Suspicions Confirmed

This is a story that a friend wrote then asked me to review and submit for him as he is afraid he might be discovered. I ended up adding a fair amount to it as well as editing, so I guess you could say it was a joint effort and we are co-authors.

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I'd had my suspicions for a while. The idea of my wife spending time with another man gnawed away at me more and more. Every time she took a call on her cellphone and quickly disappeared to another room I wondered what it was that I shouldn't be hearing. Jealous? Hell yes I was jealous. It was affecting my sleep patterns and my general demeanor as well. I seemed to be constantly on edge.

Her work in sales took her all over the western half of the state, so there was certainly plenty of opportunity for her to play around. She is an attractive, petite woman with great legs, a charming smile, pretty face, shoulder length blonde hair and a slender fit physique that she works at maintaining. A size six and five foot four she tips the scales at 130 and wears a b-cup bra. You would never guess that she is 55 years old.

I love being naked with her and between her legs whether it be burying my face in her sweet snatch or sliding my shaft between her labia and burying it deep inside her lovehole. Even though she knows I would love her to she never shaves her pussy but does keep it tidily trimmed. On a positive note, she is blessed with incredibly soft pale brown pubic hair.

Her breasts are sweet little orbs with the sightest trace of droop. On the rare occasion that she doesn't wear a bra they jiggle ever so slightly as she moves about and her nipples are firm little nubbins that make themselves known, sometimes even with a bra constraining them.

She never wears sexy lingerie. I've tried buying things for Christmas or Valentines but learned long ago that was only a good way to get in trouble and ensure that I wouldn't see her naked for weeks after. Her undergarments are simple functional bras and panties in black, white or nude with no lace. On the rare occasion she decides to demonstrate to the world what great stems she has she wears a dress that is knee length and accompanied by pantyhose.

Our sex life was what might be called "functional". We had conceived two children who were grown and gone. Our intimate moments were limited to once in a while on Sunday morning when there was absolutely nothing else for her to do or be distracted by. Positions were missionary and cowgirl (but never backwards). Doggy was out of the question. Sometimes she would perform oral, generally it required a good half hour of cunnilingus to get her lost enough in the moment that we could proceed further.

One evening after a drought of five or six weeks with no sexual contact another of the mysterious cellphone calls sent her scurrying off to the guest room behind a closed door. We'd had a good day together shopping in the morning and then sailing with some friends in the afternoon but when she returned from the guestroom after a half hour or so she seemed to be in an unusually ebullient mood. I gently tried to no avail to pry some information from her as to who might have been on the phone.

"Lisa?" I asked, thinking it might have been her sister.

"No, she and Nick are in Telluride this weekend." she replied and headed off in a discussion concerning how she thought they were overspending and would have nothing left for retirement.

"Margo?" I tried. Maybe her best friend from work.

"No, but I did speak with her earlier and she and Mike would like us to join them at that new Asian restaurant some evening soon." This also led to a story about what Margo's daughter in Texas had been up to lately.

I decided not to press further. She was very skilled at evading the question and being in sales also good at putting whatever kind of spin on something that she wanted it to have. It was obvious that I would get nowhere with regard to who her mystery caller was. Instead, I had an epipheny of sorts, rapidly hatching a plan on the fly.

"If its okay with you, I was thinking about visiting Marcus on Thursday and taking him up on his offer to play his club with him." Marcus was a college roommate who belonged to a swanky country club about three hours east of us. "It would be quite late before I would be home that evening."

"That's fine by me. Enjoy yourself for a change and take a day's vacation."

Her response was rapid and uncharacteristic. Normally she frowned on my spending too much time with Marcus because she considered him to be a "bad influence". He was on wife number three, a situation she made no bones about how much she disapproved of.

I left things at that. The next day I called a car rental agency to reserve a nondescript Camry and sent my boss an e-mail telling him that I would be taking a personal day on Thursday. On Tuesday at lunchtime I did a little shopping for a few items.

Eight o'çlock Thursday morning found me parked down the block from our house with it just barely in sight. I was wearing a long brown wig and cheap oversized sunglasses. My BMW was in the parking lot of the rental agency and I sipped a cup of coffee as I waited. Finally, around nine I saw Connie's snappy red Accord back out of the driveway and pull away. It was a late start to the day even for her.

I started the car and followed her. At first I was worried that I would lose her at a stoplight but then I was concerned about not getting too close. I tried to reassure myself that even if I did she would not suspect it was me because she thought that by then I would be three hours away in the opposite direction of where she was heading and she wouldn't be the least bit interested in a grey Camry with a woman with goofy glasses in it.

She headed for the highway and from there to the Thruway. I lagged behind a quarter mile or so as we traveled like that for and hour and a half, all the way to the last large community just before the state line where she turned off. Now I needed to be extra cautious not to get too close and arouse any suspicion. She was at the very outskirts of the territory she worked and now I really wondered what she might be up to.

I soon found out.

Within a mile of the tollbooth she pulled into the parking lot of a hotel. My heart both ached and was racing as I drove past and then into the next driveway where I found myself in the parking lot of a MacDonalds. There was a six foot high fence between the two lots and I parked in a slot against it.

Slipping out of the car after discarding the wig and glasses I crept up to the fence. Comprised of wide boards there were inch wide slots between each vertical plank. The grass had not been trimmed and was almost a foot high at the base which served me well, concealing my feet from the hotel side.

As I peeked through one of the slots I could see the red Accord off to the right around twenty feet. Connie was still in the drivers seat primping in the visor mirror. I moved to the right finding a slot to peek through directly behind her car and eight or so feet away. She was applying lipstick which after many years I recognized as the final step in the primping routine. She put things away in her purse and I heard the trunk release.

Connie often left her purse in the trunk when she didn't want to carry it around with her rather than leave it in sight inside the car when it was parked. The door opened and out she stepped turning toward the rear as she closed it behind her.

I almost gave myself away as I gasped at what I saw. Connie wore what was for her an extremely short black pleated skirt, a black jacket and a white blouse. Her makeup was more exaggerated than I ever seen her wear, heavy on the eyeshadow and liner and her lips as crimson as the car. She also wore sheer black hosiery and four or five inch heels, easily two or three higher than I seen her in in many years.

She tossed the purse in the trunk and then proceeded to peel off the jacket. Her blouse was slightly sheer, making it easy to discern a skimpy lacy black bra beneath. Leaning over the back of the car to reach deep into the trunk the short skirt rode up high enough that I glimpsed the black lace of the top of stockings, rather than the pantyhose that would have been more typical for her t wear with a skirt. Having retrieved a much smaller black purse she straightened up then glancing around everywhere but in my direction she hiked the hem of her skirt up and grasping the waistband of a pair of skimpy black thong panties pulled them down, dropping them to her ankles and then one foot at a time stepped out of them. Kneeling she picked them up before tossing them into the trunk.

Connie straightened up, smoothed her blouse and skirt and then shut the trunk. I watched as my darling sweet wife of thirty years sauntered across the parking lot toward the door to the hotel, pantyless beneath a flouncy skirt that was barely long enough to conceal the fact that she was wearing lace topped stockings. There was an undeniable spring to her step as she tossed the purse strap over her shoulder. It was pretty obvious that someone was going to get very lucky shortly.

My heart was pounding and my head felt like it might explode.

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I imagined how the scenario might unfold. Once inside the hotel she would crosses the lobby and heads for the elevator, a room number burned in her brain, her stomach doing little butterflies from the giddiness of anticipation. At her destination floor she struts down the corridor ticking off the numbers until she reaches the right one, then gently knockss.

It opens to reveal a tall well built man ten years younger but with tinges of grey at the temples wearing dark khaki slacks and a black polo shirt. He draws her into his arms and they kiss standing in the doorway like that, no shame that anyone might chance upon them doing so. As she stretches upward to wrap her arms around his neck her hemline rises at the rear displaying the lace stocking tops and an inch of bare thigh beyond.

They close the door.

Inside the room they continue the embrace. His hands are all over her, squeezing her asscheeks through the pleated fabric of her skirt, her breasts through the thin material of her white blouse and the black lace cups that coddle them. Those hands continue to wander, fingertips grazing the lace at the top of the sheer black stockings then drifting under the hem of the skirt to find her asscheeks, smooth and bare, no panties to impede his contact with her supple silky skin. He grasps a cheek in each of his hands, squeezing gently but firmly, fingers manipulating the soft flesh like a baker handling dough.

She moans ever so slightly, that meek sound of surrender that assures a man that she is fully under his spell and he is in control. Her body belongs to him at this point, to do whatever he may want to with, use as he wishes. Grinding her torso against his waist and crotch she is totally lost in the passion of the moment. She wants to be taken, to satisify him and be satisfied herself in the process.

His hands continue to explore her body, his fingers now wandering between her thighs grazing her labia in the process, causing her to shudder slightly. She is glad that she elected at the last moment to eliminate the black thong panties and leave her sex fully accessible to him like this. Probing more urgently his fingers touch her perineum and then her lips. They are moist already, not yet distended, her sex a swollen piece of succulent fruit, nectar seeping from its narrow slit.

He turns her around so that she can gyrate her ass against his crotch. His hands are now on her front, the left still fondling a breast and the fingers of the right stroking her soft kitty fur. She has trimmed it much shorter than she normally would. Perhaps someday she will shave it all away as her husband once had urged her to. She had caught a glimpse of Margo changing into her bikini the other day while they were all out sailing and she had to admit it was oddly sensual to see a grown woman with no hair down there. Today it was merely shorter than the norm, a few fractions of an inch in length rather than twice that.

His fingers roam lower as she continues grinding away. He finds her clithood and teases her there for a moment before moving further until his middle digit is poised right at her vaginal entrance.

She whimpers again as he slips it inside her. Yes, that feels so good to be held like this and to have his finger inside her. He is kissing the back of her neck and she swoons from all the contact. Her pussy, her breasts, her neck, her entire body seems to be afire.

With his left hand he awkwardly unfastens the buttons of her blouse. She pries herself from his embrace so that she can shrug it off her shoulders then tugs at the side zipper of the pleated skirt so that it may also wind up on the floor. Standing there wearing only the bra, stockings, and high heels she allows him the opportunity to savor the deliciousness of her exquisite body.

Approaching him she tugs upward on the polo shirt, urging it over his head and off. He is fit and firm, not overtly muscular but definitely a fine example of mature male. There is a sparse carpet of hair across his chest with hints of grey in it. She runs her fingers through it and down to his waist. He is not wearing a belt so it is but a clasp and a zipper that keeps his slacks on him. She dispenses of both and soon the pants are at his ankles. As he steps out of them she gropes at the bulge in his boxer briefs. They cling to his form in an intoxicating manner but she wants desperately to free the snake inside them so that she may play with it.

Tugging at the waistband with one hand she reaches inside and grasps it. Warm and rigid, it twitches slightly as her fingers wrap around the veiny shaft. Fondling it gently she feels it grow even more engorged. She must have it.

Sinking to her knees she pulls the garment down his legs then holds it as he steps clear. Her face is level with his crotch and the serpent sticks straight out at her, taunting her, begging for her attention. It is a truly magnificent example of manhood, eight or nine inches in length and a girth proportionately oversized. With one hand she again grasps the shaft, with the other she cups his testicles.

He is slightly hairy but well groomed. There is the slightest touch of muskiness that taunts her even more. She gently kisses the snake, first on the shaft, then the fat mushroom shaped head, then, lifting the shaft out of the way, on the taught sac underneath.

She licks the sac then with another dozen slurps of her tongue negotiates her way back to the head where she daintily daubs away the glistening drop of pre-cum that has formed there. She parts her lips and opens wide. She draws first the head and then as much of the shaft into her mouth as she can.

Slowly she works back and forth, up and down the thick swollen rod, lovingly servicing it, focused on providing as much pleasure with her mouth as she possibly can. He responds with a subtle rocking motion in his hips. His hands rest at the back of her head, urging her gently on as facefucks her.

It continues on and on. At times he pulls it out of her mouth and she watches intently as it quivers and twitches, expecting to see it erupt, feel the blast of hot semen hit her face, but no, not this man. He waits until the urge subsides then offers it back to her so that she may torment him further.

Finally he has had enough and witholds his tool. He draws her to her feet and embraces her before suggesting that she lie on the bed with her back down. After pausing to remove the black lace bra she complies, perching right at the edge then lying backward with her stocking clad legs splayed wide apart over the side and stiletto heeled feet on the floor. Her sex is enticingly on display but now the fruit has opened, both her outer and inner lips are distended and appearing more like the petals of an exotic fleshy blossom.

It is his turn to kneel and he does so between her legs bringing his face to mere inches from her most private of places. She can feel his hot breath between her thighs and she knows she must be glisteningly moist. Proud that at her age she can get wet naturally like this she waits for his contact knowing that he is just staring at her down there, maybe playing with himself as he does, but essentially he is inspecting her pussy.

Then it happens, he kisses her there and she can actually feel the subtle gush as her glands release a seepage of juices, not a torrent but a release she can nevertheless detect. She wonders if he can as well.

He kisses her there again and this time his tongue is involved as well. It then takes over, becoming the primary point of contact, exploring her, probing, running up and down each side of her labia, tickling her perineum and then plowing a furrow between her lips. It lingers at the entrance to her lovehole before plunging as deeply as possible which unfortunately is not deep enough to be anything more than a good teasing.

Then he focuses his attention for a while on her clitoris. Her little hood is pushed aside and the tip of his tongue finds her tiny firm knob then begins a slow sensual dance across it. Bit by bit he builds momentum and pressure but pauses occasionally, allowing the sensations to subside slightly, taking his time and keeping her right on the edge. He uses his entire mouth to engulf her sex, sucking her now fully distended outer labia in and swishing them around. She loves the fact that a portion of her can be inside him like that.

His tongue resumes its focus on her clit, this time in earnest. He does not back off again, instead assaulting it, pressing upon it and wriggling away like a human vibrator, the very tip constantly in contact. She feels another gush of fluids release as the swell of an orgasm builds, stronger and stronger and her thighs involuntarily squeeze closed around his head.

Still he drives on. Her entire pelvic zone is swept up in the building sensations, a rising tsunami of gushy, hot, trembling aliveness and suddenly it crests, an overwhelming and intense rush that runs through every cell in her body. She shrieks in ecstasy and pushes his face from her crotch. She can take no more.

As she lies there twitching in the aftermath her legs clamped shut and her arms wrapped tightly around herself he marvels at how incredible she looks, almost naked. He wants to touch her, hold her, but he has learned by now that she needs to be left alone for a few minutes. They have not said a word since she walked through the door and he is tempted to break the silence but doesn't quite know what to say.

Gradually she relaxes and her legs begin to part, at first only a bit, but then wider and wider until they are splayed wide open, her pussy now ready for more. She slides from the bed to the floor and kneels with her forearms and elbows on the carpet, her ass up in the air, her fruit protruding from between her thighs and glisteningly. She is dying to feel his member inside her, to have her vaginal cavity occupied by the rigid shaft so magnificently erect as he stands there with his hands on his hips ready for action.

Straddling her he crouches and with one hand guides the head of his member toward her fruit. Once it is positioned at her slit he eases it forward. It takes a moment or two to precisely locate the opening but once he does he pushes forward further, beginning to enter her.

She gasps as the first inch or two of his manhood slides into her. It's easy to forget just how big he is, how he stretches her in the beginning. But he takes his time, pushing gradually until he bottoms out against her cervix. She groans with pleasure, a signal to him that it's now alright to commence what they both crave - the in and out motion and the sensation of his cockhead scraping against the walls of her uterus as well as the impact of it slamming home with each thrust back in.