Are You a Wife?

I currently live alone with my son. Or I should say with my son and the horde of friends he has wandering through. I'll be glad when he finally decides to fly the nest and get his own place. The peace and quiet will be wonderful. I can see his point, of course. Why move out and get a rental when he can live at home for free and squirrel his money away saving for a decent deposit on his own house. I have to give him credit for that, he's a determined saver and has already built up a nice little nest egg.

I'd been putting in some overtime at work one Saturday, fixing up a priority order that the customer simply had to have first thing Monday, and he was willing to pay a bonus to make sure he got it. By noon the truck was loaded and the driver on his way. Driving through Sunday wasn't going to worry old Mike and that truck would be outside our customers place when they opened Monday morning.

Happy with a good job well done I had some lunch at a nearby bar and then headed home, arriving there in the middle of the afternoon and the middle of a party that my son was apparently hosting. I was just a little irritated about the party. One would think that as the putative owner of the property I'd at least have been advised that the party would be taking place. The trouble was that I didn't dare comment on it. If I did my son would probably remind me that he'd got my permission months ago and that I'd just forgotten.

Actually, now that I thought about it I recall him saying something about a party. I just hadn't realised that I'd be holding it. That'll teach me to listen more closely. I wandered down to my room and changed into more casual clothes.

I strolled back to the kitchen and looked out the window at the party. It was basically an outdoors party and the weather was good so I suspected that the party would stay out there. Did I want to go out there and join the party? I decided not. The average age of the party-goers looked to be in the early twenties and I was almost double that. I'd pass.

I opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, deciding I'd go and see if there was a game on I could watch. That's when this sweet young thing came traipsing into the kitchen. A very sweet young thing. She was blonde, with cherry red lips, white teeth gleaming in a happy smile, hazel eyes, a very nice bust, slender waist, and what they call child-bearing hips. She was dressed in slacks and a light semi-transparent top that revealed a hint of a lacy half-bra supporting that nice bust, making me wonder what it would be like if my hands were supporting her breasts. Her smile changed to a slight frown when she saw me.

* * *

We'd fronted up at a party that Michael was holding. I wasn't sure what it was for but George wanted to go and insisted we buy a nice present. What was the present for? The party of course. Wedding, engagement, birthday, divorce, baby-shower, I asked, needing to know what sort of present to get. Dunno, it's just a party. Is the present for a man or a woman? Yeah, of course.

Men can be so helpful at times. I rang Suzy to find if she was going and she was. An engagement party for Michelle and Roger, she told me. Michael is holding it as he's got a decent yard.

We arrived at the party and found everyone in the backyard. Michael had a barbecue going and there was beer on tap which pleased the men. There was also some nice wine available that pleased most of the girls. There were additional eats in the kitchen that would be brought out once the things on the temporary tables had been sufficiently demolished.

Eventually I suspected that the time to replenish the things on the tables had just about arrived. I decided to take a look in the kitchen and see what was there that I could fetch. I drifted off and slipped in the back door. There were several bowls of chips and things on the table. Just the sort of stuff that the boys would want to nibble on as they drank. I was about to take a couple of bowls out when it registered that there was an intruder in the kitchen.

This guy was a great slab of beef. I wondered who he was. Not the missing parent because Michael, while tall, was slender and handsome. Slender and handsome were two things this man was not. He probably had to turn sidewards to fit through doors and a glare from that face would scare a door into opening just to get out of his way. What was more, he was raiding the beer in the fridge and we'd been warned off that.

"Hey, Michael said not to touch the beer in the fridge," I told him firmly. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm glad Michael has some respect for my property," he said in a deep rumbling voice, "but I suspect he just warned you off so he would be able to pinch it later. As to who I am, I'm Martin, the owner of this establishment, the honourable sire of a degenerate son who drinks my beer. Who are you?"

"Oh. Hullo. I'm Angie."

"And who's Angie when she's home? Are you a wife, girlfriend, significant other, or an extra dragged in to make up numbers?"

"Um, I'm George's wife," I told him.

"George, George," he said thoughtfully. "Would that be George Newberry, the man with the muscles and the mouth? Ah, no disparagement intended."

"Yes, that's my George," I admitted. "While he may have some firm opinions about some things it doesn't mean he's a fool."

"I said no disparagement intended," he said reprovingly. "I actually agree with some of his opinions. Not all, but certainly some. I must say that I'm glad that you're married."

"You are? Why?"

I was feeling a little bit threatened for some reason. Without me realising it Martin had been moving closer and he now loomed over me. I'm a little on what they all the petite side and George made me feel comfortable and protected. Martin, without saying anything out of place, was make me feel uncomfortable and in considerable danger.

"Why, you ask," he said, flashing me a startling smile that I felt all the way down to my groin. (No, I didn't. I was married.) "It's because unmarried ones can be so unpredictable around a man. Half of them act as though any man who smiles at them is going to ravish them on the spot. It can be a little disconcerting. Married women tend to understand that men have a little more self-control."

I was about to make a rather disparaging comment of my own about his sexist remark when I got a nasty shock. My slacks went, well, slack, I guess. Instead of hugging my waist and hips quite firmly they were loose, loose enough for a great paw to slide under the waist-band and under my panties, pushing between my legs and rubbing me very intimately. My eyes opened really wide when that happened, let me tell you.

"You take your hand off me," I said slowly and distinctly, wanting to be absolutely clear.

He sighed and obeyed, giving me a wink at the same time.

"What did you think you were doing?" I demanded, trying to do my slacks up again.

"What do you think I was doing?" he asked in return. "I was warming you up a little for the seduction. Or ravishment, if that's what you prefer. Really, you just said you're married. Why else would I do something like this?"

To my utter shock he did exactly the same thing again, hand sliding neatly under my panties and between my legs. Damn in all, I should have closed my legs and taken a step back as soon as he'd let go the first time.

"I told you to take your hand off me," I protested.

"I did," he protested. "This is a separate occurrence."

His hand was still there, rubbing me, turning up the heat.

"You know what I meant," I almost spat at him.

"Certainly. You wanted me to remove my hand because you weren't sure if you wanted me to touch you like that. Now you've had a chance to decide."

I was almost spluttering. I'd probably have been dancing on the spot in a temper but with his hand where it was that would not have been a good idea.

"Take your hand out of my pants," I managed to get out, absolutely livid because he was laughing at me.

Again he surprised me by doing it. He also winked at me again, damn him.

"If you try that again I'll, I'll. . ." I couldn't think of anything I could do that was bad enough.

"I quite understand," he said in a genial manner. "Now come along."

With that he started walking out of the kitchen, his hand pressing lightly against my back, urging me to move along with him.

"Why? Where are we going?" I demanded, confused.

"I'm dragging you down to my bedroom," he told me. "When we're there I'll bend you over the bed, pull your slacks and panties down properly, and ravish your unwilling body."

I promptly came to a dead stop. He took a step or two past me before he could help himself. He turned and looked at me.

"What's the problem?"

"Do you really think that I'm going to let you drag me down to your bedroom so you can rape me?" I demanded.

"Is that a trick question?" he asked. "I thought that was what I was doing?"

"But, but, you can't expect me to, to. . ." To what? I had no idea. Did he really think that I was going to march up to his bedroom and, and. . .

My mind was boggling at the concept.

"Yes, I can," he said quite calmly. "It'll be a good experience for you. Show you the sort of situations you should avoid in the future. Or not."

He reached for my arm, his hand just lightly cupping my elbow, a gentle pressure indicating that I should come along. Instead of turning and running in the other direction I found I was walking next to him, my mind seeming have gone into a stunned state.

He ushered me through a door and I did almost turn and bolt when I saw the size of the bed; king size and more from the look of it. My stomach was churning and I almost expected him to just push me onto the bed and jump on me. Instead of that he led me around to the side of the bed, patting it where he wanted me to bend over. The butterflies were breeding fast and I couldn't seem to help myself. I bent over the bed, twisting my head to look back at him, convinced that I had turned into an idiot.

"No, don't look back at me," he said. "Look there, instead."

I looked there, instead, and found myself looking at his dressing table, which had this huge mirror on it. I could see myself quite easily, and then I could see my bottom and legs as he pushed my slacks down. I was quivering with trepidation and he was pushing my top up. He paused to unclip my bra, then top and bra were pushed higher, my breasts spilling out and swinging below me.

His hand closed over my mound again and now he had free access and was making the most of it. Whether I liked it or not I was hot and wet and expectant, his fingers surprising gentle for a hand so large. I couldn't help but watch in the mirror as he touched me, trying to persuade myself that this was happening to someone else. Then I saw his trousers dropping away, followed by his shorts, and his cock was the same as the rest of him - big and solid.

I hastily turned my head away. I was not going to watch what he did with that. And he did nothing. I could feel him there behind me, his cock just touching me, the touch seeming to tremble slightly. I couldn't stand the suspense and I turned to look, immediately feeling appalled at what was threatening me.

My turning to look was apparently the signal he'd been waiting for. I felt an immediate increase in pressure and then he was pushing into me, my lips seemingly eager to accept him they parted so obligingly to let him past. Now it was a case of me being unable to tear my eyes away from what was happening.

I could see him sinking deeper and deeper, at the same time my passage was stretching and swelling, trying to accommodate the size of him. I wanted to scream but could only gasp, my whole body being taken over by this intruder. It seemed to take forever, going on and on, filling me until I thought something would have to give.

I gave a little groan when he finally settled deep inside me, ready for the next stage.

I watched as he leaned over me, the action seeming to press him home just that little bit more, while his hands came around and closed upon my breasts.

"How long," he asked in a teasing voice, "do you think you can just stay there without moving while I please you?"

"What? You're kidding?" Men don't want you to just lie there, do they?

"Five bucks says you don't last two minutes," he said.

I just gave him a nasty look via the mirror and didn't say anything. He grinned, winked, and started moving. He pulled back slowly and returned, still moving slowly. He did it again, and it would be easy to stay still if this was all he was going to do.

He was big and hard and hot and the feel of him sliding along my passage was just, just, well it just was. I could hear myself giving a little groan as I watched his cock pressed home, wanting to urge him on a little as I wanted something more. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Two minutes. Two minutes was nothing. I could wait those two minutes.

How do you time two minutes while you're being assaulted by a humongous cock? With difficulty, I assure you. I finally guessed the time was up, waited another minute, and then pushed to meet him with a groan of relief.

"Not bad," he said, "but you owe me five. Ninety seconds doesn't count."

That rotten swine. It had been two minutes. More than two, I just knew it. Not that I could prove it either way. At least he was moving more smartly now, driving in with some serious intentions.

Of course, there was nothing I could do but move with him now. His hands were rubbing my breasts, teasing and tantalising, while his cock was absolutely devastating my peace of mind.

Maybe time changed when things like this happened. Martin seemed to keep going for ages and he was reaching a point where I was going to climax. At the same time it felt as though my climax was rushing upon me too soon, that we'd barely started. Not that time made any difference. My climax exploded through me and I nearly bit my tongue trying not to scream.

* * *

I like wives and Angie proved to be an excellent example of one. I made a gentle pass at her and she started off full of maidenly objections but made no effort to leave. I followed up with another gentle pass, easing her along and into my bedroom. Once there her inhibitions melted like ice in hot water. I'd have had to beat her off with a stick and there was no way I was going to disappoint such a charming young lady.

Afterwards she slipped into the en suite and popped out again moments later, fresh as a daisy. She trotted off down to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of bowls of nibbles from the kitchen table, taking them out and placing them on the tables. Another couple of ladies came charging in and grabbed the rest of the bowls, nodding to acknowledge my presence, and carrying their loot back to the hungry horde.

I put a beer that seemed to have warmed up back in the fridge and extracted a cold one. There was a game I wanted to watch.