When I recovered enough to close my mouth, I looked at him. "This is, ah, a. . ."
"Yeah, its a fucking license. But you have to tell me, no sneaking around. It means, woman, if someone makes a move on you, you can respond. And get away with it scot free. no repercussions. That's what it means."
"I'll never do that, I'll never use this," I told him. "I mean, I know what you want, I thought about it, but I don't think I could ever do that."
"Maybe you won't," he agreed, "maybe you can't, but now you know that if the opportunity presents itself, you can present yourself. Or make a present of yourself, or something like that. Anyhow, there it is. I hope you use it. And now, get those pajamas off. I want to pretend you just used it, and I want to show you how very much I appreciate that."
I wasn't quite in the mood, but I would never refuse my husband sex.
He changed my mood quickly, moving into his fantasy "This is what would happen if you came home after seducing someone. I'd say 'I like that the guy you were with tonight saw you naked, too'," he told me as he pulled the sheet off me. "I like that he did this to you." He began teasing my nipple with his finger. I closed my eyes, letting myself think that someone else HAD done that, touched me like that. Oh, my mind and body were begining to like that idea.
Then his mouth covered my other breast, sucking it in, his tongue touched me, and it was so delicate, that touch, delicate and sexy.
"I like that he kissed your tits," he said, "like I'm doing now."
He reached down to my knee, pulled a little, encouraging me to open my legs, and when I did, expecting him to move on me, move in me, his mouth began moving down my body instead.
My mind was filling in the blanks, thinking what he wanted me to think.
He began nibbling at the inside of my thigh, teasing me with his mouth, with his tongue.
Somehow my legs parted even more, my hips rolled up, making myself even more available. He was getting to me, this man who wanted me to do this with someone else was really getting to me.
I turned my head, his penis was so close and he was as big as he could get, he was getting to himself, too.
"I would be able to smell him here, I could smell that his cock was here," he told me, pretending, acting out the game.
I moved, took his shaft in my hand, took his head in my mouth, wet him, wet it, tongued it, just as he spread me open, and I felt his mouth on me, his tongue in me.
"And I'd be able to taste him here! I could taste that man who came in you!"
"Wait!" my mind shouted. What Sam is saying, what he's doing, is more than being a voyeur. What he's doing is showing me that he wants to have sex with me right after I have sex with someone else --he's telling me, showing me, that he'd go down on me! He wants to go down on me, do oral sex on me, lick me, where someone else's penis would have been only an hour or two earlier. My own hips began moving, my legs rolled open wider, he went deeper, his tongue went deeper, as though searching for traces of semen -- someone else's semen!
His cock was throbbing, I could feel that motion in his shaft as he started to pump, then I tasted him as he released into my mouth, as I masturbated him, and as I let my own voyeuristic images take hold, of the sight of my husband, my strong, proud husband, licking me clean after some other man emptied himself into me. Right then I could hardly wait.
But wait a minute. Before any of that, before my husband gets to do those lovely erotic things to me, he wanted me to fuck someone else! That was the key, don't forget that before he'd be tonguing me some one else's erect cock would have been there, moving in me, spurting into me! He wanted someone else to do that, and then he's saying he'll do what he's doing, go down on me!
After some other guy kissed me, touched me, fucked me, he wanted to go down on me, and kiss me, and fuck me.
It was enough, the images, what he was doing, what I was thinking, all of that was enough. Orgasm city!
Whoever says oral sex isn't really sex needs his head examined!
Later, as we calmed down, Sam said "that's sort of what it would be like, only better." I didn't argue this time.
We just held each other, and fell asleep.
"About last night," he said as we had coffee in the morning -- I expected him to retreat, the light of day makes some erotic ideas just seem crude -- "about last night?"
"Yeah?"
"Honey, don't make me wait too long, OK?"
He was serious: serious first thing in the morning means really REALLY serious. He meant for that whole erotic idea to really happen.
I felt some tingling in my body as I looked at this malfunctioning sex machine I had married. Somehow, some way, during the night I must have come to some conclusions, it had to have been while I was asleep, because even while my mind was trying to frame some sort of denial or at least a non-committal answer, my mouth opened, and I heard myself say
"I won't."
"Good. Thank you. I love you, babe!" And he was gone.
"I won't make him wait?" I was having trouble believing I actually said that, but I did. And deep down, I knew it was true. Somewhere there was a man who was going to get to know me, know my body, probably in the next month, and right now he has absolutely no idea what was in store for him.
That was a pretty erotic idea, all by itself, thinking of some man somewhere, maybe he was dreaming of meeting a woman, maybe right now he was masturbating in the shower, thinking of a woman -- and that woman would turn out to be ME!
I was dressed for work, but I knew if I were to reach inside my pants I'd find myself hot, moist, and ready for sex.
The mind is our most erotic sex organ, isn't it?
Who?
How?
Go to bars, to hotels? No, none of that. That wouldn't work.
Who?
How?
That day I started looked at men differently. "He's a possible," I'd tell myself. Or, "Not him, not in a million years."
It changes the way you look at things, it changes the way you think, when your husband asks you to be seductive. Suddenly thoughts, ideas, things that would have been dismissed right away are allowed to form, to mature, . . . smolder.
Sam joked about my 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card that night, and we played -- oh, how we played -- at what he'd do when I did do a seduction, and what he'd feel, what he'd do when he could be a voyeur. We read stories on Literotica, thought about trying out some of the ideas, some of the themes, but you know, they just didn't work for us -- I mean, on an emotional level. I wanted, in fact WE wanted, anything we did to be a natural progression, not forced.
No script: all improv.
Then there was real life. Sam's work, for example. "Gotta go to Fermilab, I'll go out Tuesday morning, be back Wednesday pretty late. Sorry about that." It was a timing problem, the great room was going to be painted Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Well, hell, we both knew if Sam could have taken time off to supervise the painting, he'd have done the painting himself. I arranged to telecommute to work those days .
Frank the painter turned out to be a college kid, painting was just his summer job. He showed up on schedule Monday, and spent the day doing prep work, moving things, applying masking tape and drop cloths.
"The painting's easy," he told me, "it's the getting ready and finishing that takes the time, ma'am."
Sam came home late, loaded with stuff to take to Chicago, and looked at the organized chaos in the great room. "Looks like the kid knows what he's doing, huh?"
"Yeah, he does. Nice kid, hurt himself last spring. He wants to play football for Penn State, but he's gonna miss this season. Can't train with his pulled muscle. They get some seriously good health care, he showed me a report that said he was OK in all ways, but contact sports too soon could do some serious injury. You'd be surprised at how hard it is for these kids to get part time work, if it's not 'real', whatever that means, the NCAA comes down like a bomb on them."
"Nice kid?"
"Polite, yeah, and you know, he's really big. For sure as tall as you, probably 50 pounds heavier, and I don't think any of it's fat."
"Hey," Steve asked, "is he a possible?"
"Oh, come on, he's 21, that's 10 years younger than me."
Steve smirked. "I'll bet his equipment works, though. Mine sure did at 21. And you said you saw his health report, he's young and healthy. Anyhow, I have to pack this stuff." He left the room.
That night -- no surprise -- Sam wanted sex. You know, so did I, I was going to miss having him in my bed tomorrow night.
We were in the touching/teasing phase of things, Mr. Big Horn was poking at me, Sam was all hands, touching, squeezing. "Sam, you're behaving like a teenager!"
"I'm thinking about how much Frank is going to like doing this to you honey."
"I don't think Frank is going to be doing anything, Sam, he's not going to be interested in a woman that much older than him."
"Oh honey, there's so much you don't understand about men," Sam told me, while he moved over me, and into me, showing me something I did understand about this particular man.
"Oh, You mean, if it has ever worn a skirt, they'll fuck it?"
"No, I mean if a beautiful woman like you just hints she's available to a guy like Frank, he's gonna become the most ardent man you'll ever know -- next to me, that is -- and he'll remember you fondly for the rest of his life."
"Hey Sam, he's a college jock, I'm sure he's not hurting for girls."
"Not for girls, honey, but I'll bet he's never had a real woman like you."
My mind went there, then, thinking thoughts that shouldn't be thought, while my husband was moving inside me. We missed a mutual lift-off by about 15 seconds. You know, I think that I came first made Sam come even harder.
And I started missing him the minute he went out the door Tuesday morning, loaded with papers and laptops and a change of clothes.
Frank showed up right on time, started right in on his job. He was the neatest painter I ever did see. I mean, he was wearing a dark tee shirt and shorts while using light colored paints, and not getting a drop on himself!
"How do you do that?" I asked him during a mutual coffee break. "Ma'am, I used to be really sloppy, so I started a game to see how neat I could be. It works."
I spent a minute or two (ok, maybe 20) that morning watching him paint. He was fast, and he was careful. And he was cute, and big, and full of muscles. Big, hard bulging muscles.
Hmmm.
You know, he IS a possible!
"I should finish by tomorrow late afternoon, Mrs B," Frank said as he was leaving. "I really like doing this kind of work."
"And I really like the job you're doing, Frank," I told him, and watched as he drove away.
Frank was being so correct, so straight, not a single incorrect move. And he was cute. No, not cute, handsome would be a better word. And that body -- that hard young body. He was sexy, too.
So how do you seduce a young man, anyhow? Yeah, I know, a beer and naked is enough, but that would not be enough for me. I like -- I need -- the romance, the tenderness, all of that stuff. And I'm basically shy, almost submissive. For sure, not very assertive
Well, I AM..
Sam called that evening. The good news is, his trip was going well. He would be leaving O'Hare at noon, should be home by 5 tomorrow. "How's the paint job going?" he asked.
I told him, and he asked the next question, the obvious one, given what we were playing at.
"Seems I have no idea at all how to seduce a young man like Frank," I confessed.
"Hasn't he made a move on you by now?"
"If he has it's been so subtle I missed it, honey."
