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Tales From The Couch #5 - Married Women [m/f]
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
This story is the fifth in the TALES FROM THE COUCH series.
The series is a diary of torrid tales revealed in confidence to a leading
sex psychologist. (The names have been changed, of course!)
Enjoy!!!
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"Married women ,doc, married women".............
"I don't know which one of us is crazier for being here," Brittany said as
she turned the upholstered chair toward me and sat down.
Every room in the hotel had a chair just like it; had the same bedspread,
nightstand, TV, curtains, and painting over the bed, too. Only the occupants
changed. I liked that about hotels; the anonymity was comforting.
Brittany wore a dress that probably cost $400_make that cost her
husband 400 bucks. It was slim-fitting and stylish. The top was smooth
across her breasts, interrupted only by the firm peaks of her nipples.
"This isn't the first time you've done this, is it?" Brittany asked, crossing
her legs sexily. Her stockings had a tight rose
pattern stitched along the seam.
I unbuttoned my shirt half way and pulled it over my head.
Very relaxed, Brittany laughed easily. "No, I guess it's not." She watched
me unbelt my jeans. "Were you this...direct with the first one?"
"Yes." I smiled at my confession.
"She mustn't have scared too easily."
"She was forty-two."
"And you were...?"
I unzipped my pants. "Twenty-three."
"When was that, Jeremy? Six, seven years ago?"
"Eight."
"And you've never been caught?"
"No." I pulled down my pants and underwear.
"Jesus," Brittany sighed."Look at you already."
My cock jutted straight out. I walked slowly toward her, stone naked.
"It's not my first time, either," Brittany said quickly, wanting to get the
words out before I was any closer. "Being with another man since I've been
married, I mean. It was a few years ago and we were both scared. I don't
think he ever did get hard all the way. We just did it and ran. I haven't seen
him since."
"I'm not much of a runner." I caressed her silky hair.
Brittany had a sweet, sculptured face, yet there was something in her
expression that tainted her innocent look.
"Do you want me to suck you?" Brittany looked up into my eyes.
"We can do whatever you want," I replied. My cock was less than two
feet from her face. I loved this moment, the anticipation of what was about
to happen_as if both of us had all this sexual energy dying to come out. In
spite of my eagerness, I remained calm, patient.
Somewhat tentative, she touched my hip. Her fingers were cool. "Maybe I
am a little nervous. That's why I'm talking so much. I talk a lot when I'm
nervous."
"I like the way you talk. You've got a sexy accent."
Her hand slid onto my butt. "So people say...that I've got an accent, I
mean, not that it's sexy. But I don't hear it. It doesn't...." Her voice trailed
away. She no longer looked into my eyes, but at my hard-on. She opened her
mouth just enough for my cockhead to ease through her lips.
I groaned as Brittany went halfway down my cock.
She sucked back and forth a few times, then eased away. "You taste
nice." Getting out of the chair, she brushed against my shaft. "I'm going to
close the curtain."
Outside, it was a bright and sunny afternoon. Somewhere across the city,
Brittany's husband was doing whatever it was Brooks Brothers-dressed
bankers do.
The room was much darker as Brittany began to take off her clothes. She
stood by the drawn curtains, facing away from me; she unzipped her dress,
shimmied out of it. She had a beautiful back, smooth and long. Her
shoulders were strong for such a slender woman. The sides of her breasts
showed around the curve of her rib cage.
I'd thought about seeing her naked lots of times. And, like many other
women, Brittany was better in the flesh than in dreams. The reality of it
actually happening made a woman that much more beautiful.
When she was down to her frilly stockings and garter, Brittany turned
toward me. "OK?" She asked a silly question, as though seeking my
approval.
I wondered how someone this dazzling could be at all insecure.
"Absolutely perfect."
We embraced gently at first. I slipped my tongue into her mouth.
"Do you always watch?" Brittany asked, opening her eyes to find that
mine already were.
"Yeah." I licked her upper lip.
Her smile weakened with desire. She fondled my erection, rubbing it
across her belly. "Oh, God. I'm getting so wet." She took half a step toward
the bed, but as soon as I followed her, she stopped. "This is crazy."
"We can stop," I offered willingly, but inside I was dying. I craved her.
Brittany didn't move for a few seconds. The she smiled. "That would be
even crazier."
We pulled back the covers and got into bed, caressing each other until the
sheets got warm.
Brittany urged me on top of her. "I want it, Jeremy." She thrust upward,
trying to get my cock inside her. "Jeremy," she gasped. "I really do want it!"
I seared all the way to her depths. Brittany shrieked loudly, her body
becoming rigid and tense, as though bracing against pain. "Are you all
right?"
"Don't stop!" she cried. She grabbed me, drawing me into her. "Just do it!
Fast, Jeremy. In and out!"
She twisted her head to the side. Whimpers of arousal fluttered deep
down in her throat and hummed over her lips. She opened her mouth as
though she might scream, but only a constricted groan emerged.
I touched the sides of her face. "Brittany?"
"Don't stop!" She threw back the sheets. "Now, Jeremy. Now...now!" She
bucked beneath me, hitting her peak with wild intensity. Just when I
thought
I'd survive her climax without coming, Brittany squeezed her pussy around
my shaft and got my jism spewing all over her slick walls. I loved it
afterward; that is, watching women get dressed. I always stayed naked,
excited by the idea of showing myself to them once we were done. "You're
very good," I said.
Brittany's flesh seemed to glow. She slipped on her dress and smiled
happily. "What an adorable thing to say." She wriggled sexily trying to reach
her zipper. "Are you busy tomorrow night?"
"I'd have to check."
"My God, do you know that many women?" When I didn't answer, she
said, "No, of course you'd keep something like that secret." She dropped the
question, but I'm sure she still wanted to know.
I remained silent. Part of the fun was letting them think what they
wanted. "Next to the chair," I directed, when Brittany couldn't find her shoes.
"My husband and I are having a party tomorrow night. A lot of people
from the bank will be there, but also a few others to keep it from getting too
boring. I'd like you to come."
"Why?"
Brittany brushed her fingers through her hair. "Does it sound strange that
it would turn me on to have you in the same room with my husband?"
"No."
She seemed glad about that. "It's semiformal. Do you have a suit?"
"I can get one."
"If it costs you any..."
"I'll take care of it." One thing I never let them talk about was money. I
did this for the pleasure of being with them. Money was well down on my
list of priorities. Hell, anybody could get a job.
The following morning, I waited down the block until Mervis drove past
in his big Lincoln. It was just 8:15 A.M. and he already had one of those big
cigars going. Mervis was 45 years old, still pretty much in shape, but he
smoked whopper cigars like a fat, old carpet salesman.
I waited 30 minutes to make sure he wasn't doubling back for something
he'd left at home. The time passed comfortably while I relaxed in the Lexus
that ran me $600 a month_$300 more than my apartment_in lease
payments. It was my only possession of real value, but a necessary one. Very
seldom did any of the women come to my apartment, but lots of them got in
my car.
Mervis and Sandra lived in a two-story Tudor in an old established
neighborhood. Their bedroom was on the first floor with French doors
opening out onto a stone patio. I let myself in- I had a key. It was warm
inside the
big bedroom. The air was still and musky with the smell of her. Sandra was
in bed, her blond hair tousled across the pillow. She murmured sleepily,
"What a wonderful surprise."
I opened her husband's closet. It was filled with freshly pressed worsted
wool and silk suits. Three dozen white shirts were folded and wrapped on
the shelves. "I need to borrow a suit."
"Mmm, help yourself." Sandra eased her legs apart. The puff of her pussy
hair made a distinct outline against the sheet. Her hands grasped the ornate
brass head rails.
At the foot of the bed, I took hold of the sheet and tugged it down, slowly.
Sandra had heavy, wonderful Southernbelle breasts. When we'd met at a
party, she'd been wearing a low-cut dress that pushed her cleavage into deep
mounds. When I undressed her that first time, the lines of her bra left marks
in her flesh. I'd never looked at her since without thinking about that.
Now, I lay down between her legs, caressing her pussy with my
fingertips. I blew softly over her curled hair.
Her juices flowed eagerly as soon as my tongue made contact. "Jeremy,
yes!" she gasped. "Oh, yes. Stick your tongue in me. Just like that. Oh, God,
yes. On my clit. On my clit !"
She clenched her teeth and sucked in deep gasps of air. Her hips and
shoulders rolled as I licked her full of pleasure. The weight of her breasts
shifted across her chest. Her nipples hardened like sweet stones.
"Mmmmm. Mmmmmm- hmmmmmm. Jeremy. Yes. Jeremy.. Jeremy!'
She came quickly and powerfully, repeating my name over and over as
though burning into her consciousness the idea that it was someone else_
not her husband_ going down on her.
Someone asked me once what I liked most about married women and I
told him: "They know what they want and they know how to come." All
the
men at Brittany and Reggie's party had one ear on the conversation and the
other on Wall Street. Even the younger guys were gray at the temples and
remained stiff-backed after a few martinis .
They reminded me of cardiac-care doctors, always listening for the
alarm that would signal heart attack; in this case, though, they weren't
tending to ailing patients but an economy infected with a spreading
disease they hoped wasn't fatal. Otherwise, all those Benzes, Rolexes,
and big houses were going into hock.
Brittany looked wonderful. She wore a savagely backless dress.
"Want to meet my husband?" she proposed mischievously and led me to
where five men stood in a private circle. "Reg." She smiled at her
husband like a mannerly spouse. "This is Jeremy Rawlings."
He turned from his friends with some annoyance. His little clique
had been arguing about something. Reg was a tall, thin man with a
proper nose and uneven hairline. He seemed the tightest ass of the bunch.
When Brittany left me there to mingle, Reg begrudgingly moved
back a half step to widen the circle he had created with his five banking
buds. "Jeremy Rawlings," he introduced dispassionately.
They offered bland hellos, then checked my tie (which didn't carry
the stripes of any clubs these stuffed shirts belonged to) and glanced
down at my shoes (which weren't wing tips). After a few moments of
awkward silence, one asked: "So, whom do you work for, Jeremy?"
"I don't."
"Between posts then?" another asked in a pseudo British accent.
"Actually, I'm not a great fan of employment. It keeps me away from
life's true pleasures."
"Such as?" the fake Brit demanded, obviously insulted.
I turned to watch a lithe brunette cross the room. "There's one now."
"That's my wife, you asshole!" The biggest guy forgot his manners.
"Perhaps, Mister Rawlings," Reg interceded, "you'd be more
welcomed elsewhere."
Rich guys were so easy to fuck with.
"You said that about Dawson's wife?" Brittany laughed. "My God, you're
lucky he didn't kill you. She had an affair last summer. Dawson's been trying
to find out ever since who she was seeing."
I couldn't help grinning.
Brittany looked at me with childish wide eyes. "My God! It was you. You
and Christine!" Unbuttoning her blouse, Brittany said sweetly, "Jeremy, you
are a scandalous fuck."
The morning after the party, we were back in our anonymous hotel room.
Brittany undressed slowly. She liked me being naked and hard before she
was showing much of anything.
She asked me to turn sideways so she could see my dick in profile. In her
bra and panties_no stockings today_she put one hand on my butt as the
other slid around my shaft. "It's all about doing what we shouldn't be doing,
isn't it? Getting away with something? Being bad?" She kissed my hip.
"It's about feeling good," I said, turning toward her, my cock sticking out
for her face. I caressed her cheeks with my thumbs and then slipped them
into her mouth, one at a time, popping through her lips.
"Your eyes are always open," she murmured seconds before closing hers.
She took my cock through her lips and washed it with warm saliva.
As I moved into her mouth, Brittany let me press my shaft down her
throat. She tilted her head back to take lots of it. Her hands weren't there to
stop me; they were between her legs, pressing firmly against her seam.
Her forearms were so tense with strain that she began to tremble. She
moaned as my cock sunk deep into her mouth. She fell back across the bed,
legs spread, one arm draped over her eyes.
"Oh, God," she gasped. "I'm so into this. Why does it feel so good with
you?"
I lay down on top of her, keyed up by desire. Something about Brittany
was wilder today. My control was fleeting. I wanted to be in her_all the
way in her_doing it hard and fast. I bent her legs so that her thighs were up
to her breasts.
Brittany considered me for a moment slightly in fear, being held open in
such vulnerable position. "You want me like this?" she whispered
desperately.
"All the way open so you can get your dick in deep."
My cock searched for her seam. I grasped her breast.
"Because you met my husband last night?" Brittany fingered my hard-on
in line with her slit. "Why do you think I wanted you to meet him? It makes
it different, doesn't it? It makes it better!"
As I plunged into her slick pussy, Brittany squeezed her walls around me.
"Oh, yeah. Do it. Do it!" Hard pleasure pumped through my cock. I kept
her legs up high, had her feet suspended above my shoulders.
Brittany balled the sheets up in her fists. "Do it to me, Jeremy! Make me
come. Take me from him! Take me!" She locked her ankles behind by back.
I was up on my knees doing her. Blood rushed to my head. It was one of
those times when everything felt so much better, as if my entire body was
going to be seized by pleasure. Neither of us held anything back.
Brittany's scream resonated across the room. She clutched hold of me,
shuddering wildly as she hit her peak. My cock felt as though it tightened
harder, longer, thrusting through her slick vulva. The pressure kept
increasing. I moved faster and suddenly erupted inside her, coming in hard
streams of ecstasy_a fanatic rush. I liked married women because they
knew what they wanted and they knew how to come.
The married women I knew wanted a break from the routine, an escape, a
fantasy come true. We played games together and no one got hurt because
there weren't any pretenses. I wasn't there to sweep them away and they
weren't going to fall in love. I was also careful_I made them be careful_
and we didn't get caught.
The only reason Dawson had found out his wife was cheating on him was
because she told him. That was OK. That had been part of her thrill.
I thought about all that as I watched Brittany get dressed, because I was
beginning to think she might be the exception. If she asked me to run off
with her one day, I might say yes.
I was going to have to be careful with her not to ruin a good thing. Ah, the
hazards of this wonderful duty.
THE END
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