Second Wife Ch 08

I'd almost forgotten about Mary's promise to me, from our 3 am session of nasty the other night. But the moment I walked into the house and Mary met me at the door with a drink and a smile, dressed to maim, it all came back to me in a flash. Mary had promised to make our Friday night "date" something original. Sexually original. I had challenged my mundane-minded wife to come up with something entertaining. I honestly had low expectations of the event, but I was also determined to let her take her best shot without premature criticism. I wanted to see what she was made of, sexually speaking, when her brain was challenged.

Mary had gotten on her usual date-night make-up – the abbreviated version, since I'd given all of her high-dollar stuff to her sister. Her hair was attractively swept up. She was wearing a dark, somewhat flattering maternity outfit, bereft of the usual horrible bow around the neck that is supposed to "distract the eye" from the fact a woman is waddling around like a watermelon on legs. It was a dark blue dress that almost could have passed for a cocktail gown. I had no idea where or how she had acquired it, but work had kept me too busy to micromanage Mary's life the last few days. Work and the distraction of Dana. That now behind me, I wondered just what my wife had set up for me.

"I thought we'd start the evening with a couple of drinks," she said, smoothly, seductively, even. "Well, you'll have a couple of drinks – I'll have a virgin banana daiquiri, if you don't mind. I've been having a craving." I shrugged. I respected her, in a grudging sort of way, not to booze away her problems in favor of the baby's welfare. I always suspected she would make a good mom, which is one reason I married her, but it was nice to get some confirmation.

"Knock yourself out," I nodded, as I sipped my Jameson's. "What's on the agenda for the evening?"

"Drinks, then dinner, then dancing," she said, mischievously, as she grabbed her daiquiri. The way she said it made me think that she was feeling pretty proud of herself, although this was starting to sound a little lame. I shrugged – it was still early. I was still willing to be surprised.

"That sounds like fun," I said, with deliberate emphasis.

"Oh, it will be," she assured me. "Here, why don't you go take this upstairs – I've prepared a bath for you." We have a luxurious garden tub in our – my – master bathroom that doesn't get used nearly as often as I'd like. Let's be honest – a quick shower is usually more expedient. But I like a nice bubble bath as much as the next manly dude, so I grabbed my drink and followed her upstairs.

The tub was already steaming hot, a thin rill of bubbles skimming the surface. I stripped off and threw my work clothes around haphazardly, knowing the "maid" would take care of them later. I gingerly backed into the tub and settled into the almost-too-hot water with a beatific sigh. The issues that consumed me at the office seemed suddenly petty and ephemeral, as the heat worked into my muscles. Okay, she had me relaxing – I had to give her points for that.

"You don't mind if I hang out and . . . assist a little, do you?" she asked, sweetly. "Here, let me just get the television," she added, picking up the remote and clicking on the little flatscreen I watch the news by when I shave in the morning. Yeah, yeah, I know: a TV in the bathroom is the height of affluence and decadence. Sue me. I worked hard for that decadence.

What surprised me was the steamy lesbian porn flick that was already in progress. Three hot young ladies, a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, were cavorting around a dorm room and experimenting with cunnilingus. It was pretty hot. "Now you just sit and soak for a little while, Hon," Mary said with a smile of satisfaction, "I'm going to go get you a snack."

Okay, I was enjoying myself. Having your wife pick out your porn was interesting. Not what I would have gravitated towards myself – I like a lusty lesbian romp as much as the next guy, but I see it more as an appetizer than an entrée. Still, they were young, cute faux-coeds who seemed really into it . . . it would be rude of me not to fully appreciate it.

I sank back in the tub and activated the Jacuzzi jets, allowing whatever residual stress I had to wash away while Blondie licked Red's hot little box. They seemed very close, even for sorority sisters. Then Mary reappeared with an appetizer tray, finger foods of various sorts and set them down near my elbow.

"How's the movie?" she asked, casually, slipping behind me. Her hands were on my shoulders, then, and she was massaging them deliciously. Not as hard as I'd prefer, but she likely didn't have the strength in her hands to do that.

"Good," I said, absently. "Interesting choice."

"I looked around a little," she said. "I pulled up that Vidmail.com site you like and had them express deliver it. I thought they all looked pretty. And my husband should be able to look at pretty girls."

"I'm not complaining," I agreed, taking a sip of my whisky. "But I admit, I'm surprised. You never were much into porn before. Or lesbians."

"That was before you knew my shameful secret," she giggled. "Now that you know I went there, I don't have to pretend I don't like the thought anymore."

"So . . . you did like it?"

"I think so," she said, hesitantly. "I mean, I was coerced, I guess you could say, but after that – and the whole 'am I gay?' thing – I got into it. I liked it. It was different than going out with boys. And better, at the time," she admitted.

"Ever think about doing it again?" I ventured.

"Sure, why not?" she said, whimsically. "After the baby, maybe. I'm hardly dyke-bait right now."

"We'll see," I mused. "Any other shameful secrets I should be aware of? Anything else hindering the free flow of your libido? Now's the time," I added.

She actually considered. "Probably – Catholic girl, remember. But that was a biggie. Honestly, I've been carrying that piece of guilt around for years, secretly afraid it would come out somehow and ruin my marriage. And that contributed to me overcompensating by being a 'good girl' in the bedroom. Which led to me being unsatisfied. Which led me to being vulnerable. Which led me to . . . Tim."

"I see. So I have Carla Dawes to thank for your infidelity?"

She stared at me. "Would that work? Could I pin it on her? Because that would be a relief! You could make her your private whore, then, and I could go back to being your sweet, adoring wife." There was just enough of a trace of bitterness in her voice to make me stifle my snappy come-back. "It might be worth it to have to eat her goddamn pussy out all those times!" I couldn't help it – hearing my wife talk so plainly about being forced to perform cunnilingus was suddenly making my cock so hard it almost hurt. At that moment the movie showed Red grabbing the blonde and pushing her cute little face deeper into her twat as she came . . . loudly.

"Well, I can see the movie had its intended effect," she said, suddenly reaching into the water and into my lap, grabbing my hard cock. The suddenness of the move startled me, but her hand wasn't unwelcome. Quite the contrary. She began stroking it firmly, resolutely, far more aggressively than she usually was, even with long acquaintance. "That's it, that's my boy," she cooed into my ear. "All nice and hard."

I didn't say anything – this was her show. Mary's other hand stole down from my shoulders to pinch my nipple, while her right hand slowly beat me off. It had to be an awkward angle for her, but she persevered all the way through the porn flick's triumphant triangular conclusion. I sighed and leaned back again, and Mary's hand slowed. But it didn't stop.

"I've been thinking about this for the last two days," she whispered in my ear as the next two fresh young lesbians came on. "Thinking of all the nasty things I could do for you. Tried to get creative. I even asked around for ideas. This is the 'relaxation' portion of the evening. So while I'm stroking your big, thick cock for you, all you have to do is relax, watch those tender young sluts each eat other out, and let Mary take care of you."

I was wondering where she was going with this. She wanted to whack me off under water while I watched porn? I could do that, I decided. It was certainly novel. I did try to relax, letting the heat of the water and the whisky take the week's stresses away, while her delicate hand pumped the length of my shaft. Handjobs are terribly underrated – under the right conditions, they can be incredibly erotic. This was one of those times.

Mary shifted position around to the side of the tub, but her hand never left my dick unattended. She kept up the stroking insistently, efficiently, rubbing the palm of her hand over the tip and causing me to writhe exquisitely in the water, while two cheerleaders compared bikini lines. Sooner than I expected I got lost in the moment, resigning myself to the feel of Mary's firm hand on my tiller. I was getting dangerously close to exploding, and mentioned it.

"Oh, wouldn't want you to soil your bathwater," she cooed. "Stand up!"

I did, lightly splashing her in the process. She didn't notice. She was staring at my hard cock hungrily, like she was having a craving. Her hand was still on it, but she turned me to face her more fully without obscuring my view of the sex kittens. While I stared, enrapt, I felt her tongue tease the head of my cock while she stroked it, quick little licks like a hummingbird. She never took it directly into her mouth, but she did add a little lotion soap to her stroking hand while she licked the tip. That was enough – the slippery feel took me over the edge, and before I could stop it I pumped a thicker than average wad of sperm across her lips and chin.

"That's my boy," she cooed, excitedly. "There! Now you won't be all wound up when we go out to eat," she said, good-naturedly.

"Yeah, I am pretty hungry," I agreed with a wholehearted post-orgasmic sigh. "And this beat the hell out of hitting the gym or something. Nice."

"Oh, we aren't done yet," she said, licking the spooge from her fingers daintily. "Your clothes are laid out on the bed. The car will be here to pick us up in half-an-hour for dinner."

"Car?"

"Rented a limo," she smirked. "Hope you don't mind? You're paying for it."

"It might be fun," I admitted. And that meant I didn't have to drive.

"I hope so," she said, smiling. "I'll be downstairs, waiting for you."

Twenty minutes later I joined her, dressed in a nice blazer and shirt, no tie combo. She had wiped the excess spooge from her face and restored her makeup, and she made me another drink. Mary's a good bartender. I was starting to feel a buzz when the limo pulled up.

"Where to first?" I asked, intrigued.

"Something to eat . . ." she said, mysteriously. Apparently the limo driver knew where to go, because he just took off. I sat there and watched Mary curiously.

"What, no show on the way?" I quipped. I was joking. But Mary's smile faltered just a bit, and before I knew it she was pulling up the skirt to her dress – although it took a little effort to reach around her own tummy. She wasn't wearing any panties, I noticed, which was another departure. She started stroking the clean shaven labia and working up to her clitoris. This was nice – I was spent from my first orgasm of the evening, but Mary had apparently gotten worked up enough to grind one out for my viewing pleasure. Not bad.

I love watching Mary masturbate, of course – I mean, what man wouldn't want to watch a woman jill off? It's an invasion of her most private and intimate moments. And her pregnancy added a slightly depraved aspect about it that made it all the more special. She stuck to her usual fingerings, at first, but when I started to really pay attention she popped open her purse and brought out a small vibrator. It took her about two minutes to cum.

"How was that?" she asked, dazedly as she pushed one unruly shock of hair out of her face.

"Beautiful," I conceded. "You've always been gorgeous when you cum."

"I'm glad you think so, Bill," she purred. "We'll be at the restaurant any time, now, though, so let me put myself back together. Goodness," she remarked, looking into a mirror on the side of the limo, "I look like I've just been had!"

The river pulled into a small, poorly-lit restaurant way out in the middle of nowhere. The kind of place you meet your mistress at, perhaps, or to rub out your Mafia competition.

"Where are we?"

"This is Angelo's," she said. "Fine dining. It isn't even officially open yet, they're still in shake-down. But the chef is quite talented, from what I hear."

"Cuisine?"

"American and continental," she shrugged. "But he experiments, they say. I have it on highest authority that two months from now, no one will be able to get a table."

After the first course, I could see why. Mary got us a private table – there were four of them, each separated from the rest of the dining room by an ornate wooden screen and a multitude of potted plants. It was delightfully secluded – I'd have to remember this place for future first dates. Our cute little waitress, April, was terribly officious, but the food she brought was exquisite. And she didn't look half bad, either, even in her black-pants-tuxedo-shirt fine dining uniform. She had a very nice rack and wore a pretty bra to hold it up in. And of course my wife busted me checking her out. I expected the usual rebuke, even in light of our current relationship, but once again Mary surprised me.

"You think she's hot?" she asked, quietly.

I shrugged. "Oh, I'd do her, no doubt. She's got glorious boobs, under that shirt, I think. Perky. But she's a child – can't be more than twenty."

"She did have pretty boobs, didn't she?" she asked, smiling. "Big ones. Firm. Not like my saggy tits," she said, looking down at her continuously swelling boobs. "And she's old enough to sell wine, so she's at least twenty one."

"I'm unlikely to hit on the waitress when my wife is at the table," I said with dignity as I considered dessert. "Even under these strange circumstances, it would be rude."

"Oh, Bill, always the gentleman," she smiled serenely. "Even when you're fucking my asshole raw at three in the morning. That's one reason I love you, you know. You are always so certain of yourself, in the moment. And wise enough to know when that moment is."

"Thank you," I said, sincerely. "And this is all very nice, Mary. Not at all what I expected."

"The night is still young," she said, smiling devilishly. "And I have to pee. Back in a bit!" She gave me a peck on the cheek and lumbered off to the ladies room.

I sighed and decided that the Chocolate Addiction sounded . . . addicting. And it was my faux birthday. Might as well indulge. The handjob earlier had left me pleasantly sated for the moment, and the place was quiet, since they were still shaking down and had done no advertising. I was ready to place my order when our waitress returned with Mary right behind her. The waitress was looking uncomfortable.

"You ready for dessert?" Mary asked me, humming it a little. She seemed awfully pleased with herself.

"Yeah, I think I am," I decided. "Can we see the dessert tray? The Chocolate Addiction sounded interesting." The waitress nodded, and then looked at Mary, who nodded back. She scurried off while I looked at my wife curiously.

"What was that all about?" I asked.

"Just attending to some details," she said, amused.

Before I could get her to elaborate, our waitress came back with a tray and a guilty expression. I caught another exchange of glances between the two women, and then April sat the tray down on the table between us.

"Tonight's desserts feature a caramel apple pie ala mode with homemade French vanilla ice cream," she said . . . and started unbuttoning her blouse.

I had a hard time staying focused on dessert.

"The pastry chef's special is a freshly baked wild berry and rhubarb pie in a phyllo crust." She quickly unfastened every button on her shirt while she spoke, until she revealed her pretty lace bra. Her face turned even redder with each succeeding button. "We also offer a homemade cannoli with a dark cocoa whipped cream filling, with a cantaloupe and champagne sorbet on the side as counterpoint," she said, loud and clearly, while she unhooked the front-fastening bra clasp between those big boobs . . . and suddenly they were free, bare and bouncy, in the middle of the restaurant.

"On the lighter side we have a seasonal fresh fruit cup with a light honey/ginger sauce and tiny flakes of dark chocolate sprinkled around it," she said, nervously, as she put both hands under her beautiful boobs and pushed them up into my face. "And finally, we have the Chocolate Addiction, a seven-layer chocolate tort featuring white, milk, and dark chocolate layers with homemade chocolate chocolate-chip ice cream, the entire dish prepared with a chocolate-cherry sauce drizzled over the top."

I couldn't keep my eyes off her tits.

"Honey?" I asked. "Any preferences?"

"The Chocolate Addiction," she said. "I feel a pregnant craving coming on. And that way we can share."

"Sounds good," I said, as April nodded – her face as red as a stoplight. "One Chocolate Addiction, two spoons."

"That was awesome!" I admitted with a chuckle once April had clutched her shirt around her and ran off.

"Oh, it's not over yet," Mary assured me. "Just wait until we get served."

"She's not going to get into trouble over this, is she?"

"No," Mary assured me. "I paid her a bundle to do it, and then paid off the manager to run interference and not ask questions. Actually, you paid her a bundle," she amended, apologetically. "Hope you don't mind . . ."

"Are you kidding?" I laughed.

We made small talk and played footsie under the table – which was her foot in my lap stroking my cock through my pants – before April arrived with our dish, gorgeously presented in a cut-glass dish. She set it down between us with great ceremony, then stood back, asked us if we needed anything else . . . then started opening her shirt again, her face becoming even more flushed.

"More entertainment?" I grinned to Mary.

"Oh, it'll be entertaining, won't it, April?" she asked, amused. "Bill, April here has consented to let you eat your dessert. Off of her boobs."

"Oh, really?" I asked, faintly. "I can smear the chocolate on her tits . . ."

"And then lick them clean, yes," she assured me.

"That's fantastic," I sighed, picking up the first spoonful. "Let's start with this ice cream . . ."

That was the most fun I've had at dessert since I was a kid.

I took my spoon and smeared a bite of the ice cream across April's nipple, causing them to crinkle quickly and causing her to catch her breath sharply. Then I'd put my lips over the girl's nipple, my hot breath providing a stark contrast to the cold of the ice cream. That made her squirm and moan involuntarily, which was gratifying. Then I'd follow it up with a spoon full of the chocolate tort, which might have lacked the icy temperature of the ice cream but made up for it in how deliciously slowly I could lick her nipples clean. She shivered a lot while I did it, making little noises in her throat and continuously looking to Mary for support.

My wife, on the other hand, seemed serenely above the young woman's apparent discomfort – no doubt she had paid April a lot to endure this kind of semi-public display. Whatever she paid, it was worth it. Being able to lick chocolate and ice cream off of the tits of a twenty-one year old in a fancy restaurant . . . well, let's just say it might make a good theme for a chain restaurant some day.

I was so engrossed in my feasting on boobs and chocolate that I wasn't paying much attention to what Mary was doing . . . until she picked up her spoon and called dibs on April's right nipple. That surprised me – talking about having sex with a girl again is one thing, actually sucking a strange pair of tits in public? That was quite the departure for demure little Mary. But she sucked a lot harder than I did, playfully tormenting the nipple with her tongue until between our mutual efforts April was squirming uncomfortably and whimpering with every lick and suck.