Call me paranoid, or whatever you please, but my wife's "volunteer work" was really about sex all along, and I knew it from the beginning. She went on about self- actualization and needing to "discover herself" and to do something about society's problems. And I went along, reluctantly - unhappily. I knew this was really all about us. It was about sex. I knew my marriage was in trouble.
Problem is, what do you do about it? My brother and my best friend had both warned me. They told me Pamela was a brainy, sexy, spoiled rotten bitch ("just like Gail," my brother warned - a reference to his wife's sister, who had left her husband for a professor soon after she started as a part-time grad student).
Lately, they said, she'd been showing all the signs of "turning hippy." What they meant was that she had begun sheepishly defending the antiwar protesters, had expressed curiosity about pot, and had taken to wearing less makeup and letting her hair fall loose and full.
Moreover, they said, she seemed to be bored at family gatherings, which my Dad regarded as the very most disturbing sign. Unlike my brother, who had never liked Pamela (although he'd made it clear he found her sex- ually desirable) Dad had a genuine affection for her, and seemed to think of her as the daughter he never had. She returned his warm feelings, too - even when she started to get strange.
Naturally, I told them they were crazy. She had a right to her own opinions, didn't she? (Well? Didn't she?) And, I added, I happened to really like her new look. What's more, I lied, our sex life was better than ever.
Why did I say that? It was completely out of character for me to even mention our sex life, for one thing. And for another, our sex life was a source of total con- fusion to me. My wife had never, to my knowledge, anyway, had an orgasm, and she had steadfastly refused to discuss it, brushing the topic aside on the two occasions when I'd asked her about it.
"What difference does it make?" she'd said on our honeymoon. "You were great and I think you're probably the sexiest man alive."
And later, once when we were tipsy following a New Year's party, we made love for much longer than usual. Probably due to the alcohol I'd consumed, I'd been able to continue without climaxing for probably twice the time of our usual brief couplings.
"Did you...?" I asked as we lay there afterward, the room spinning just slightly.
"Did I what?" she answered, her tongue as thick with booze as mine.
"You know ... did you have an orgasm?"
She gave a long sigh... "How the hell am I supposed to know?"
With that she rolled over and almost immediately started snoring softly.
So that was that.
And lately, things had just gotten stranger. She always
repeat: ALWAYS refused when I made the first move. Always. But occasionally, just lately, she would initiate the first contact and each time, it was some- thing strange. The first time, she came to bed late and snuggled up behind me, her chest against my back. I woke up about halfway and thought little of it. After all, she was wearing the chin-to-floor flannel nighty that usually signaled a chaste bedding. But as I drifted back to sleep, I felt her lips pressed to the back of my neck, and her hand slid down into my pajamas. She is a lot shorter than me, so she had to scoot down for her hand to reach my penis. As she did so, she pressed her cheek against my back. I could feel her heat through the material of my pajama top. I tried to turn to face her, but she held my slack penis and resisted with a murmured "No..." I lay there blinking as she pressed up against me, her hand on my penis for a while. I just listened to our breathing, wondering if she'd gone to sleep. Eventually, her hand began to squeeze and stroke me. Ineptly, at first. Not really sure what to do with a soft penis, I guess. But as I began to swell in her hand, her breathing began to grow rougher, along with mine. And soon she was masturbating me... stroking my cock rhythmically - a slow, maddening slide of her fingertips along the underide of my cock, with her thumb pressed to the upper side. The loose skin slid over my shaft under her fingers and she milked me insistently. Soon I was nearing orgasm, and I was frankly embar- rassed. Did she really mean to make me do this? Shouldn't I at least get a tissue or a towel or some- thing? My years of masturbation with a wash cloth and soap came back to me... was she going to make me squirt on the sheets? "Honey, I'm going to..." "Shh!! I'll stop," she whispered harshly, resisting my second attempt to roll over to face her." She squeezed me harder and I felt her taut body strain- ing against me as she held onto my shoulder with her free hand. We were both rocking with her effort. I was both aroused to the point of fever, and deeply humili- ated. I came hard. When she felt the first spurt, she loosened her grip, but continued to stroke me even faster. What I would have wanted, I couldn't ask for. I would have wanted her to stop stroking altogether and just hold onto the base of my cock, pulling back as hard as possible, so hard that the skin sheath would distort the shape of my cockhead, and hold me like that, very still. I had done it many times, aroused myself nearly to orgasm, then just pulled back on my cock and held still to wait for the explosion. But this, although physically not what I'd have re- quested had I been less uptight, was in all other ways an extraordinary sexual experience. Several heavy spurts soaked the sheets on my side of the bed as my wife's hand flew over my cock. I thought I heard her chuckle to herself against my back as I came ... and whisper something. Not sure, I whispered hoarsely "what...?" but she never answered. I tried one more time to turn to her, but she silently resisted. Wouldn't have it. A while later, I felt her climb out of bed. Looking back, I think she probably went somewhere in the house to satisfy herself. Also looking back, I suppose she was thinking of "him" the whole time. Another time, as she came to bed after a night of her "volunteer work," she turned off the nightlight in the hall that we usually kept on for our daughter. She quietly closed our bedroom door, as I continued to feign sleep. I heard her tiptoe to the windows and carefully, almost silently, pull the shades and curtains shut. She paused by the dresser to turn the alarm clock to the wall, the final source of light in the room. Total darkness. She found her way over to my side of the bed and knelt down. I felt her hand go up under the covers, and directly to the waist of my pajamas. Faintly, I could smell beer and cigarette smoke ... she'd gone out for a beer with the other volunteers, as she often did. But had she been smoking? Totally out of character. Her hand found me and I pretended to be coming out of sleep as she began to fondle me, her fingers cool and dry. I reached down to touch her in the dark, but her free hand found mine and she pushed me away silently. Before I was completely hard, she pulled down the sheets and fished my cock out through the fly of my pajamas. I inhaled deeply - smell of her perfume, mixed with the smell of whatever pub she'd gone to actually excited me, and by the time she got me freed, I was hard. Then, to my complete surprise, I felt her lips and tongue on the head of my cock, at first tentative, but almost immediately her tongue began to swirl over my flesh and her full lips opened to take me in. She had occasionally teased my cock with a kiss or a lick when we were dating, but had never actually taken me into her mouth. I'd subtly hinted that I would like more, but nothing doing. But now, my wife was kneeling by our bed in the dark- ness tonguing me with real urgency and, from the sound of her breathing and her occasional, involuntary sounds, she was hungry for me. When I reached down with both hands to touch her hair, she batted me away again, but continued to suck, actually moving her head over me as she took more of my length into her mouth. Never, never, ever had she done this, or anything even close. Each time she plunged downward to take in more of me, she moaned deeply - was it effort, or satis- faction? Inevitably, I began to moan. Usually, I wasn't at all verbal in bed, but THIS - well, I began to babble I suppose. "Oh, Pammy, yesssss ... oh, god ... please, yes ... oh, god, Pammy..." Almost roughly, her hand flew to my mouth and covered it! I was reduced to stifled moans as her hand left my face. Soon after, and just as I began to feel my orgasm approaching, she pulled away from my cock and there was a pause of what felt like forever, but was probably about thirty seconds, before I heard her make a sound I'd never heard. It was somewhere between a moan and a squeal and her breathing was ragged and loud as she keened from her spot on the floor by our bed. "Are you alright? Honey? Sweetie..." As I began to fumble for the bedside light switch, I heard her softly leave the room and close the door behind her. My cock hard and my balls aching, I fantasized going after her, demanding - well - demanding SOMETHING! An explanation? An orgasm? What? I briefly fantasized just going after her and raping her, but I put the thought out of my mind. Surely she must know what she was doing to me ... surely she knew how unfair this was, and how strange it all was too.
Hindsight can be comforting or sickening. As I look back on those days, it is indeed a comfort to be able to make sense of what was going on. At the time, I was mostly just confused and angry.
Pamela was struggling with something, though - some- thing she couldn't possibly have explained to me, because she didn't even come close to understanding it herself. Looking back, I now know that she was as tormented in some ways as I was - at least at first.
Pamela continued for some months to be completely un- predictable. Distant, quiet, and unaffectionate for days at a time, then all of a sudden, she'd do some- thing so sexually exciting that I couldn't believe it was the same woman.
One night when I came home from a poker game, I found my wife in our bed, lying on her tummy, with several quite new copies of a popular sex magazine on the pillow beside her. Only her reading lamp was on, and the soft, long curves of her slender body was the very picture of feminine beauty. She had only her panties on, and she had one hand under her body, obviously hard at work in her panties.
In her free hand, she held one of the pocket-sized magazines, with one finger apparently holding her place. I thought she must not have heard me come in, but she almost immediately proved me wrong.
With a deep, anguished moan, she let go of the maga- zine, and pulled her hand free of her panties. She kept her face turned away, gripping a pillow in one hand and reaching back to pull the crotch of her panties aside with the other. There was a light sheen of sweat on her skin, and she seemed to glow in the relatively dim light of the little lamp.
"Do me, Danny. Do it to me."
It took a moment for me to find my voice. I was feeling mellow from a few beers - for a brief moment I felt vaguely ill, then sort of dizzy.
"Pam, I'm sorry, I just..."
"Don't talk! Please, Danny ... please just do it. Do it Now! Don't talk."
By this time, I had already realized that nearly every time she presented one of these "episodes", she asked me to be silent. And I had begun to understand why: my voice would spoil whatever fantasy she was having. Again she said it, still in the harsh, urgent whisper I'd come to associate with these encounters:
"Now. Do it now or go away."
I dropped my jacket, kicked off my shoes and undid my slacks as I approached the bed. I got on my knees be- tween her thighs and began to caress her ass ... god, that ass. Still makes my heart beat faster just think- ing about it, and it's been years!
I slid my hands up her thighs to the firm, smooth fruit of her ass and began to massage her, but she reached back - still without looking back, her face turned away from me - and pushed my hands away.
"No! Just do it, you bastard. Just do it ... please. Oh god, please."
I probably knelt there blinking for a few seconds ... hurt, but so aroused I could have passed out. My hands shook and my heart pounded. I looked down and saw her sex open and wet from what she had been doing when I came in... and then I just plunged my fingers into her, two or three of them, screwing them into her as I pressed down on the small of her back.
She made a deep, raspy noise as she pressed a pillow to her face and I felt her pussy gripping my fingers. I roughly withdrew them, and her ass rose as if to snatch them back.
My cock was in position already, and when her ass rose, I pushed into her. She pressed both hands against the mattress as if to do a push-up, and her upper body began to rise. I astonished myself by roughly pushing her back down with the flat of my hand between her shoulder blades.
She gave a little yelp of surprise, and when I took her small hips in my hands and yanked her up to me, she seemed to briefly struggle before beginning to writhe against me.
I pressed into her as deep as I could and when I was all the way in, her hands came up and back, and she crossed her wrists over the small of her back.
It seems silly, I suppose, but when she did that, I immediately began to come. One of her hands whipped around to her clit and in a matter of seconds, her muscles were gripping me again in what I now know was her orgasm.
She fell forward and began to sob. So did I - releasing only a small bit of the tension and confusion of those months. She didn't say a word as we drifted off to sleep.
When I awoke a little while later, with my trousers still around my knees, she wasn't in the bed. As usual, she'd gone off somewhere else in the house. I went back to sleep.
I believe it was about a week after that night that she came into the library where I was going over the mail and asked softly if we could talk. She dimmed the lights, asking me to sit in my "favorite" chair, a leather wingback. She stood behind me.
"Danny, I owe you an explanation. I know I do. I've been a terrible wife to you lately and you deserve some kind of explanation..."
I got up to go to her, to hold her, to tell her it was alright, but she turned away.
"Danny, I can't do this if you're looking at me - I just can't. Please. Sit down. Let me do this my way."
Suddenly I knew what I was about to hear. She was going to leave me. I felt like the whole room was coming down on me. God, I loved her so! This beautiful, warm, sweet person that I had married - who had chosen me over so many others that had pursued her. I was losing her. This was the night.
I sat on the edge of my chair and held my head in my hands, staring down at the carpet as the lump in my throat spread and numbed my body. Anger and grief washed over me and mixed somewhere in my stomach ... but I kept control.
"I've been changing. You know I have. I ... we ... it's not us. I mean, it isn't you. It's me. It's not some- thing I can really ..." she slammed the back of my chair with her small fist. "Damn! This is so stupid ... Now do I ..."
She must have heard my heavy breathing ... or maybe I was crying. I really don't know. I was still sitting there with my head down and she came around the chair and stood in front of me and took my head in her hands, pressing my face to her tummy. My arms went around her and held her tight around her hips and again we cried. I still hadn't seen her face since she came into the room. I held her to me tightly and I heard her say:
"You just have to be patient with me, Danny. Please. Please, Danny, try and understand. There's something happening that I can't explain - something inside of me. Please give me time, Danny. Please..."
Her hands held my head to her tightly, her fingers in my hair and on my neck, my ears. Perversely, I suppose, I became aroused. I began to press my face down into the front of her dress, into her mons. She held my head there for a moment, and then pressed forward as I pressed my face to her.
Now, in all our married life, oral sex had been entirely out of the question. I've already described her minimal oral flirtations before we were married. But cunnilingus was particularly taboo.
And I must admit that it was as much my problem as hers. The thought of going down on a woman seemed somehow less than masculine to me - sort of demeaning. And actually, I felt the same about her going down on me.
I mean, I wanted it, but it seemed wrong to me. And the one time I had playfully moved to kiss her "down there" during our first year of marriage, she was genuinely shocked, crying out my name, and pushing me away. It was, as I recall, the abrupt end of what had been a rather promising foreplay session.
But just then, in the half dark of the study, my face hot with tears, I wanted to bury my face - my self
in her sex. I breathed in sharply, and imagined I could smell her through the material of her panties and skirt. With my hands on her ass, I pressed harder against her, and I felt her press back, a small circular motion of her hips that ground her mons against my nose. "No ... no..." she whispered, and I recognized that it was that whisper - the strange, troubled, urgent whisper I had lately come to associate with the strange intense sex she'd been initiating. "No ... please..." she kept whispering as she pulled her pelvis back and pushed me away, her small hands on my shoulders. Again, I briefly imagined forcing myself on her, making her give herself to me on MY terms, but I didn't. Maybe I should have, I really don't know. After all, in those days, no one had ever even heard the phrase "no means no." In fact, it wasn't at all clear that it was even legally possible for a man to rape his own wife. But I let her push me back, at least partly because - get this - I wanted to see her face, I wanted to kiss her softly and make her smile as I had done so often over the years, and hold her and tell her everything would be ok. For a moment I imagined that would happen. But she kept her face down and as I lay back in my chair, she knelt down, her loose hair hiding her face. Her hands slid over my thighs as she settled down between my spread knees, and although it had never happened before, I knew what would happen next. Gripping my spread thighs, she pressed her face into the front of my trousers, and her mouth slid over the shape of my stiff cock. I actually tried to gently push her away, but she persisted and began to hurriedly open my pants. Almost painfully, she extracted my cock from my half- opened pants, and immediately took me into her mouth. She began to bob up and down over me in the time- honored fashion, slowing occasionally to take me deep into her throat. I gently stroked her neck and shoulders as she did this but soon enough, she took my wrists in her hands and pinned them to my thighs, all the while continuing to suck me and to fuck me with her mouth. I could easily have overcome her, but I didn't. And in a few more moments, she firmly put my hands on her own head and made me push her head down onto my cock. I started to say something, but again she pressed my hands to the back of her head, and moaned as she slid down over my erect cock. I began to feel my orgasm building and I tried to squirm away. "Oh, god, baby, I'm almost ... I'm gonna ... Pammy, please, I can't hold it ... please, I'm gonna..." Right up to the end, I was trying to pull out of her mouth, but she held me fast. For so long we had colluded in making oral sex taboo - now she was making me demean her, use her like some kind of whore. She released my hands and I found myself pushing her down on my own, pushing myself even further into her as I felt my balls tighten. At the last minute, though, I just couldn't do it - I believed so deeply that it was a gesture of disrespect that I finally pulled free, pushing her away from me as I did so. She fell back and caught herself on her hands and I saw her eyes wide and excited as my ejaculate came shooting forth into the space between us arcing up and out onto the carpet, her bare leg and thigh, and even her dress. She just looked up at me from the floor, breathless as I was, not exactly smiling, but with a look of deep, raw excitement on her tear-streaked face. Our eyes met for only a moment before I put my hand over my eyes and when I opened them, she was gone.
It went that way for a long while. She refused every sexual overture from me, but every now and then, she'd initiate something - always something that put her in control.
Fact is, it was the most sexually intense time I had experienced in my life. She was so exciting, so un- believably hot. And when she felt safe, when she had in mind exactly what she wanted to do - she was shockingly inventive and hungry - demanding.
A few things were always the same. She wanted me quiet. She wanted no eye contact (even blindfolded me once) and no conversation. Usually, she was behind me, or I was behind her. And she never repeated herself. It was always explosive sexually, and totally baffling emotionally.
Twice during that time, she came up, as if casually, and hugged me, her face turned to the side and down, and whispered "It's going to be ok ... it's all going to be ok, Danny." Then she'd be gone.
Then one night she stopped into the library before going out to her volunteer work. She seemed thoughtful as she entered. She walked slowly around the room making a show of looking up at the shelves.
"Help you find something?"
"Hmm? No ... oh. No, I was just thinking..."
Soon she'd come around behind my chair. I was pretty sure she was initiating one of her "episodes" as she slid her hands down over my shoulders to my chest and leaned down to whisper in my ear from behind. Her voice pure warmth, pure love.
"Danny, darling, I love you. I love you more than any- thing ... you are so good to me. You've been so patient ... so good. Just a little longer, honey. Please. Just a while longer. And whatever happens, baby, I love you. I do."
With that, she left, and I watched her ass swinging as she made her way out the door and down the hall.
It was later than usual when she came home.
She wasn't alone. She introduced her "friend" as "Mick."
I suppose it was him who used the knocker. Usually, Pamela would just let herself in - and most others pressed the doorbell. I was passing by the entry foyer when there were three loud raps of the old brass knocker.
I was concerned something might be wrong as I opened the door - and puzzled when I saw it was Pamela and some guy - bearded, hair tied back loosely into a ponytail. The whole deal: leather jacket, jeans, cowboy boots. Now what...
Pamela didn't make eye contact. Usually spunky, her naturally spritely posture engrained from years of dance lessons, sports, and generally being a princess. But that night she slunk in as if she wanted to hide.
"Hi, honey ... this is..." she mumbled.
Her introduction seemed to stick in her throat, and was directed mainly to the floor, as she was still looking mostly down or away. I could barely make it out: "Mick."
As she came past me, I caught a whiff of a scent I'd come to know - her own, familiar, sweet, clean scent, mingled with a faint smell of cigarettes and beer.
And there was something else ... night air (a motor- cycle ride?) and still something else. No time to ponder it, but now I know it was the smell of him
leather, smoke, and godknowswhat. He was of average or better height, lean but his shoulders were wide. Looked to be about 25. I could take him. Maybe. Don't ask me why I thought about that, but I did. Had an inch or two on me, but our weights were pretty well matched... There's no doubt that I felt threatened by him - he was, after all, the first bit of my wife's life "out there" that I'd ever met up with face to face. "Out there" was standing here, in my foyer. Our foyer. I immediately tagged him: "asshole," I thought to myself. "So this is the kind of asshole she hangs around with down at the agency." It didn't make me feel any better. I found myself standing a little taller, planting my feet a little more deliberately. The three of us stood there in a triangle for one odd moment before Mick leaned forward easily and extended his hand, introducing himself. Guess he figured Pammy's introduction hadn't sunk in, since I was just standing there, not offering my hand or anything else. I also guess most people with any manners would take the hint, say "pleased to meet you" make a polite excuse and leave. Not this guy. His eyes twinkled as he took my hand, pumped it a bit, and repeated his name. "Mick, Danny - it's a pleasure to finally meet you." Finally? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Was that supposed to let me know how much he and my wife had been hanging out together? What an asshole! I had a flash of sympathy for Pammy. Here she finally brings home one of the other volunteers, and he turns out to be a total asshole ... she was clearly flustered ... I noticed her face was red and she seemed not to know what to do with her hands - unusual for a gal who was usually the picture of girlish poise. I was flustered too, but decided to be a man about it. No reason I should forget my manners just because this dipstick was ill-bred. I asked if he'd like to stay for a drink, thinking it would give him the opportunity to exit with a polite "Oh, thanks, but I've got to run." But I should have known better. As I took his order ("scotch would be fine, Danny - straight up"), I realized that in the process of shaking my hands, Mick-the-asshole had ended up standing beside my wife. Subtle - but it nagged at me as I turned to leave. She was still looking down at the floor, but I managed to catch her eye when I asked if she wanted something. With my eyes I asked if she was OK, and she was ... stressed, but OK. I could have just moved us into the library, where there was a dry bar and a little fridge, but I wanted to get away and collect myself. As I headed down the hall, and realized I was shaking slightly. Adrenaline? Definitely. "Steady now," I told myself, "just keep cool." I began to muse over how I would tease Pamela after he left. In a few minutes, I'd show this guy for the boob he probably was. I could hardly wait. When I got to the library, I thought I heard whispering as I went in, and if Pamela had looked rattled before, she was beside herself now - her chest rising and falling visibly and her face thoroughly flushed. When I handed her drink over, she remained beside me, clearly agitated. She squared her shoulders and tossed her hair back and looked across Mick with what seemed like defiance for just a moment. "Atta girl," I thought "stand over here by me where you belong..." Standing next to her, I was again inhaling Pamela's aroma ... subtly aroused by it. My mood had shifted from one of suspicion to one of lurking arousal. I was beginning to plot my attack - to get the upper hand and show this cocky bastard who's who. Our guest didn't miss a beat. In fact, he looked amused. With a quick glance at me, he nearly drained his glass before setting it carefully on my desk blotter. Then he crossed the distance between us, his eyes fixed on my wife. He walked slowly, with an exaggerated nonchalance. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. By the time I could shift gears internally, he had taken her hand and drawn her away from me. She didn't resist, and he didn't pull ... he just drew her to him, holding her fingers in his like some courtier about to kiss her hand. His other hand slid to the small of her back as she buried her head against his chest, her small fists clenched at her sides. I started to move toward him, but he made a gesture with his hand - a warning? - and his eyebrows rose as he looked me in the eye. "Pamela and I have had such a fine evening, Danny ... in fact, your name came up, didn't it, Pam?" She didn't respond. "It was so fine out tonight, we just took a ride up to F________ Hill - a little spot I know up there that's really nice on clear nights. Maybe you know it? But we weren't there to look at the stars, were we, Pam?" I sputtered something ... I really don't know what. He took my wife's chin in his hand - with real tender- ness - and kept eye contact with me as he bent to kiss her. She did not resist. Her face turned up easily to him, and I heard her breathe out long and deep. I moved. I have no idea what I said but it was loud. But I felt like I had lead in my limbs. He broke their kiss. I remember clearly what he said because at first it made no sense. "Danny, you don't want to dance with me. Sit down and shut the fuck up, or leave. But I think you'll want to stay." With that he resumed kissing her. Or should I say, he made himself available for HER to kiss HIM. He glanced up once - either to be sure I was at a distance, or just to see if I was watching, I don't know which - and then he closed his eyes as my wife's hands went to his ass and she strained up against him, noisily, wetly kissing another man for what I now know was not the first time that night. I was rooted to the floor, it was odd what I remember. I remember that she went up on her toes, straining against him, and that his hands seemed light as he held her, as if to prove that he didn't "have" to hold her, while her hands clutched at him, sliding from his ass up to his neck, pulling him down to her, the fine, small muscles of her arms straining as she pressed herself to him. His hands were calm, and slid over her body as if casually. And I remember how strange their kissing seemed to me. It should have been familiar: this was my woman. We had kissed for years - sweetly, playfully, even chastely - but also passionately, hungrily. She had always loved kissing - and had always said how good I was at it. But what I was seeing and hearing seemed foreign. Their kissing was so different from ours. It was the same woman, but different. Their mouths were not sealed together as ours would be, but were open, moving, obscenely licking and stroking, noisily and wetly devouring each other. Pam was breathing hard, through her mouth and nose, and groaning as she slurped at his mouth and tongue before finally locking her mouth to his roughly, almost violently. When I was able to look away from them, I saw that he was working his hand into the front of her jeans. As she stretched upward against him, the concavity of her tummy bared her midriff and his hand slipped easily toward her crotch, then disappeared to the wrist as she twisted against him. Somehow, I found myself sitting in my usual chair a few feet from where she sat, now on my desk with her knees splayed wide. He stood between her knees and slowly began to remove her blouse and released her sweet, full breasts. He bent to tongue her neck and she gasped as his hands pulled slowly at her breasts, lingeringly stroking outward, stretching her nipples as he nuzzled and licked her. With her fingers in his hair, her eyes fluttered open and in a stunning moment, her eyes met mine. Her hips were bucking now and she was breathing raggedly as she stared into my eyes as if lost, as if helpless, but also as if driven by demons. Her eyes remained locked to mine for a long, perverse moment. In those few seconds, my love for her - my lust for her - was matched by the months of anger and confusion. I realized all at once that she was looking out at me with real love, with lust that seemed as much for me as for this intruder. But it seemed that she loved me from a million miles away at that moment, that she was on a distant peak where I could not go, but her heart reached out to mine. And I realized one thing more: that I had an erection and that I was full of desire and frustration. Her eyes closed again as he began to undo her belt with one hand. Her hand went to help, but he gently pushed it aside. He bent further to tongue her breasts and her hands pressed his head closer, as the belt and the button of her jeans yielded to his fingers. They moved together now, rocking, her frantic movements giving way to his slower, more fluid ones. When her jeans and panties were down and off, he gave her one more long, deep kiss as he held her chin in one hand, while the fingers of his other hand worked slowly between her legs. Breaking their kiss, he pressed gently on her breast- bone and she leaned back on her elbows on the desk, her eyes gazing into his, her lips slightly swollen from their kissing, her mouth soft and open. His fingers still stroked into her as she settled back on her elbows and he slowly went to his knees before her spread legs. She threw her head back as his nose ranged through her soft, sparse nest of hair. I had thought up until then that she was completely lost to me - that I had ceased to exist, she was so swallowed up in lust. But as his tongue stroked into her, she lay fully back and held onto the back of his head, stroking the soles of her feet against his back as she began to babble: "Oh god, Danny, oh god ... he's doing it ... oh, god, he's doing it ... oh, Danny ... no ... no ... he's kissing me ... licking me there ... he's licking me ... ohhhhh, Danny, oooohhhh, Danny..." He rose up as she seemed on the verge of an orgasm and she gave forth a little shriek at the lost contact. He pulled her roughly up, and hungrily mouthed her breasts again, his fingers at work again between her twisting thighs. He straightened up and held her face in his hands. "Take out my cock, Pam." Simple as that. His hands went to her breasts as his eyes held hers and her hands, trembling frantically worked at his belt and the buttons of his jeans. She never broke his gaze, but she continued murmuring to me - to me - as she opened his pants: "Oh, Danny, I'm so sorry ... I'm so sorry, oh god, what are we doing ... I have to ... I have to..." It was alarming and strange, of course, but my hand had gone to my straining cock as I watched my wife open this stranger's pants as he gazed into her eyes and pulled at her breasts, stroking and twisting her nipples. "Danny!" she squealed, "Danny, he's big ... god, he's as big as you ... god, baby, he's so fucking big..." He silenced her with his lips and tongue as I saw her hands holding him in the dark space between their bodies. Abruptly, her hands were empty and clawing at his shoulders, pulling his shirt away as he slid down again, burying his face in her crotch. His fingers and his tongue made sloshing noises as she began to come almost immediately, grinding herself up to his face as he moaned and slurped at her. Her orgasm racked her body - a sheen of sweat made her glow in the soft light of the study, and her firm, strong little limbs were taut with the effort of her satisfaction. But before she could be stilled, he lifted her - it seemed as if he did it with one hand and the small of her back and she came up to him, her legs around him, her sex seeking his. He turned around though, and deftly swung her around and placed her face down over the rounded arm of the leather couch directly in front of my chair. Her flawless ass was high and she made a move as if to rise up, but a firm hand pressed between her shoulder blades kept her down. Instead, her ass rose up a bit as she tried to look backwards over her shoulder at him. He looked down at her exposed behind with a soft smile and made a sound that was almost a growl. He spread her ass open and she lurched, but did not protest ... his fingers probed below, into her wet pussy slid up over anus. Soon he had both hands stroking her above, at her anus, and below, at her pussy and her clitoris. Her eyes and her fists were clenched now, as her ass bounced up and down. Every now and then he would slowly slide one hand free of her crotch and smack her ass, which brought a yelp from her each time, but it was clear that she was quickly rising to another orgasm. All at once he plunged his thick cock into her, and I swear I heard a loud, wet, slopping sound as he slid into her all the way. Her lovely head jerked up. "Oh my god!! Oh my god!! Oh my god!!" she kept saying over and over, as if it were a true prayer, in a harsh whisper, deeper with each repetition as she stroked back and forth. He smacked her ass sharply and her mantra gave way to a wail as she began to cum again. He was grunting and panting now, his eyes glazed as he forcefully fucked in and out of her. Suddenly he lurched forward and I heard him snarl into her ear: "Look at him, Pam ... look at what he's doing while we fuck..." Her eyes flew open and fixed on my crotch, where I was stroking my dripping cock, which had somehow freed itself from my slacks. My humiliation was intense, but this was all so com- pletely psychotic that nothing was going to slow my hand on my cock. Nothing. I was that close to cumming and when I heard her gasp, "Danny how? How could you...?" I nearly lost it. He had resumed humping her now, and apparently some- thing he was doing with his hand distracted her, because she clenched her eyes shut and started saying "fuck me ... do it ... do it ... fuck me ... give it to me..." over and over, faster and faster. He suddenly stood up, pulled his shining cock out of her with a loud sucking noise and flipped her onto her back. He straddled her chest and reached back to fondle her clit as she bucked beneath him, her orgasm literal- ly ripping a scream from her. He pressed his cockhead into her mouth, at first deep enough that I heard her gag, then with just the head in her mouth. "Suck," he said, and her lips closed over him. I think she was still cumming under the assault of his fingers on her clitoris. "Drink it, baby ... drink it," he said softly and then all the muscles of his body tensed and his buttocks jerked as he let out a long, low animal wail and began to cum in my wife's sucking mouth. I, of course, was cumming, too. All over my hand and my trouser leg. The base of my cock was rubbed raw, I later discovered, by the teeth of my zipper. He looked over at me. I expected him to smirk, but he did not. He seemed breathless. Even overwhelmed, for the moment. Pam avoided eye contact completely, turning her face to the back of the couch as she lay whimpering. Her breath caught in little sobs, although she wasn't crying. I don't remember much else. They dressed haphazardly as he led her to the door. He said something as she looked back at me over her shoulder and followed him out. My heart ached with the thought that I had lost her forever...