A Man Taken In Adultery free porn video

This is a grown-up tale for grown-ups. Those who shouldn't read it shouldn't read it! A Man Taken in Adultery by Vickie Tern i. I'm still happily married, I love my wife, and she loves me, and though things now aren't at all the way they were, one thing is. We're still of one mind about nearly everything. Even more than before, if that's possible. We're still in tune. Whatever she says, it almost always turns out I was thinking practically the same thing! It's remarkable, really! She sensed that about us from the moment she first saw me. She says I'm everything she'd hoped to find in a husband -- gentle, supportive, venturesome, inclined to agree with her about most things and always reasonable, dedicated to her work as well as my own, a partner in a blissfully happy life. That I'm also cute looking was a bonus, she says. She loves it, it keeps me kissable. But it was never really essential, she says. She tells me these things now and then when I'm feeling a little down, unsure about how everything worked out. Bad day at the office, a boss who doesn't seem to appreciate my efforts, a client I couldn't satisfy, that kind of thing. That's when she reminds me how we met and agreed to get married, how romantic it was. And then she comes over and sits in my lap and kisses me ever so softly, and reminds me how we decided to change the way we live for the better. As we have. And my heart bursts with joy. I do so love her! We met at a crowded office party, how long ago, seven years now? I'd arrived late and was just standing in the doorway, still in my coat, absolutely astonished! Because there across the room was the most gorgeous woman I'd ever seen before, absolutely self-confident and at her ease, standing near the punch bowl with one hand on her hip, chatting with someone. Her hair floated as she shook her head to disagree, and then bobbed as she nodded to emphasize something. I was entranced. She was perfect! Now, gorgeous doesn't usually impress me. I've known lots of gorgeous women. I've always been lean and good-looking, with a perky face and a button nose -- "cute" is the word they all use, sometimes even "adorable." That attracts gorgeous women, I don't know why. In high school, girls who felt threatened by hulking athletes always felt comfortable with me. It was as if I were one of them but my masculinity an additional advantage, a chance for them to exercise their femininity. In college too -- a girl I went with for a while called me "dollface" so often I got used to it. I've had no problem with girls. But there was this other thing about this one. Even as I looked at her as she stood there talking to some other guy she seemed to be flowing toward me! And she felt it too. She stopped talking and turned her head and looked directly at me and then just stared. Our eyes met, and there was nothing else to say. A perfect meeting of minds, in fact more like a blending of minds. She nodded to the person she was with and then threaded her way through the crowd, and arrived, and stood right in front of me, and asked me my name. I remembered it and told her. "Bob," I said. "Bob," she said. "I have this strange feeling that we're going to see a lot of each other. And get engaged and get married and live our whole lives together. And that you aren't at all surprised to hear me say this because you have that same feeling too. Don't you?" It was so flaky, but she was absolutely right! I did! I nodded, my eyes never leaving hers. "Yes," I said, already making a lifetime commitment. "I do." "I'll get my coat," she said. "Oh, my name's Carrie." Enough said. We went straight to her place and straight to bed. And that was incredible too. I knew what she wanted, and she knew what I wanted. We danced to each other's music, and gradually became one person, our arms and legs clasping and grasping and stroking and touching, our bodies wrapped around and sinking into each other, our mouths everywhere on each other. My heart rose up and entered into her, and we became one flesh. Even before we became husband and wife, and that followed soon after just as she'd predicted. We're still that way. People ask how come, how is it we're the most affectionate couple they know? I always give different answers but they come to the same thing -- we care for each other, we feel with each other, we sense each others' needs. We're happy to meet each other's needs, or to see that they're met. When people are as close as we are, questions aren't necessary. We know. After a few years we did find that we were too close, that we weren't bringing new things to each other. We both worked for the same company, on the same schedules in the same places. We'd see the same people at work all day and then we'd see them socially on weekends. One day Carrie suggested it had gotten a little claustrophobic, and I had to agree. So we began to give each other a little space, so we'd neither of us feel boxed in. Not separate vacations, nothing as radical as that, just each of us free to do whatever whenever the mood struck, without any explanations. We'd mention when we'd be back so the other wouldn't worry, of course, and then we'd take off. Me usually to a sports bar to watch whatever game was in season, or maybe pick up a buddy and head out and go see a thriller movie I knew she'd hate. Carrie to a friend's house to gossip, or to a museum or a shopping mall, or to see a chick flick. We mostly had different friends. Eventually I quit my job with Carrie's firm and became a consultant, and developed my own client list, which kept growing. And just about then Carrie's career also took off. More and more promotions, with responsibilities to match. Now we found we were at the other extreme. Carrie got to the office earlier and earlier and stayed later and later while I was home working on more and more projects. Or one or the other of us were attending meetings or consulting out of town, often for a few days at a time. Even at night we were apart more often than we were together. We couldn't do couples things with other couples any more, dinners or concerts or shows, we couldn't develop the kinds of lively sociability other young marrieds people enjoy. We were too busy, working too hard, too hard to schedule, too unpredictable. Then when we did get together, usually we didn't want to share our available time with anyone else, we just wanted to be with each other and tell each other everything we'd been doing and make up for lost time. Because we were more in love than ever. We still are. And we still do. When our incomes first went into steep curves we bought into a suburban tracts on a curved street that ends in a circle and then heads back down, each house buried in its own acre of wooded land. We're one of the two houses at the very end, where the street circles round and returns. We see only cars headed toward one of us, so we're fairly isolated. We're sociable enough when we happen to run into one of our neighbors further down the street, and they're sociable too. But the street isn't really a neighborhood. Everyone protects his own privacy and respects everyone else's. I guess that's why we all bought there to begin with. That's how it happened that we didn't even know the family in the house next to ours on the circle had sold out to a couple who'd already been living there for a couple of months. We'd noticed there were no more shouts and shrieks of small children coming at us from above the trees, of course, and we'd noticed that for a time clusters of workmen's trucks were going past us toward the other house's driveway, doing renovations of some kind. But we didn't add up what these things meant. Not until a routine settled in, of cars coming round the circle past us toward our new neighbor, then leaving by the same route. My office faced the front of the house, where through the trees I could see what little traffic there was. The same man in a black Mercedes heading out every morning and returning every evening, but sometimes not for a few days. That was the man of the house I supposed, sometimes gone on business trips. Then there were women who came for a couple of hours in little Toyotas or old Chevvies (cleaning help), or in big SUVs (friends). Occasionally there was a really big SUV that left for a few hours around mid-day, driven by an impeccably tailored and coiffed woman I figured was the woman of the house. But what really spiced up my car-watching were the cars that came whenever the Mercedes wasn't there. Luxury vans or sedans with distinguished-looking men in suits behind the wheels, professionals or top business executives I figured. But also expensive sports cars -- a Maserati, a Porsche, a BMW, once a vintage Ferrari, driven by vigorous men in leather jackets as often as not, obviously men accustomed to handling fine-tuned power. Often on nights when the Mercedes was in some airport parking lot I assumed, one of these cars would glide past us and disappear into the driveway hidden by our neighbors' trees, then not reappear till morning. It was always gone before the Mercedes returned. I mentioned this to Carrie, and for a few weekends she watched the parade with me. We'd look out the window as various cars came past and we'd smile at each other. Then a few hours later when they re-appeared and headed down the street Carrie would smile again and shake her head. Or I would. Clearly these were not workmen renovating the house for its new owners. Whether the husband in the Mercedes suspected or not, the lady of the house was entertaining other men, prosperous family men from other suburbs, maybe successful single men too. There was no need for either of us to discuss it. We knew. But it was none of our business. We kept meaning to go over and introduce ourselves, carrying bread and salt or a cake or a Welcome Wagon pin, some kind of traditional housewarming token. Carrie meant to, anyhow. "We should go say 'hi,'" she'd say. "We ought to see if there's anything they need, you know? See what they're like? We've never exchanged a word." Then she'd add, "But it's always so hard to find the right time!" She meant a time when we weren't either of us too busy or too elsewhere or the lady of the house wasn't already entertaining her other visitors. But finally, one sunny summer morning when Carrie was off at a sales convention for a few days and I'd just sent off a massive job and was breathing easy, I met the lady herself. I'd gone way down our front path barefoot to recover a carelessly thrown newspaper, and when I reached the edge of the road something caught the corner of my eye. I looked, and I saw an exquisite fairy-tale fantasy emerge from our neighbor's trees. A tall, thin woman in dainty pink chiffon floated out to the edge of the road. Her arms were bare, and her doll's head was tilted sideways and turned in my direction. Her long dark hair swept her shoulders, and her huge dark eyes stared directly at me. Her red lips were delicately pursed. She reached out a small, red-tipped hand and gracefully gestured toward me in small arcs, as if she were clearing a path through the air for me to follow, or perhaps as if conducting an orchestra with one player, me. For a moment I thought it was a ballet movement, that she was practicing a dance of some kind. Then I realized she was waving me over. It was all so unexpected. I didn't move. Then, "Hi! Could you come over here for just a bit?" she called out. "I need to ask you something!" I came aware suddenly that I was not only barefoot, I was also still wearing the oversized boxer shorts I use for sleeping, cotton broadcloth with an open fly. Nothing else, that was it. Not even a T-Shirt. I was practically naked! "Ah, in a minute?" I called back. I intended to race back to the house and leap into a pair of pants. "I need you now," she declared with a superb simplicity. "Please!" Then she turned to walk back toward her house without another word, and disappeared almost at once into her trees. Did she expect me to follow her? She did. So I did, feeling extremely uneasy, very much out of place. I'd never before set foot on that tree-lined driveway, much less walked down it and then turned onto the walk toward the house while wearing only boxer shorts. I felt more naked than ever. It was a massive house, almost an estate, formally landscaped, much larger than our own. As I approached I saw her again, still all pink fluff but now standing on the broad brick steps leading to her open front door. She gestured again for me to join her, so I did. And there I was, standing next to her, puzzled why she wanted me, waiting. "My husband Tom is unfaithful to me," she said. Oh? My mind registered surprise but also no surprise at all. I just stood there and said nothing. Certainly nothing about her own apparent infidelities during the few months since they'd moved in. If her husband found consolation elsewhere, didn't she deserve the same? Or whoever'd begun whatever it was they did when they weren't together? And what did this have to do with me? "That's not a problem, not a criticism either, it's simply a fact," she continued. "We have an open marriage. Understandings. We both see other people whenever we wish. And we tell each other everything, so there are never secrets or suspicions. We don't cheat." "I see," I said, trying to fill the silence that followed. I saw what there was to see. I didn't at all see why she was telling me this. "I'm telling you now, right at the outset, so you can feel comfortable about it. At ease with yourself, not worry that we're violating any obligations or proprieties. Not worry for example that right now you're standing here nearly naked and being invited into a large house by a woman in a negligee who's standing very close to you. She was, too! Her face was perfectly made up, her eyes wide open, enormous, staring at me as if in child-like innocence. She was a trim woman in her prime who moved like someone who did Yoga stretching and Jazzercize routinely, a woman with a tight body who works out. A few years older than me. I supposed she does work out regularly, I was thinking, given the volumes of visitors she entertains. But she'd said "Right at the outset." The outset of what? I answered that question immediately with another question, Who do you think you're kidding? But I just stood there stone still. She glanced down toward my shorts. Was the fly open? Was my dong exposed? Jesus, whether she could see it or not, it was certainly enlarging, I could tell that much! I didn't dare look to see. "I'm sure you've seen men come see me whenever my husband's away, and leave before he returns. Sometimes staying the night when he's away. Haven't you?" I nodded. "I ask different men to satisfy my different desires. Sometimes my whims. Each one becomes a specialist dedicated to one of them and devoted to pleasing me. I like it that way, and so does Tom. hat way Tom doesn't have to cope with my more bizarre perversities or kinks, and as long as he doesn't ever have to meet the men who do cope, he doesn't mind at all that I have them. Can you imagine what some of my whims are? What some of these men do between their arrivals and their departures? You must have wondered." There was a slight smile on her lips, and her eyebrows were raised high as she stared up at me, as if she were conducting a Sunday school catechism and expected prompt, correct answers. Suddenly her hips rotated, and the folds of her negligee fell open. Rather, they fell away from the large, ballooning breasts that had pushed them open. Huge breasts on such a pert, thin body! One hung out toward me fully visible, and another peered out ready to join it. The exposed nipple was aroused, distended, huge, primed, ready! My eyes fixed on it and stared. Then I pulled myself together and forcibly lifted my head, and looked at her with what I hoped was a stern expression. I had to represent common decency here. "I have no idea what you do with those men," I said. I was getting very uncomfortable with this kind of talk. Even more uncomfortably, my penis was now quite thick, maybe even erect and poking out of my shorts! Probably. I still didn't dare look! But she did. She looked down and fixed her gaze on my crotch. What did she see? "Oh, I think you do. I think you know perfectly well the kinds of things we do, my different men and me. This part of you certainly knows." And her hand snaked out suddenly, reached toward my open fly, and grasped that intrusive penis. It was indeed now fully erect, an easy handle. Surprised, I stepped back a pace. She held my cock exactly where it was, her arm rigid, yielding not an inch, and I had to step forward again quickly to ease the strain. The outer skin remained firm in her grasp, but the turgid shaft itself slid out of her palm, then back in. In effect I had begun to jerk myself off with her hand! As if to remove all doubt she pulled on my prick again, then pushed back. Then yet again. She was jerking me off! And all the while she was looking straight into my face with those huge eyes and high, questioning eyebrows, faintly amused by my bewilderment. Then with her hand grip secure, still pushing and pulling, she reached up with her other arm and pulled my head down and kissed me full on the mouth. Then held me there, kept her lips there, and kissed me some more. I wanted to step back, but now I couldn't -- my cock was already stretched to the point of pain as I tried to pull my hips back. Maybe she'd pull it off altogether? She was so close to me she couldn't, I realized -- her belly blocked the way. No, we were nearly the same height and she had long legs, it wasn't her belly, it was her mound! Where her pussy crease began! And I was aimed straight toward it! Again her hand slid back and forth, back and forth, and now my treacherous cock, rigid and eager, was cooperating in every possible way, straining to dip into that slit less than an inch away. It even throbbed hopefully a few times. And her kiss went on and on. She locked my mouth to hers, her arm wrapped on the back of my neck as her tongue entered me. "What was it you wanted to ask me?" I tried to say while her soft mouth was still pressed against mine. Pitiable! Attempting absurdly, hopelessly, to change the subject, trying to take my mind off that soft hand gently pulling over and over on my engorged cock, those soft, full lips still pursing and unpursing against mine. All that came out was a pathetic mumble. Each of the words of my question mouthed her lips and kissed her back and sucked on her tongue. "Ohhhhh," was all she replied. Finally she let go my neck and lifted her head away. Walking backward, her eyes never wavering from my face, she led me by my prick through her front door and down her entrance hall into her living room, then over to an overstuffed sofa. "Sit" she said, steering me gently backward by my cock. I did. Then she mounted me, kneeling astride my body, and slowly, languorously, guided my cock head to the mouth of her slit. Oh, God! And still studying my face she lowered herself onto it! Oh! My rigid boner slipped gratefully into her warm, wet quim. Then when she'd plunged me in all the way, and settled onto my lap with my cock deep inside her, she said, simply, "Fuck!" I did. Soft, warm, slippery wet cunt gripped me tight, fluttered slightly, and then began to pulse. Carrie's never did that! I pushed up into her as high as I could. What am I doing? Am I being unfaithful to Carrie? Is it too late? Then I lowered my loins, down, then up again, even though she was now cinched down onto me so firmly and gripped my cock so tightly with her pussy that I had almost no room to rise. She then began the strangest hip rotation, a rolling with a light bobbing thrust downward, repeated again, then again. A half-smile spread over her face as she closed her eyes and the rhythm of it began to possess her, rolling her pelvis over me and into me and onto me, and then around my cock as it surged and pulsated inside her. The most exquisite feelings grew in my groin and began to blossom. I was straining not to push myself inside her as deep as I could get, but I couldn't help it, my cock felt as if it would burst without the relentless pressure of that tight pussy periodically compressing it, squeezing it from all sides at once, and I shoved into her with all my might! I tried again to sit there stone still, stiff and unmoving, but my haunches rose and fell, none of it my doing, and again and again I slid slickly in and out of her. Then she leaned forward and my face disappeared between those two billowing breasts. I was now buried inside dark, deep, soft, warm titty flesh as she continued to roll and thrust onto me down below. Sweet delight rose up out of my cock and spread through my body like a sunrise, then delicious feelings gathered themselves, concentrated themselves, and broke free of earth in full flight toward the stars, just as I heard her say, "Don't cum unless you mean to lick me clean afterward." As if to emphasize that statement she lunged straight down, and her soft rump rotated and wriggled tight on my thighs. Pushing, pushing! And I was gone! Gone! Blissfully I arched higher, lifted both of us up off the couch as I tried to weld my cock to her pussy for all eternity. Then I erupted, throbbed, spouted, spewed, squirted into her, deep into her, over and over as she pushed back down to hold me inside her entirely, to seal me in and take ultimate possession of me. And it was over. I had just been seduced. My first fuck with another woman since my marriage. My first infidelity. I had betrayed Carrie. And all I could think for the moment was, God that was the greatest! She paused and leaned back from me as we both breathed heavily, enjoying the afterglow. Her eyes were closed, and she was still half-smiling. In a kind of triumph? Or was she just feeling satisfied? At what? Another stupid question. No, not so stupid this time! My brains began to flow back into my head. "Kiss my titty!" she breathed, eyes still closed. And I did. I took a distended nipple into my mouth, and lightly nibbled on it, then kissed it. And released it and looked up. This time her eyes were open, looking down on me benignly, and there was no doubt, triumphantly. She'd conquered me. ii. As I realized what I'd just done I began trying to wriggle free, to slip out from under her. My penis softened a little, but her thighs remained clamped to my thighs and I couldn't move. Feeling how well imprisoned I was, she let go the back of my neck and began to caress my bare chest, the tips of my lightly perspiring nipples. It felt ... oh, God, not again! I wriggled helplessly under her. In her. And I started to grow! I wanted more! I closed my eyes and pressed up at her. "No," she said suddenly. "There's no more time for another now. I'm expecting someone soon. There's only just enough time for you to lick me nice and clean again. Think carefully, where do you want to do it? Shall we go upstairs so you can lie flat on your back on our bed, Tom's and mine, and enjoy being one of my loving pussy slaves while I sit on your face?" Or would you rather do it here, kneeling in front of me and bobbing your face into my pussy like a sweet girl giving her darling boyfriend a blow job? Her whole weight was still pressing on my lap, her thigh muscles imprisoning my legs. I couldn't get away. Do what? I remembered that as I'd risen into ecstasy she'd said that if I came into her I'd have to clean her up. And I had cum into her, deep into her, gloriously into her, and my cum was now deep inside her, sprayed over all the inner walls of her pussy, already leaking past her cunt lips onto my balls. It was unfair -- by the time she'd said it I couldn't help myself! But maybe she didn't know that? No, of course she knew that! Would it have made a difference, would I have stopped and pulled out if I could have? No way! She'd set a condition and I had to meet it. If I came inside her, I had to lick her clean. Or who knows what else she might do. Tell Carrie? I felt a blow in the pit of my stomach! What a fool I've been! She knows I live next door! She could drop over any time for a neighborly cup of coffee and tell Carrie what an easy fuck she has for a husband! My God, Carrie! Carrie will sense that this has happened, she'll know it the moment she sees me! I had to go! I had to get out of there and clear my head, and think! "You're just like putty now, you know that?" she said, squirming on my softening dick. Was she talking about my dick? "Well, which is it?" I looked over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of her front door, my escape route. No, my escape route to the front door is now through her pussy! I realized. By licking her pussy. Sucking my own cum out of her pussy. I'd never done that before, not even with Carrie -- oral sex was what we did before we made love, not afterward. When we were eager, passionate! When when we were finished being intimate and we were both deliciously sloppy, we'd just curl into each other and go to sleep. No way was I going deeper into this woman's lair, to be entrapped upstairs in her bedroom, her husband's bedroom, their bedroom. No way would I become another of her surrogate lovers on their bed, not flat on my back and not face down on her quim either. No way did I want to lose sight of that front door! Did I have a choice? "Knees," I said. "Here." She rose up and pushed herself up off me, and twisted to sit alongside me on the couch. Then looked at me and smiled pleasantly. I saw she was holding her thighs tight together. "I thought so." she said. "That's the way you'll do it, then. That's what you'll do for me from now on. All right, kneel down in front of me, and kiss my thigh so I'll know you appreciate what I'm allowing you to do. In token of respect and gratitude for what I'm letting you do. Then take hold of my hips and pull yourself in real close, your whole face, deep between my legs, and I'll open the golden portals and let my twat become your whole world. That's what I want for you. That's how I like it. What's your name, by the way?" "Bob." Why did this remind me of the way I'd met Carrie? The same question! The same answer, I thought, stupidly. My eyes started to tear. What had I just done to Carrie? I'd betrayed her! I crept down onto the carpet in front of the woman with whom I'd betrayed Carrie and just knelt there, my forehead resting on her knees, abject. I had tears in my eyes. She leaned forward and took hold of my head with both hands and tilted my face up toward hers and leaned close, as if she were talking to a puppy. "Poor Bobbi," she said. "You do what I tell you and do a good job and everything will be just fine. There's nothing to feel sad about. You just tell yourself over and over that now you're finally where you belong, kneeling between my legs and kissing my cunt in gratitude for what it's just done for you. Because this is where you belong now. Tell yourself that. Will you tell yourself that?" She continued to hold my head firmly -- she had long, slim, red-tipped fingers but her hands were strong -- was she a tennis player? She looked down at me not unkindly. But she was waiting for an answer and her grip was like a vise. She waited. "Yes," I said. Anything! "My sweet Bobbi. I see tears. Well, you just wipe those tears on my pussy and then lick them all up. Then they'll be all gone, and there'll be nothing left to cry about! This is where you belong, Bobbi. Right here. On your knees in front of me licking cum out of my pussy. Do you want me to open my legs now so you can begin?" "Yes," I said. She was playing with me, playing cat and mouse with her pussy and my mouth! Making me agree to everything! I thought 'Let's get this over with!' but realized I'd better not say it, she would not wish to hear it, there could be repercussions. I had to do what I had to do and then get out of there fast, before she thought of more things for me to do. I had to get back home, pull myself together, think this through, do some damage assessment! Decide what to tell Carrie when she gets home and senses there's something different about me. About us. But Carrie won't be home for a few more days. Maybe there's time to cover this up? Even in my own mind? "All right then," this woman said in a relaxed, leisurely way. "Kiss my thigh. Ahhh, so sweet. No, linger there a moment. Now here you are, sweetheart, enjoy!" She scooted forward until her rear was half-off the sofa and opened her legs wide and pulled my head into the gap between them. Actually, it wasn't too bad. She had a very pretty pink cunt, shiny with our smeared fluids, her shy clit peeking out from its folds, a little larger than Carrie's. There was a pearly glop half-caught just within. I closed my eyes and went to work on her like a dog licking out a dog bowl. My tongue went in and out and up and down that tender pink slot with those moist lips, while she lay almost on her back with her bottom rising and falling off the edge of the sofa, enjoying it all, occasionally moaning. My cum coated my tongue like thin pancake syrup, only salty instead of sweet. Mixed with hers it soon filled my mouth. I was reluctant to swallow, but as I licked, she grew more and more tense, squeezing out more and more. Then with a great groan she went into an orgasmic spasm and delivered gouts of ropy jism out of her depths into my face, and I had to swallow, then sucked up and swallow down more. It was strange stuff, at first disgusting, like phlegm, but much smoother, finer in texture. I was surprised to find I didn't mind, and could even swallow avidly. It was a little bit exciting to think that there were now live sperm swimming inside me. Peciliar but exciting. By the time I'd emptied her and licked up the last of of me and it was all her own juices, she was nearing another orgasm. So I felt I had to keep going. She tasted like a girl in college who'd once asked me to go down on her, and like Carrie too. It was pleasant! She smelled fresh, flowery fragrant, not at all musky or fishy, faintly soapy. She'd had her morning shower and sprayed cologne on her pussy, I supposed, and then she'd waited for me to retrieve the morning newspaper. Perhaps she'd baited her trap by moving it out to the road herself. And I'd fallen for a trick like that! I'd been such a fool! To punish myself and also to get it over with I licked and sucked and poked and swiped and swallowed her relentlessly! Desperately! Up above, she began to moan yet again. She was writhing and pressing her groin against my face as if trying to swallow my head. "Oh, good!" she uttered aloud involuntarily as I nibbled her clit, and she lifted her whole crotch to angle it more toward me. "Oh, yes! Yes!" I tried to lift my face away but she pulled my head back into her pussy and wriggled even more, until my whole nose was deep inside her slit. "More!" she commanded. Finally when I'd licked and swallowed her repeatedly, her whole torso rose once more and stiffened, then descended again, and her thighs went slack. Her hands fell away from my head. "Yes," she whispered to herself. "So good! This is where you belong! This is what you'll do!" I waited a decorous moment or so while she recovered. Then stood up and again looked toward the door. She didn't stir. Instead she merely said, "You can't go outside like that, you know, Bobbi honey. Practically naked? Whatever can you be thinking?" I looked down at her. She was now lying back voluptuously, negligently at her ease, that same half-smile on her lips, her eyes now wide open again, large and innocent, seemingly innocent but staring straight at me. Her pale pink chiffon gown lay in disarray across her body. Both of her breasts now hung pendulously in full view, the neatly trimmed bush I'd been mouthing was only half covered, and her legs sprawled carelessly open. It was as if the proprieties no longer mattered, her appearance in my eyes no longer mattered, modesty no longer mattered, she had nothing to hide from me, because I no longer mattered. It crossed my mind that probably even her husband never saw her lounging this casually, this indifferently, her most intimate parts carelessly exposed to full daylight. I wasn't her lover. I wasn't her equal. My opinion of her, how she looked, didn't count, not any more. Now I was a kind of body servant, an extension of her will, something to be used. A pet lap dog? A ladies' maid? A convenience? I was baffled by that relaxed nonchalance. It seemed intended to put me in my place. As her fucktoy? I didn't move. "Mmmm, kiss my titties, Bobbi. Again. You forgot to." She stretched out her arms wide. The session wasn't over yet. "I can't, I've got to go!" "Wearing what?" she asked again. "That rag you think is protecting your virtue, whatever may be left of it?" I was getting impatient. "Watch me!" I replied. "Oh, my dear, just look at those undies of yours, sticky with cum. Our cum! Delicious enough I'm sure, judging by the eager way you lapped it up. But it isn't very decent for you to wear them in the open air in daylight, in the street. Just look at them, torn wide open. What might our neighbors think? What might I think? Your penis is hanging out. It's a pretty penis, it suits you, I loved using it! But even so!" My shorts were indeed torn wide open, she'd torn them herself. In the midst of all those dips, bobs, and wheels astride me she'd reached down on either side and wrenched them wide open and they'd ripped. I'd assumed it was to give her hole access to the full length of my cock, which was already altogether inside her anyhow. Why else? "And your face -- it's so cute, really, I'm sure I'm not the first girl to tell you that. But right now it's all caked and gleaming, all soaked in cum and saliva and sweat and tears too, you poor dear. One eyelid is half-glued shut! All those love juices! Surely you don't want our security cameras to see you slinking away with that stuff covering you like the icing on a cake! What a before and after set of pictures! You entering the house with me in only a pair of undershorts, but still, decently covered, kissing me on the doorstep before coming here to a more private place. Kissing me very affectionately too, I loved those little moues and mouthings. But do you want our cameras to show you leaving looking the way you do now? That's rather more ... suggestive, don't you think? Not everyone who sees the security tapes will think the better of you for doing what you just did!. Just think about it." She closed her eyes and waited. Security cameras! She'd recorded me following her into the house! Being led into the house? How could I get out without being seen? Through a window? No, of course, she was a woman supposedly alone all day in this isolated house! So of course there were cameras. her husband would have set them up probably everywhere! So only invited guests could enter the house, and if anyone misbehaved the evidence would be unimpeachable! My God, were there cameras inside the house too, in every room? Even in this room? She had an open marriage, she had nothing to fear from exposure. But I had everything to fear. What was that reference to 'everyone who sees the security tapes'? Who might see them? Police? Could she charge me with some crime? I didn't think so! "Security cameras?" I could barely croak the words out. Her innocent eyes looked up at me. "Tom worries about my safety when he's not here. He likes to look in on me now and then," she said. "What with all my visitors coming and going in different rooms. He wants everyone to know he's watching, and that it's all being recorded. For my sake, and everyone else's reputation." In all the rooms? My God! And what did "look in" and "now and then" mean? Did those cameras broadcast or broadband their images to his office? Or something? Had all my fucking and sucking been transmitted live as it was being recorded? I asked her, and she nodded reassuringly. Then I got frantic! Terrified! Carrie could know! She'd see! She saw the fright in my face and hastened to reassure me. "Oh no, you're mine now, doll, and I'll take good care of you," she said. "Don't you worry at all. Just kiss my titties goodbye for now, and I'll let you go. You'll be fine." "For now," I repeated, my heart sinking. Her eyes never wavered, though her eyebrows curved sympathetically. "That's right, honey. 'For now.' Now that we've finally met, I know we're going to be very friendly." "I have a wife," I said quietly. I felt forlorn. "I don't want to be unfaithful to her. I won't fuck you ever again. I don't want to hurt her." She seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh?" she said, "That sounds very firm. How very man of principle!" She paused thoughtfully. "Yes, honey, I know you have a wife. It's so darling that you don't want to be 'unfaithful' to her! Wherever did she find a man like you?" She considered the matter, then a sly grin came over her face. "All right, you be as faithful to her as you can be, and we'll do other things I've always wanted to do with a man. You've got a lovely penis, but I have lots of others. We won't fuck any more, Bobbi. There, does that make you feel better? But what about everything else? Would she want to know about the other things we've done? How ardent you are when you suck cum out of my pussy, how you're such a gentleman that you don't stop until I've had multiple orgasms, one after the other? What about the other things I'll want to do with you? I myself believe in absolute honesty between husbands and wives. Tom and I tell each other everything, if either of us happens to ask. But perhaps you have a different relationship? " She waited again. She seemed to think I should respond. She also seemed to think I'd be coming back here again! No way! "We do have a different relationship," I said, feeling superior to her. "No, I don't want Carrie to know," I added. And now I felt like a sneak, that this woman was the one who was morally upright! Clearly, I was now implicated in a conspiracy to deceive Carrie. Trapped. I'd made the trap myself, and this woman would see to it that I remained there. But what could I do? After what I'd done this morning, how could I re-establish absolute honesty? Tell Carrie what I'd just done? "You don't want her to know," she said. "I'll remember that. And you'll remember that too, won't you?" There was a brief pause while her meaning sank in. She'd keep my secret as long as I did the "other things" she wanted to do with me. Then suddenly she sat up straight and thrust her chest at me. "You'll want to kiss my titties now I think, by way of saying 'thank you' to me for this whole morning's pleasures, Bobbi. Let's see what kind of a sweet baby you can be. And I want to find out something else too. Let me see, I'm looking for that hand cream I was using in this room just before I went out this morning to meet you, I'm sure it's here somewhere. Yes. Do take off those awful undies so I can throw them away. And lie down here alongside me and come rest in my arms, and hug me, tuck my breasts into your mouth, and kiss my nipples. Suck on them, you darling!" She patted the cushion next to her. I did those things. I lay myself naked in her arms and licked and sucked on her generous boobs, feeling forlorn, snared. I felt terrible. Yet oddly, as she clasped me to her, her soft, warm bosom was comforting. Just taking her whole breast tip into my mouth and pressing my face into those capacious globes, I could forget what this woman had just done to me, to my marriage. Was doing. What I'd done. I closed my eyes and moaned like an infant, working my tongue around her thick, erect nipple. And when she moved my mouth to her other breast, I didn't open my eyes, I only resumed nursing. And as I sucked, and my mind filled with an uneasy contentment, I felt her hand slide down from where it had been resting on my bare buttocks and reach to probe my rear with one finger, then another. She was seeking my asshole. Her fingers felt cool and slick, almost greasy -- I supposed she'd found that hand cream. One finger poked at my opening and entered it. Then a second finger joined with the first one. Her fingers were inside me! "There, there, baby," she said soothingly. "You just lie here in my arms and let yourself go, just concentrate on kissing my nipples and nuzzling my breast, and sucking on me, and how nice I feel now that I'm inside you, and we'll soon have you feeling very nice indeed. Very nice! The nicest you can feel." And those two fingers in my anus began to slide back out, then in again. Slowly at first, but then deeper. In and out. At first I felt full, as if I needed a bowel movement, but then I felt empty, as if something was missing. Then full again, nice, just as she'd said. Gradually the full feeling changed to something else, more than full, a fulfillment, a peculiar yearning that grew until it had me reaching for some kind of completion inside myself. She was finger-fucking me. Masturbating me somehow from inside. I'd done that to Carrie's pussy often enough, but this was the first woman who'd ever done it to me. Had I just lost my virginity? I whined, and held her more tightly, my face buried in her soft, warm titty, my mouth now working furiously on her thick, turgid nipple. Her fingers flew in and out of me, almost as if fluttering like a bird inside a deep cave. The yearning in me rose higher and higher. And then I came! My penis pulsed repeatedly! Oh, God, it was so great! My ass muscles clenched tight on her fingers with each pulse, squeezing and hugging them in gratitude. As she felt my body finally relax she hugged me tightly with her other arm and said "There, there, Bobbi baby, didn't I tell you? Isn't that nice? You're so wonderfully responsive!" I had no reply. My mouth was still filled to the brim with titty. But I whined again in response. I couldn't tell myself if it was a whine of satisfaction or of defeat. "Just lick and suck me now, sweetie," she whispered. "Since you don't want to be a man with me, you can be my baby. Tomorrow I won't ask you to be a man at all." She held my head to her breast. I licked and sucked. Now and then she moaned, or sighed, content. "No, not a man," she whispered to herself. "This will be such fun!" I nursed on her and almost fell asleep. I was no longer in a rush to leave. I felt reassured, somehow. Maybe she could make things right? Finally she lifted my head away from her breast and said "There, there, that's enough now. Don't be too greedy the first day, baby. Would you like some coffee before you go?" I accepted, and followed her into the kitchen. I was still stark naked and her chiffon peignoir was still draped carelessly on her partly naked body. I felt like Adam after he ate the apple, and I told her so. She smiled, clearly enjoying her own implied role as Eve the temptress. I told her how deeply ashamed I was, ashamed of betraying my wife, ashamed of what we'd done sexually, even of my nakedness. "You'll live," was all she said, before taking a sip. She sounded confident. "And she will too. You were born for what we did this morning. And you know it was great. So cheer up." Eventually she disappeared upstairs, then came back with something. "Here," she said. "Wear this home." It was one of her robes, pink with huge floppy sleeves and a wide satin collar -- very feminine. Did I have a choice? When I put it on I expected her to laugh. Instead, she looked at me intently, then seemed reassured. "Yes, that's possible too," she said to herself. Then to me, "Bobbi baby, you're a natural! It's amazing! That's robe's so very flattering. We'll certainly have to do more of that!" I felt embarrassed. I asked her if she had something else, something of her husband's maybe that I could wear instead past her security cameras, say another pair of undershorts. "Oh, no," she declared flatly. "We keep our personal affairs separate, Tom and I, that's our arrangement. He doesn't lend my panties to his women, and I don't lend his briefs to my men." She sipped her coffee and thought about it some more. Then added cheerfully, "But I can lend you a pair of my panties, if you want to feel covered, if they'd help you feel better! You've already said it, you don't want me to think of you as a man or to use you like a man. Because you want to stay faithful to your wife. Well, I can respect that. But believe me, my husband is very much a man. So his clothes aren't really appropriate, they'd give me naughty ideas about your manhood again, and who knows where that might lead? Isn't it better for you to wear clothes that don't remind me of your manhood? That help keep you faithful to your wife when we're together?" I couldn't tell if she was teasing or taunting me, or just thinking aloud. "I guess so." We stood up. "I knew you'd agree." she said cheerfully. "Keep the robe for now," she said. "It's better than walking naked past the security cameras. Wear it proudly. We'll get you something more appropriate next time." "Who looks at these security camera tapes?" I asked, annoyed. "Whenever you remind me of them, you seem to be threatening me with them!" "Why no, Bobbi, quite the reverse, I want to protect you from embarrassment with them," she said, as if hurt. "My husband monitors them now and then wherever he may be. In his office or anywhere in the country. Recorded or live, I never know. Sometimes because he's lonely and he feels better if he can see that I'm not, he loves me, the dear. Sometimes to reassure his girlfriends about our arrangement, so they can enjoy him without feeling sorry for me. Mostly though its a security precaution, as I said, a way to assure that any gentleman who comes here remains a gentlemen." She paused. "Unless I ask him to be something else. Then with what's already recorded, they help assure that he'll want to be that something else for me too!" As I thought. Not exactly blackmail, because it never got that far. Intimidation, maybe, with fear of exposure. "Then there are cameras inside the house too," I said. "In every room. Aren't there? He may be looking at us right now?" She almost laughed. "Oh, Bobbi, what an idea!" she said. "For me the idea's comforting, but perhaps you'd best not think about it at all! It might embarrass you!" She didn't deny it. I was now anxious to leave, and stood up. She showed me out, and at her front door she stopped to kiss me yet again. "This has been so much fun," she murmured. "Even better than I'd hoped. Call me tonight so we can confirm tomorrow. I definitely want you tomorrow, probably around noon and then all afternoon, probably the evening too. Then day after tomorrow we'll see. This will be so very marvelous! Much more fun than fucking! It's more fun already!" Her eyes glinted in the sunlight. We stood together by the front entrance while she said these things and I looked in vain for the security camera. Maybe in a nearby tree, surveilling both of us this very moment? The whole world had turned around since I'd last stood here with her. I felt trapped. Yet I couldn't say I hadn't enjoyed it. "What's your name?" I asked her, trying to recover some of my dignity. My mouth now tasted of coffee instead of cum, but my asshole still felt a little distended from her fingers, and slick with her hand cream. It was an odd sensation, as if her fingers might now somehow slowly slip in and slide out any time she wanted. "Gail," she said. "Call me Gail when we're with other people, but I'll appreciate "Ma'am" when we're alone, especially when we're being intimate. I want you always to show me a certain appropriate respect, and never forget that I'm in charge of our relationship. This will be wonderful! You're going to do things with me other men never do when they're being men, everything except the one thing of course that you feel makes you unfaithful to your wife. And we've already done that anyhow. Here's my card with my phone number. I tell everyone that if they don't call me, not to worry, I'll call them and if necessary leave messages on their answerers and voice mails. Which isn't a reliable way to reach them, because their secretaries and wives and girlfriends sometimes pick up those messages and then erase them by mistake. And then erase the men from their affections, too, that happens. Call me this evening and we'll confirm our time tomorrow. Understood?" "Yes, ma'am," I replied. I understood well enough. But now I was thinking about her saying I can call her by her proper name 'when we're with other people'? Does that mean what it seems to mean? She will want me to meet 'other people'? Other people talk! They gossip! Carrie will surely find out about us! What does this woman have in mind? I was so worried that I didn't look at her card until that evening, when I had to know her phone number to confirm the hour she'd specified for our ... assignation. I wondered how she knew I'd be free tomorrow, and the next day too. That Carrie would be away the whole time. How could she know that? We'd never met before, and she'd certainly never met Carrie! The answer was printed on her card. "Gail Hanover" it read. I sat down and reread it. That was what it said. "Gail Hanover" was a name Carrie and I had bandied back and forth in the past, because many of Carrie's projects were first proposed by someone with that name, and when Carrie'd brought them off, "Gail Hanover" had written her the congratulatory notes. Gail Hanover was majority stockholder of "Hanover Associates." She'd inherited the company from her parents. Her husband Tom was the president. Carrie was one of the "associates." Gail's husband was Carrie's boss, and Gail was in effect Carrie's boss's boss as well as his wife. I'd just fucked the boss's wife, and now she meant to use me for whatever other kinds of pleasure met her fancy. The security cameras alone weren't what would keep me in line. Nor was it just my desire to keep this liaison secret from Carrie, so Carrie wouldn't leave me, divorce me on the spot. I was also playing for Carrie's career. If I blew it, Carrie would suffer for my sins. This morning, when Gail Hanover had pulled my prick into her house and then sat down on it, I really had gotten myself fucked. I called Gail as instructed. She sounded almost impersonal. "Oh yes, it's Bobbi, isn't it. Well, I do want you here at noon, and plan on making yourself available the rest of the day and well into the evening. I assume that's no problem. Come dressed the way you left me." And before I could reply she hung up. Carrie called an hour or so later, just as I was going to bed exhausted. As she always did at least once when away, to ask how things were going. I'm sure I sounded nervous, edgy, guilty, I don't know what else. Luckily she was too hurried to notice. Things were going other than as anticipated, as usual, more surprises, more hassles But she was keeping up with them and she'd changed her game plan, and certain outcomes were already better than expected. She was learning things she'd never known, and the challenge was frankly exciting. But she had to cut the call short now, she was being paged, and she apologized for it. Just as well, I was thinking. I was afraid to prolong our conversation right now anyway. She missed me, she said. "Do you miss me too?" "Very much," was all I could say. My voice broke, and I was choking. I was sure she could hear it. She did. "Awww, sweetie," she said. "Well, don't feel bad! Please, believe me, there's no reason. I'll be home before you know it. Love ya! Have fun!" Always more concerned for me than for herself! I went to bed miserable, sobbing for my lost virtue, and fortunately fell asleep almost at once. iii. The next morning no Mercedes pulled out of Gail Hanover's driveway -- her husband was still away I guessed. But early on a Corvette pulled in. Some time later it left, and a short time after that a pickup truck that visited until nearly noon, then left. I could only glimpse the drivers -- both men, one rather handsome and well groomed, one a burly guy in a denim shirt with a huge beard. Takes all kinds, I thought. The second guy doing repairs? But at least I wasn't doing the cheating, and I didn't intend to. The bargains we make with ourselves? I was a bit shocked when at noon, just as I was leaving the house, a little Escort turned into her driveway, driven by a woman. But what could I do? I followed in that robe she'd loaned me, feeling like an utter fool. Even if she hadn't specified it I'd have come wearing that women's robe -- no way was I going to leave it where Carrie might find it. When I arrived at the now-infamous front door with all the security cameras trained on it, she called out "It's open, come in!" And when I came in I saw she was dressed in a robe like mine and seated at an ornate desk in a study just off the front hall. She was leaning back in an executive desk chair, legs crossed, obviously feeling comfortable. "You're here on time, good!" she said when she saw me. "You look wonderful, sleep well? Lunch is ready, but you won't eat for about an hour. I have work to finish. Why don't you go with Cora now, ah, here she is. Cora is my masseuse. What's good is about to become better." And she just sat there. I turned around. Cora was the woman in the Escort, tall, solidly built, with a pleasant face, who took my hand and shook it the way a man would. It was a very strong hand, stronger than Gail's. "Gail's been telling me about you -- my but she has plans!" Cora said. "Let's get started!" She took me to a guest bathroom somewhere in back and without a moment's hesitation stripped me of my robe, then as I stood there smeared me with pink cream, my dong hanging inches from her face while she wiped whatever the stuff onto my legs. She didn't seem to notice. "Very nice," she said. "You're quite thin, shoulders not too broad, and not much musculature. That's helpful. I can see why Ms. Hanover wanted me to condition and tone your skin. You'll do very well." "I'll do what very well?" I asked. "What do you think she wants with me?" I had no idea where this was going. "Oh, the same as with all her other men," Cora said. "To play. Don't worry, she loves doing kinky things, but she's never yet had an unsatisfied customer. They get addicted I suppose. At least they all keep coming back." I had some idea why apart from addiction, but said nothing. "I've given lots of them massages while Ms. Hanover was recovering from the things they'd done together. Or they were recovering. But you're special. She made that quite clear. 'Bobbi is delicate, be gentle,' she said. Spread your cheeks wide so I can get some of this stuff between them. That's good." So here was the second strange woman in two days to take an interest in my ass. Carrie liked its shape. She'd once told me it was like a woman's. She called me "bubble-butt" sometimes, teasing me. But she'd never run her fingers into my anus, as Gail had done, or between the crack, as Cora was doing. "Yes," she said. "You'll do very well. Now rinse off in the shower." Still wondering what I'd be doing "very well," I stepped in. Hot water cascaded down on me and the shower stall filled with steam, so it wasn't until I stepped out and was met by Cora bearing a huge terry towel that I realized I was now hairless! "My God!" I said aloud. "What will my wife think?" My anxieties returned all at once. "She'll think you're gorgeous," Cora said complacently. "Though I'm sure she does already. Now lie down on this table here -- I have lots of creams and unguents for you. Your skin looks starved!" She began with one that had a distinct flowery aroma. "There," she said when she'd spread it. "This permeates the whole epidermal area, many layers down. This scent lasts and lasts, for at least a month, shower after shower, no matter how often you exfoliate. Your lovers will assume after a while that it's your body's natural scent. Ms. Hanover especially chose this one for you, "Floral Queen." It's her own scent. She likes it because it doesn't come off, so her men don't carry it home to make wives suspicious about where they've been. With this scent in your skin you won't ever need to wear perfume when you're dressed to go out, not even a cologne." "What are you talking about?" I asked, now even more worried. I'd decided to claim I'd lost all that hair in a charcoal fire starter flashback, people do. But this feminine smell? Carrie couldn't help but ask questions. How could I explain it? "I never use perfume or cologne!" "That's what I said," Cora said, unflapped. "And now some moisturizers." I started to get up, but Cora's arms proved as strong as her hands. Her touch was gentle, but as she spread her emollients and balms over my shoulders I found I couldn't lift them against the pressure of her fingertips. "Not yet," she'd say casually, rubbing something into my bum. "All right, now! No don't sit up, just roll over!" And I was flat on my back before I even knew how I'd gotten there, Cora spreading something on my face. "Lucky there isn't much facial hair," she said. "I've known women with more. This'll give you the softest complexion imaginable. Like a baby's." She smiled down. "I hear you like nursing on Ms. Hanover. Well, now your face will be as soft and smooth against her skin as her breast is to yours. You won't know which is touching which. That's how babies bond to their mommies. Close your eyes now, and keep them that way for maybe five minutes." She spread something on my eyelids too. Then as I lay there in the darkness, she began to massage a somewhat stiffer ointment onto my nipples and the surrounding chest tissue. It felt nice. It began to feel very nice, and I could feel my prick begin to take notice and start to rise, fully visible to her. It distracted me a little from what she said next. "Premarin cream," she said. "Estrogen in an adsorbent base. Women use it to lubricate their vaginas when they're past menopause. Some women think it'll grow their breasts bigger, but I've only noticed a little improvement in the women I've used it on. You'll need more than a tube or two of it, I'd say, if this is how Ms. Hanover means to get your figure up to par. If that's what all this is about. I can't say I know." Baffling! I was about to ask her just what Ms. Hanover -- Gail -- had told her, when she grabbed my now partially erect cock with her Premarin-coated plastic glove and began stroking it up and down. Oh, bliss! "Try to hold off as long as you can, and let me know when you can't," she said. "I can always rub the cream into your balls while we wait for this thing to cool down." And as I gave a warning groan, she did. "What does that stuff do?" I asked as soon as I could talk. "The estrogen makes your skin softer by hormonal suffusion instead of just by plumping up the cells like ordinary skin creams," she said calmly. "She loves stroking soft skin. She'll want me to keep you soft this way if things between you work out. This much is only a lick and a promise to see if your body's interested. Your cock certainly is! Let me take care of it for you. You can open your eyes now and watch, if you like." And she began to stroke my cock, her hand coated in that thick white cream, deliberately this time, her other hand now holding a cup, of all things, ready to catch whatever I might squirt. "Can't use a condom, the way I usually do when I masturbate Ms. Hanover's men to slow them down when they're too eager," she said. "She tells me she wants all the available estrogen in this cream to soak into your balls and your prick, so they'll know right from the beginning which hormones are the boss. It'll soften the skin down there too! And maybe the whole tool? Oh, that idea excites you too, eh? Well, here we go then!" She stroked one last time and held me firm, and I closed my eyes. It was glorious. As I spurted, each spray arched up and fell neatly into her cup. She handed it to me. "Here," she said. "Drink it down." "Drink this?" I said, horrified. "Yes," Cora said. "Ms. Hanover specifically asked me to see to it. It isn't as if you haven't swallowed sperm before. Just do it, and don't make any problems." She lifted my head with an iron forearm on the back of my neck, and held the cup to my lips. "Yes, that's it." Again, it was strange. Lightly salted, but the texture was still unfamiliar. Like olive oil? Like a raw egg white? It seemed to melt in my mouth. Not unpleasant. This was the strangest massage I had ever had, I was thinking. Cora now told me to stand, and handed me my bathrobe. Gail's robe. "There, that's much better," she pronounced. I was still in a late afterglow of my climax, but worried again. "Do you think my wife will notice how my skin is now?" I asked foolishly? "Of course she will," Cora said. "Any woman would. You can tell her that your flowery smell is now hers to enjoy, something to share. Isn't that the point? So you can enjoy being closer? Same as with Ms. Hanover?" "I guess," I said. But I was still worried as, with my skin plump and smooth, softened and fragrant, I walked with Cora back to Gail's office. I wondered if Carrie would buy an argument like that. An emollient to help us feel closer. It sounded like a cosmetics ad. Well, women do buy cosmetics, I told myself hopefully. Except that I'm a man. Gail was still seated where I'd left her, and looked up brightly as we came in. "Here he is again," Cora announced. "All smooth and pretty as can be." "Well, not yet," Gail replied with a pleased smile,looking me over. "Though I love that eyelid treatment. Dark and shiny. It's rather seductive, you know? Come closer, honey!" What eyelid treatment? I hadn't looked at myself at all since Cora began. I came closer. Her hand reached into the opening of my bathrobe -- her bathrobe -- and took hold of my cock, now flaccid from its climax a few minutes ago. Even so, it began to stir. "Mmm, that's so nice," she said half to herself. "Smooth, and hairless as newborn peaches soaked in cream. I'd love to feel your whole body against me while we hug each other to sleep. If you're willing to spend the night with me, that's what we'll do. And that's my scent, "Floral Queen," did you know that? My signature scent. So fresh! Now it's as if you belonged to me, isn't it. As if you were an extension of me. Wearing my scent as if you were a servant wearing my livery. As if you were branded. I like that." "I'll go now," Cora interrupted. "Our next session will be when?" "I'll call," Gail said, entranced as she ran her hands over my rising cock and under my hairless balls, then down the inside of my thigh. "In a day or two. Probably two fairly athletic men, straight massages but with special