ass told the young man that the attention was not unwelcome, so he left it there.
Taking the weights, Ben began repeatedly to pump them up and down. But these light weights were probably a joke for someone of Ben's build and he easily pressed them upward without concentration, which was a good thing because his concentration was focused on what was under my wife's shirt.
