Note: This short story is a little different to usual things that I write about but it still contains themes of dominance that may not be to everyone's taste.
By way of background I should tell you that Jane and I have remained lifelong friends ever since we were seated next to one another in school. She has been married for some years and a continent divides us but we still keep in touch regularly.
Earlier this year I had an opportunity to spend a couple of days alone with her whilst her husband was at a conference during which time we did have to resort to her storm shelter.
During that enforced confinement she told that she envied me. She confided that she was happy but she described her marriage as "routinely comfortable". I suggested to her that one way to live out her fantasies might be to put them into writing.
She professed to have no writing ability, which is not strictly true, but it prompted me to confess to her that I do write.
She immediately wanted to read something I had written and her excitement when she did so was almost overwhelming. She was a little angry that I had never told her before but, after that, she outlined her own special fantasy.
Darling Jane, this is the result. As we discussed, it is written from the husband's point of view; it is embellished but I hope I have done it justice. You must let me know if you do decide to let him read it and, if all else fails, my other offer will always be open to you...
The Wind of Change
Chapter One
It started with the first hurricane warning of the season. Our neighbour, Vanessa, had lost her husband less than six months previously and inviting her to join us seemed only natural.
Our storm shelter, which doubled as a den, was well appointed and with our daughter away at university we had a spare cot.
In truth, Martin's death had brought me up with a jolt. At just thirty-nine he was two years younger than me and a lot fitter. You just do not expect a guy like that to succumb to a major coronary.
Vanessa took it better than we all feared and, if anything, she seemed to come out of it with a renewed confidence. She was a woman who, in her late thirties, could still turn heads in the street and I noticed how even the younger guys were intrigued by her.
She arrived around nine, armed with a bottle of wine, and my wife, Jane, joked that it was like a pyjama party. All three of us were sporting tee shirts and jogging pants but I could not help but notice that Vanessa had eschewed a bra. As we sat drinking and laughing my eyes flitted to her chest with a guilty frequency.
She was not quite as well endowed as Jane but her breasts seemed amazingly firm and her nipples had an arousing uplift. By contrast she was just a little heavy in the rear but, to my mind, that just made her even more attractive. When she tucked up her legs onto the sofa I felt a familiar stirring.
The plain fact was that, after twenty years of marriage, things were still good between Jane and I but there had been occasions recently when I had struggled to come up to the mark.
After an hour or so the wind began to get up and we retired to bed. We had a double and Vanessa had the single which was afforded some privacy but the simple expedient of pulling across a hospital style curtain.
Normally we would kiss goodnight and settle ourselves but tonight, for the first time in a long while, I prolonged it and kept our mouths gently pressed together. I sensed her surprise and the more so when I worked my hand under her shirt to find its way to her breast.
She froze for a second or two, no doubt conscious of Vanessa just feet away, but I could already feel her nipple responding to my fingertips. Seizing the initiative I began to tug her shirt up over her head even though I could see her mouthing the word 'No!'
Ignoring her entreaty I took her engorged nipple between my lips and, at the same time, I pushed my hand down inside her track bottoms.
I closed my fingers around the familiar contours of her sex and, to my surprise, I found that she was already becoming aroused.
At that point she put both hands on my shoulders and held me still before she put a finger to her lips and silently shushed me. In the ensuing stillness we could both hear Vanessa's shallow, undisturbed, breathing.
Conspiratorially, she eased herself out of her track bottoms and I needed no encouragement to do the same. Within seconds we were both naked and I reapplied myself to her breasts.
Of late I had needed some encouragement to prime myself but now I spontaneously developed a fierce erection. Jane would have been appalled if she had known that I was, at that moment, fantasising about Vanessa but it was undeniably the case.
With indecent haste I eased myself between her legs and, even though I could tell that she was not entirely ready, I pressed home.
Her hand found my hip signalling me to slow down but I felt a selfish need. Worryingly, I had, once or twice recently, wilted before I had even managed to come but there was no danger of that now.
Jane seemed to resign herself as she closed her eyes and lay back allowing me to pound at her with unaccustomed vigour.
In something less than a minute I felt myself on the brink but then my heart quite literally skipped a beat. I felt the pressure of a hand at the small of my back and then I felt my balls being cupped.
There was no doubting who it was and I frantically looked down at Jane who, with her eyes closed, seemed totally oblivious.
I remained tensed, rooted deep inside, whilst a knowing fingertip teased my perineum.
It was as though a switch had been thrown. I instantly came off the boil but my erection showed no signs of abating. In fact, the idea of Vanessa having hold of me in this way only served to pump me up even further.
After a few seconds her finger slipped away and, almost instinctively, I began to work my hips once more but this time my eagerness was tempered by the warm presence at my back. Vanessa leaned her weight into me dictating a slower pace which drew a dreamy smile of appreciation from Jane.
The urge to look back over my shoulder was almost irresistible but I did not want to break the spell. I could feel that she was naked and the conjured image had me almost breathless.