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June gloom, we call it. Here in Southern California, in late May and June a morning cloud layer starts our days with a gray-tinged overcast. The air is cool, the sun invisible, but everybody knows this marine layer will burn off around noon or so. The hazy midday glare soon fades to a warm, bright welcome home for those of us who work in offices until late afternoon.

I am in the habit of enjoying my Friday afternoons, leaving my office around 3 or so to get in a round of golf at my country club. Usually I’ll just get in 9 holes, have a couple drinks with my buddies, and then head home for dinner.

June 11, 2004, was different. Early that Friday morning, the Santa Ana winds began to breeze through the canyons of the Santa Monica Mountains near my home. I woke up to a brightly glowing sun and crystal blue sky. The ocean view was stunning from my bedroom window. What a day to have to work. But to work I did have to go.

At 37, I had a secure place in my firm. I felt that everyone respected me for my diligence, and nobody begrudged me the occasional day off. This particular morning, however, I definitely had commitments I couldn’t avoid. So I put on my uniform (suit and tie) and was heading off to obligationville.

Before I left, as I knotted my tie, I stared at my wife, who was still sleeping peacefully in our large bed, the sun shining across her body covered only in a sheet. 27 years old, she could have been a dancer or an athlete. Her 5’10” frame was slender, even muscular. She had no interest in weights, but somehow just the running and her Pilates work kept her looking like a jock. Her hips were still girlishly slim and her breasts were firm, sitting high with puffy areolas and nipples that hardened with the slightest provocation. Her beautiful face, with penetrating green eyes, and her vibrant, blonde hair completed a package that made me hard whenever I thought of her.

Before I headed off to the day’s battles, I bent down to gently kiss her full, soft lips, imagining briefly that this was our cave and that I was headed off to hunt for food to survive. As our lips touched, she stirred slightly, and her long arms snaked around my back. She moaned in that enticing tone that I hadn’t heard in far too long.

“Stay home today, baby,” she whispered, as if someone might hear her plaintive request.

“I’m sorry, I really can’t,” I said, with genuine sadness. It wasn’t often that Sara had morning glory sex on her mind, and here I had to miss it. In fact, I had been so busy lately that we hadn’t had any sex for quite awhile. I wasn’t sure of the exact reasons, but we just hadn’t been clicking. I had been occupied and stressed when she was interested, and then on the few occasions when I wanted to, she seemed irritable or disinterested. This was just another of those mis-timed moments, where only one of us was ready for a two-person sport.

Sara’s sleepy eyes stared back at me, almost breaking my will. Her eyes, without makeup, had that slightly reddened, raw, natural sexiness that I love. Women’s eyes can look great with makeup, but that morning au naturel look is sexier than any mascara. God, she looked hot. I could even see her nipples forming little bumps in the smooth, white sheet that covered her body. I almost tore it off to attack her, but the adult in me ultimately won control. I had five people who were already on their way to my office to meet me, and I had to leave right then to get to the meeting on time.

“Let’s go out tonight, okay?” I asked, smiling. “I have to go to a meeting on the Oakmark case, and you know how important that is.”

“Yes, and I know how important I used to be,” she said with mock sadness. We both knew she was only kidding in the way that we joked with each other. “I guess I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands,” she said softly with a sly smile. The image of her masturbating jumped into my mind, and I felt blood rush to my penis. I stood up to avoid collapsing on her in a lustful frenzy, and reluctantly made my way to work, feeling very conflicted as I said goodbye.

By noon, staring out of my window over the Santa Monica coastline, I had done as much as I could that day. My motivation was sapped, so I decided to leave. I figured that if I left immediately, I could get in 18 holes, and still have enough time to make it home early. I could then proceed with my carnal attack on Sara, and afterward, we could go out for a relaxed dinner. I decided to stop by home first to tell her my plan. It was about 12:30 when I walked in the door.

Our two-story living room has a spiral staircase leading to the second floor where the master bedroom takes up a good share of the space. As I padded up the carpeted stairs, I heard a sound that I couldn’t clearly identify. When I got closer to the bedroom, I heard strange rustling. Maybe Sara was changing the sheets. Hearing the sounds again, I was suddenly excited by the thought that just maybe I might catch her masturbating. The thought made my cock swell to a hard rod instantly. Maybe I would skip the golf game and go directly to uninhibited sex. As I imagined her eagerly climbing toward orgasm on our bed, I stepped more slowly and quietly down the hall, so I could watch her for a while, nasty voyeur that I must be.

When I was only a few steps from the bedroom, I heard more noise. Moans, to be precise, breathy, sexy moans, quiet yet fervent. God, she really was masturbating! I know how she sounds when she falls completely into a sexual frenzy, like an animal, human restraint and social limits forgotten in the heated moment.

Then, suddenly, my ears burned with another sound, another moan. It definitely did not come from Sara. It was a low, masculine voice, a feral, guttural grunt that stabbed me in my belly. It was a primeval groan of sexual abandonment. I was so startled that I froze just before I got to the bedroom door. I stood and listened. More moans and grunts--definitely two voices, hers and his, whoever he was. I know -- I should have been furious. I should have charged in and confronted the both of them, screaming madly, and maybe attacking this guy who was in pari delicto with my wife of seven years. I can’t explain why I didn’t attack them with justifiable rage. It could have been because my mind had already shifted to the sex mode before I got there; or because I was just too stunned, like a deer in the headlights, unable to act; or because I secretly wanted this, but as my hand felt my steel-hard erection, I realized I had already decided what I would do–or more exactly, what I would not do.

As I peered around the door jam into our large bedroom, my eyes were flooded with an overwhelming image. There, at the foot of the bed, two lovers embraced, kissing with bodies and hands struggling in a primal mating dance. My wife’s sheer, beach cover-up was open, her sexiest bikini still concealing the objects of any man’s desires. The man had his shirt completely unbuttoned so his bare chest was against Sara’s soft, tan skin as they kissed. And kiss they did, heads twisting as their mouths locked together. Though I could not see for certain, I knew that their tongues were dueling, dancing in that first truly sexual act of lovers.

As they kissed, their hands moved freely, lovingly on each other. Her right hand reached around and pulled at the lower part of his jeans-clad ass, right between his cheeks. Her left palm was spread widely, massaging below his belt. I knew she was pressing and trying to bend his covered penis, enjoying the feel and knowing that it drew him further into her sensual nest. The way her hand flexed and clenched made me sure that her eager fingertips were extending to and massaging his balls. For his part, his left hand rested gently on her lower back, appearing to gently tickle her skin. His right hand, the one nearest me, was on her left breast; his thumb rubbing across the erect nipple poking through the thin material of her bathing suit. God, she has great nipples. They sprout rigidly with the slightest stimulation, and she loves to have them touched or kissed. I have brought her to many orgasms just by tonguing those fleshy, firm nubs.

This guy was not rushing things, and seemed to somehow be more patient, more relaxed, than I could ever be. By this point, I would have torn off her clothes and jumped on her for a frenzied session leading to a quick climax. I’m not selfish, by the way. I would always make every effort to bring Sara off also, and I usually succeeded. If I let go before she did, afterwards I would lick her nipples, or massage her clit until she came, usually with a quiet, flexing breathy series of groans. I love to see her cum. One time, I even went down on her after I climaxed. My cum mixed with hers turned out to be an unbelievably erotic elixir. I loved it, and so did she, cumming more violently than I can remember. I myself got hard again during my creampie pleasure, and we fucked once more. That time she went over the edge right when I did, one of the few times we have shared an orgasm. This guy was in control; it was Sara who was obviously excited to an extreme. She pulled off his shirt, revealing a broad, muscular chest and arms. He obviously worked out regularly. He had to be 6’4” or so, and his dark hair was long enough for my wife to tug on it as they kissed. His body was almost hairless (I wondered if he waxed it like many bodybuilders). Sara’s hands, when they weren’t below his waist, caressed his smooth chest and back lovingly. He continued to strum her nipple through her suit, never trying to disrobe her himself.

Then Sara had both her hands behind him, one on each cheek, pulling him against her as she thrust her pelvis into his rhythmically. I knew she was trying to push her clit against his hard cock, and she was probably succeeding judging by her whispered groans. In fact, she broke their kiss and her head fell back in abandon, her long blond hair swaying with her movements. She circled her pelvis against him as his thumb bounced on her nipple. She was on tiptoe, her muscled runner’s legs straining to push her pubis against his cock. Suddenly she twitched and a loud “ahhh” burst from her open mouth. God, she was cumming, cumming like I had never seen, her body thrashing and twisting, almost as if a seizure had struck her. Staccato, animal grunts accompanied her long climax.

His hand had left her breast, and now both of his hands supported her body as she began to sag with relaxation. He just stared at her silently as her arms glided from up his buttocks, her long fingernails scraping his back up to his shoulders. Now that she had her orgasm, would a return to reality cause her to send him away? Would she preserve some part of herself for me? That was probably too much to expect. Sara is too loving and unselfish, traits that are usually good. Here, I knew she would not be able to send him away without his own pleasure.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, to my shock. He was not even trying to encourage her to do any more with him. Was he perhaps gay, just her to bring pleasure to a woman, just to see if he could? I imagined that maybe he was a hairdresser who just liked the company of women, but could only gratify his own desires with men. He was so gentle and almost passive that I had to wonder.

“Do you want to go?” Sara asked, with a sly smile as she still was catching her breath. As she asked, her hand was playing with his belt buckle.

“God, no,” he said, suddenly lifting her again to kiss her deeply, his huge arms surrounding her, making my tall wife look somehow small and weak next to him. She began wrestling with his belt buckle and then his zipper, pushing his jeans down. It looked like his hard cock held his underwear up as his jeans fell to the floor and he stepped out of them. And those underwear appeared to be fully loaded.

Sara broke the kiss and slid down his body, dropping to her knees in front of him. His right hand was in her hair, partially blocking my view as her face pressed against his underwear. Her mouth, nose and cheeks rubbed seductively against the package in his shorts. Then her hands went to his hips and pulled at the waistband of his shorts. The action forced his cock downward, causing it to tent out as she lowered the briefs. Jesus, I thought, is that all him?

Then Sara’s hands slid forward on his briefs and pulled out, instantly freeing his engorged weapon, which sprang up forcefully toward his belly. God, it was huge. Not just long, but thick. Unlike me, he was uncut, and the fleshy shaft led to a large, polished head that looked like a plum. His cock was almost tan, like the rest of his powerful body, but the shiny tip was a rosy red color, brightly drawing attention to itself.

“Oh, my,” was all my wife could say. “What would you have done if I had said yes when you asked me if I wanted you to go?”

He just chuckled. We all knew that his rhetorical question had been just a part of the sexual dance, a way of keeping the excitement going.

Then my wife’s right hand gripped the mighty tool that pointed skyward. She pulled it down until it pointed straight out-straight at her face. She literally licked her lips, moistening them after the dryness brought by her orgasmic breathing. His cock was so thick that her fingers did not reach around it as she began to pump it slowly. His foreskin slipped over the ridge of his cockhead with each pump of her hand, and I wasn’t sure but I thought I saw a drop of clear liquid form at the tip. A moment later, any doubt disappeared as a long string of the fluid dripped to the floor. The whole scene was backlit by sunlight from our window, the soft glow making the lovers look like fantasy figures in a quality porn flick. From her knees, my wife looked from his cock to his face longingly, as he gazed back at her. Both his hands rested on his hips.

It was then that I realized that I, standing at the doorway, peering into the bedroom, could easily be seen if either of them was distracted enough to look in my direction. Clearly, they were focused enough not to have noticed so far. By this point, I was so aroused that I cared little about the risk that I might be discovered. I had really lost control. Not only did I feel no anger, the core of jealousy I felt only fueled the tremendous sexual heat in my cock. I would risk anything to see this to the end. Strangely, what I most wanted was to see him cum, to see my wife draw the sperm of another man from deep in his body, to know that his seed was pulsing deeply into her womb.

She wanted to suck him, that was clear. Her now wet lips touched the slippery tip of his thick sword in a gentle kiss, as if she was saying hello to a good friend. Now the quiet man groaned. He was no longer so completely in control. She looked up at him while her lips swirled around the head of his cock lovingly. His chin lifted as his face tilted toward the high ceiling of the love nest my wife and I had shared so many times. He groaned again, even louder, as Sara’s tongue thrust out and touched the leaking aperture from which his seed would soon burst forth. Next her tongue spread flatly below the head of his cock, massaging the frenulum, almost strumming it like a guitar string. But the sound came not from the strumming but from his throat as his hands jerked from their confident positions on his hips to grasp Sara’s head and her tousled blonde hair.

Then Sara opened her mouth wide to encompass the massive head of the monster she intended to conquer. She had always struggled to get her lips around my cock, and seldom wanted to try, saying I was too big and that she didn’t really enjoy the subservient role of cocksucker. Now she eagerly enveloped a cock that was clearly bigger than mine. I could see she was not just doing this for his pleasure; she was turned on by it herself. She was taking control over this man who had been in complete control until now. And he was accepting her domination as she controlled the pace, indeed loving the power reversal. She drew her mouth away from him and with one hand hefted his balls, which I now saw were also large, even compared to that broad scepter she still gripped in the other hand. The weighty orbs were massive in her hand, and she squeezed them gently, then more firmly as he moaned. She responded with a throaty laugh of exultation.

“Please suck me,” he pleaded in a soft voice.

“Suck what?” she asked playfully.

“Here,” he pointed.

“What’s that, little boy?”

“You know. Please.” “Tell me what you want. I want you to say it.”

“Suck my cock. Please.”

Her mouth opened widely and she brought her lips around him. I could see her lips inching down his cock, like she was climbing a thick rope, step by small step. She couldn’t get it all, but I was amazed at how far down she went on the long truncheon, her head moving slightly all the way. I knew her tongue was fluttering the whole time.

“Oh, Goddamn! Fuck!” he shouted as his cock sunk into her flexing throat.

She slid her lips back off him and laughed again.

“You didn’t think I could do that, did you,” she said breathily.

“Nobody ever has,” he said, now looking down at her again.

“I didn’t think I could do it either. And I never have before.”

I winced a bit with the truth of that admission. Her few attempts at giving me a blowjob had been very delicate affairs, never anything close to taking me deep into her throat as she had just done with Mr. Clean here.

Before I could think any more about that, she was sucking his cock again, taking it deep into her throat, deeper even than the first time, with more ease. If possible, she was even more eager, as if she were competing in some blowjob contest. He grabbed her hair, holding it tight but not pulling or forcing her at all. It was if her hair was the handle grip on some thrill ride and he needed to hold on to keep from falling. Soon his hips started to flex, then to thrust, almost involuntarily.

“No, baby, no pushee,” she said, pressing her palm against his pubic mound as she pulled her mouth off him. He said nothing, and just kept breathing loudly, still flexing his hips, his rampant erection throbbing in the cool air, jutting proudly toward the sky.

She gripped his thick tube again and pulled it down toward her glistening lips. As her tongue stretched out to touch him, he suddenly thrust his cock forward, bumping the thick pole firmly against her wet tongue and lips. “What’s the matter, baby, didn’t you hear me? You need to control yourself. You don’t want to hurt me now, do you?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I’ll try not to do that again.”

“Here, let’s get in bed. You lie on your back.”

He walked to the bed and lay down on it. I was facing the foot of the bed, and Sara now had her back to me. He was looking at her, and would only have had to look away a little bit to see my face peering through the doorway. But his attention, naturally, was focused intently on her as she began removing the few clothes on her body.

Facing him, she slowly removed the sheer cover-up (why do they call it a cover-up when it doesn’t really cover any thing, I wondered). The skimpy bikini she then began to remove was one I had purchased with her while on a vacation in Hawaii. Instead of the blue, tropical print that covered her breasts and pussy in front, all I saw were the strings in back--the bra, the waistband, the g-string stretched between her tight cheeks. She had never worn this revealing outfit except by our pool at home.

Two worshiping men watched, he inches from her and I peering secretly from behind the door, as she slowly untied the string of the bra at the front and let it fall from her shoulders to the floor. Her beautifully tan back always excited me. She was long, lean, and her muscular back was uniquely erotic in a savage kind of way. I knew without seeing that the nipples on her small, firm breasts were pointing deliciously at Mr. Nice Guy, who was laying in my spot on the bed, naked with his oversized sex organ dripping juice into his navel. Sara then untied the knot on the right side of her waist and dropped the remaining vestige of modesty to our bedroom carpet. She stood for a few seconds as they stared at each other. Then she climbed onto our marital bed, and crawled across it to join this stranger.