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They sat together for quite a while, then rose to slide into the bed. Eventually they slept.
Friday night found Lucy alone in the house when she arrived home from her job as an occasional fill-in at an exclusive women's shop. She didn't really need the work, but she loved the employee discount. Fergus had left with the kids before she had arrived, taking them first to race real go-carts at a track an hour away, and then another hour on to visit the cousins at Jane and Bob's. They would return late the next afternoon.
Breezing into the kitchen, she found a note on the refrigerator door telling her she would find a chef's salad within. She spread the evening paper in front of her on the breakfast table and read through it randomly while she ate. She felt much more relaxed now that she had decided not to go back. Maybe Fergus had meant what he said the night before, and maybe her nipples hardened even now as she thought of spreading her legs for HIM, of letting HIM enter her, but it was so much easier just to say no. No to the worry. No to complications. <No to the only other cock you'll ever have the chance to experience?> came the insidious inner dialogue.
His was not the only penis she had touched or seen when she had married Fergus, but his was the only penis that had ever been inside her. The thought used to make her feel proud. Now it made her feel confined. <Fergus told you to go. Don't blow this chance.> said the inner voice, <You *want* to feel it, you *want* to let go, to be wild and wanton just once. When will you ever have this chance again? And with your husband's approval?><And what if Fergus changes his mind,> came the response. < What if he finds he doesn't want a wife who isn't surprised or seduced, but deliberately goes to Anne's house, knowing she is going to give herself to HIM. Is it worth it? What if they make you have oral sex with Anne this time? Do you want that? Act like an mature adult.>
With conscious effort, she quelled these thoughts. "I'm going to take a long, hot bath, put on my nightgown, and eat ice cream in front of the TV tonight," she said aloud to the silent walls. She smiled and walked into her bedroom.
Only to be plunged back into turmoil again when she saw the bed. Or rather, what had been placed on the bed. Elastic top white stockings. White high heels. White silk bikini panties. And her short white silk dress with the high neck and low back. The one Fergus loved so much because she couldn't wear a bra with it. All white, like a virgin bride.<Or a virgin sacrifice.> The inner voice was amused. But Lucy was not. <How can he love me if he pushes me at another man? What kind of crap is this?><Maybe it's because he does love you. Maybe he knows you want just once to break out and be wild. Can you doubt now that he wants you to go? You may never have this chance again.> "But I can't go now. I told Anne no," she said out loud.
Turning from the bed, she threw off her clothes, uncharacteristically letting them stay wherever they hit the floor. She took her long hot bath, unconsciously diligent to wash and shave with unusual care and thoroughness, using the body lotions until she felt soft and smelled sweet in every nook and cranny of her body. She was still naked, blowing her hair dry in the bathroom, when the phone rang. Thinking it might be Fergus, she rushed to pick it up.
It was Wade. "Anne told me you are alone tonight. She wants you with us. We'll pick you up in twenty minutes." Click.
Numbly she replaced the phone on the hook. She turned her head to her left, slightly, to see her reflection in the big mirror doors of the closet. She saw a woman with uncertainty etched into her face, and, as glaring as a neon sign behind her, the white patchwork on the dark bedspread. Suddenly she knew why her ablutions had been so thorough, why her bikini line was freshly shaved. She put on the white panties. Twenty minutes later she was being driven away in the back seat of Anne's car, listening to Mozart from the speaker.
He had arrived in a huge red Cadillac convertible, something from the sixties with fins on the back. Seeing his eyes when he opened the door of his car for her, she knew he planned to take her that night. If there had ever been any doubt, it had been dispelled once and for all when he spoke over the soft rumble of the car engine, "Tonight I am going to fuck you, Lucy. Even as your wedding ring sparkles on your finger, you will spread your legs for me and guide my cock into your pussy. With your left hand, Lucy, the hand that wears that ring. And you will come, Lucy. As you will come again in the morning when I fuck you in your own bed, after I drive you home. That is what will happen if walk through the door at Anne's. Make up your mind before we get there."
His arrogance was both infuriating and exciting. She thought about the image he described, her legs apart, guiding his cock into her, and felt demeaned. And aroused. She knew that if she rubbed her finger over the crotch of her panties she would find it slick with lubrication. A new litany began in her mind, so close to the previous one, but with one ever so important difference: <HE's going to fuck me. HE's going to fuck me right in front of Anne. HE's going to put his cock in me and fuck ME. And I'm going to let him.>
An icy finger of fear caressed her spine about five minutes from her house. "This isn't the way to Anne's. Where are you taking me?"
"Why, tonight is Friday night, Lucy. Date night. I am taking you dancing."
After the Mozart in the car, the raucous rock band was almost a physical assault when he opened the door to the club. Taking one woman on each arm, he steered them to the bar. Anne and Lucy sat on stools, while he stood between them.
"You ladies look as though you could do with a cocktail. Allow me. Stingers all around," he ordered, doing a passable Cary Grant imitation.
Lucy was irritated that he had ordered for her without asking, but smiled at the Cary Grant accent. It never occurred to her that Wade might be charming. She had never tried a Stinger. She was surprised when it turned out to be good. The first one went down easily, and he ordered a second round.
For the next hour, the three of them bantered, laughing and joking at each others' witticisms. Lucy found that she was really enjoying herself, and marveling at a wonderfully engaging side of Wade that she never would have guessed existed. She began to see how Anne could have been attracted to him in the first place.
Then, in the middle of a pleasant and quite ordinary exchange, in a normal conversational tone, he said, "Are you wearing panties, Lucy?"
Her head jerked around to see if anyone had heard. No one appeared to be looking at them.
"I asked if you were wearing panties, Lucy."
"Since you ask, yes," she said defiantly, matching the conversational tone.
"You don't need them. Take them off and give them to me, Lucy."
"I'll do no such thing," said Lucy.
"I want you to be acutely aware that you are here with me to be fucked tonight, Lucy, just as Anne is. Are you wearing panties, Anne?"
"No," Anne replied in a small voice.
"Show Lucy that you are not wearing panties, Anne."
Anne looked around the bar area uncertainly, and then pulled up her skirt, giving Lucy a quick glimpse of her pubic hair before smoothing the skirt back down over her thighs.
"Your choice, Lucy. The panties or I will take you straight home."
Lucy grew annoyed again at his arrogance, at this public display, but she was excited by the prospect as well. Up to this point, she had given no overt sign that she might actually accede to his will, other than simply by coming along. If she did as he asked, she would have to admit to herself that she was here because she *wanted* him to take her. And he would know it too. But it was so sordid. She left for the ladies room without a word. Anne started to follow, but the man put his hand on her arm.
In fact, she needed to use the facilities. She pulled up her skirt and pushed her panties to her knees before sitting on the toilet. She sat, staring at the panties, well after her need had been relieved. When the door banged as another patron entered, she was jarred back into focus. She wiped herself and then stood. Then bending down to her knees, she pushed the panties the rest of the way to her ankles and stepped out of them. She balled them in her hand and looked at the whiteness showing in her palm. The realization was slow and deliberate: <I'm going to let him have me.> Anne's bag on the vanity told her who had just entered, and she hurried to rinse her hands and to return to the bar. At least she could get this over with without having to do it in front of Anne.
Arriving at her stool, she held out her balled fist, bracing herself for the embarrassment she expected. She expected him to shake them out in front of him, letting anyone who looked figure out what she had done. Instead, he looked her in the eyes as he took them from her in his own balled fist and put them directly into his coat pocket. The tiniest hint of a nod of his head ended the moment.
Lucy found that she was acutely cognizant of the missing underwear, just as he had wanted. The short pleated skirt covered her to a few inches above her knees, plenty to maintain modesty, but she had to consciously resist the urge to tug it down. She became very precise in her movements, taking great care to keep her knees together. She couldn't remember ever being out in public without panties, and it amazed her how different it felt. She amazed herself that something that was no more than barely naughty could make her so aware of her sexuality.
When Anne returned, Wade turned the women away from the bar. With one hand one Lucy's elbow and one on Anne's, he steered them through the Friday night crowd to a more sparsely populated alcove filled with tables. Without hesitation he guided them to a table where four twenty-something businessmen, ties loosened and coats off, sat with their beers.
Looking at one of them, he spoke, "Excuse me, uh? . . ."
"John."
"Excuse me, John, but I need your help. I am going to dance with Anne," nodding toward her, "but that will leave Lucy without a partner."
Lucy's mouth opened at the at this new presumption, but before she could speak, John had risen and smilingly offered his hand. "I would love to dance with you, Lucy."
"Uh, thank you," her voice said. <What the hell> her inner voice said. <You like to dance and it's been a long time.>
When she and John had returned from the floor, she was introduced to Justin, Bob, and Paul. Justin claimed her to dance again. To her surprise, she found herself exhilarated as all four vied for her attention. She was acutely conscious of her breasts, unbound in public for the first time in years, and of her bare bottom. She had to exercise considerable care not to let her partners spin her too fast.
The second time John took her to the floor, he was much more bold. She was deeply conscious of his eyes straying to the jiggling bumps her nipples raised on the silk as her breasts moved underneath. And though she had pulled it back quickly, playfully scolding him, one straying hand had made it to her ass cheek, and she was sure he knew she wore no panties. The thought made her feel deliciously naughty. She hadn't felt this sexy in years. Between the attention and the couple of additional Stingers she had sipped between dances, she had almost forgotten how she had gotten here, and certainly had no thought for her conjugal status, although the men had noticed the rings.
As she danced again with the others, they too began to see what liberties she would allow. It was like being single again, and the wandering hands and whispered invitations left her no doubt as to what they would like to do to her.
The third time she danced with John, the music was slow. He pulled her tightly to him, forcing his thigh between hers, leaning down to kiss her neck. He danced her to a dark corner just off the floor and roughly kissed her mouth. One hand slipped across her bare back and into the side of the backless dress. It was no longer fun. Lucy became frightened. As Lucy struggled, trying to move away, she started to turn away from him, which brought his hand to her bare breast under the dress. She quickly tried to turn the other way, but he was too strong. She felt other hand as he began to draw up the hem of her skirt by little fistfuls, still maintaining the pressure that trapped her there. For a moment she couldn't decide whether to give in, to be wild, but then the thought of being seen by the crowd around them was just too much. Summoning all her strength, she pushed him off and turned to flee, only to find herself enclosed in another set of arms.
After first stiffening with fear, she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was Wade. He eased her behind him and spoke, "Thank you for dancing with Lucy, John. We're leaving now."
John started forward, beers and youth firing his aggression, "Who says, asshole? Maybe the lady wants to stay. . ."
In a tiny flurry of movement too fast for Lucy to see clearly, John ended up on his knees with one hand twisted awkwardly between Wade's, and a grimace of pain on his face. Wade spoke again, "Don't try my patience, John. Lucy is mine. We're leaving now, but I suggest you stay for a while." John rubbed his wrist and glared, but didn't follow, when Wade and Lucy walked away.
The other men at the table called out their good natured protests as Wade and the women passed their table, but they were ignored as Wade held Lucy's arm and ushered her out the door. Anne followed behind them.
Soon Lucy found herself in the front seat of the car, with Anne in the middle. Lucy sat subdued, the exhilaration of the flirting having disappeared in that instant of muted force, unable to reconcile the conflicting facets of Wade's character she had seen in the club. They were well under way when Wade finally broke the silence.
"Anne, I think we should remind Lucy why she is here. Why don't you turn and face her. . . that's good, lean back on me a little . . . Since I will probably be too busy with Lucy at first to pay much attention to you, go ahead and make yourself come now."
Anne faced Lucy with a helpless look on her face, but she didn't move. His arm came over her chest and pulled up her skirt, exposing her naked mons. Lucy stared, not quite believing Anne would let him do this to her. Then slowly she saw Anne's hand move to the juncture of her thighs and begin to slide between them.
His voice came again, from above Lucy's line of vision. "She needs to spread her legs, Lucy. Please put her leg over your lap, dear."
Anne lifted her right leg and swung it toward Lucy. Lucy found herself sliding toward Anne to put herself under Anne's bent knee while Anne's foot came down on the seat beyond Lucy. As Anne spread her legs, Lucy ended up holding Anne's knee against her chest with her right hand; the only place for her left was on the inside of Anne's thigh. She heard Anne sigh as she unconsciously began to caress the leg under her hand.
Meanwhile Anne's own hand had not been idle. Slowly at first, and then picking up speed, she ran her fingers from the top to the bottom of her slit, spreading her lubrication from end to end. Occasionally one of her fingers would disappear into her, but more and more the strokes centered around her clitoris. More and more her back stiffened a against Wade, her knee pressed harder into Lucy's chest, and her breath came in ragged gasps. Lucy continued to rub the inside of Anne's thigh, fascinated again to see her friend lose control, slide into orgasm in front of her.
Then his arm was back, pulling Anne's hand away. "Stop, Anne."
"NO! I need to finish!"
He spoke, "Finish her, Lucy. It's the only way I'll let her come."
Suddenly conscious of the hand caressing Anne's inner thigh, Lucy jerked it away and said, "No! I can't do that. She's a woman!"
"Oh please, Lucy," said Anne, "I'm close. I need to finish. Please help me, Lucy." Then Anne's hand grabbed Lucy's and pulled it to her sex. She held it there as she bucked her hips against it. Looking at her hand like it belonged to someone else, Lucy saw it begin to move of its own accord. Anne let go and leaned back stiffly, still bucking her hips. Up and down her friend's sex, sliding across her clitoris, finally down to her vagina. Marveling at the subtle differences in feel from her own genitals, Lucy pushed a finger into Anne. Again. And then she added another. In and out, the heel of her hand sliding across the clitoris while her fingers went deeper. Anne was moaning now, hips shaking in involuntary syncopation with Lucy's hand, until once again Lucy heard through the open mouth, from the straining face, the funny little hiccups of breath that marked Anne's climaxes. Lucy slowed her strokes and gradually withdrew her hand, amazed at what she had done. Anne did not excite her sexual response like a man, but she felt powerful to have caused those orgasms, and the whole nasty, naughty outrageousness, the wildness, left her with a wet vagina and hard nipples.
Before Lucy was over her sense of wonder at what she had done, they were turning on to Anne's street and HE was speaking, "We're here, Lucy. Come in and be fucked, or go home. The keys will be in the ignition."
At the door, Anne turned her key and stepped through, then turned back to face Lucy, who was behind her on the stoop. She offered Lucy her hand. Lucy turned and looked over her shoulder at his eyes, burning into hers, and then took Anne's proffered hand and stepped into the dimly lit house.
Lucy felt, rather than saw, his body behind her as Anne lead her to the master bedroom. The bed swam in a pool of soft light which faded to shadows at the walls. Lucy wondered how it had been done until she realized that the muted track lights that usually illuminated the paintings on the wall had been turned to focus on the bed. It was like a stage for her performance. Or an altar for a pagan ritual. When Anne dropped her hand, Lucy was bathed in that glow at the foot of the bed.
"Remove her clothes, Anne."
Anne stood behind Lucy, with the backs of her knees against the bed. Anne's hands pulled the short zipper in the back and slipped the dress over Lucy's shoulders. It made a small puddle of silk around her ankles. Anne made no further move for a moment, as Lucy exchanged stares with the man. As he looked, Lucy's nipples tightened even more, causing little crinkles in the areolae. His lips formed the infuriating smile again. She sensed Anne sitting down on the bed behind her.
Lucy next felt Anne's hands on either side of her lower right thigh, then sliding ever so teasingly down to lift her ankle and slide her shoe off her foot. The caress was repeated on the left side. Anne's hands reached up from below, high on her thigh at her stocking tops, when he spoke again, "No. Leave them on." All the while Lucy stared into his eyes.
As Lucy stood naked, no, more than naked with only her stockings, in that pool of light, he began to move at the edge of the shadows. His hands moved to his neck and removed his tie, discarded without thought on the floor. Button by button, he undid his shirt, and it joined the tie, tossed on the rug without a glance. Lucy looked at his crotch. She saw no bulge, no tenting. She didn't understand. She was naked before him, ready to be fucked, and he had no erection. Disappointed, worried whether she was attractive enough for him, she watched his hands unfasten and unzip his pants. Then a flash of pride skittered fleetingly through her thoughts: the tip of his erection peeked out of the waistband of the very tight black jockey shorts he was even then pushing down. Lucy knew she had caused that erection, and it excited her to know that soon it would push its way into her vagina. <He's going to fuck me with that cock.> she thought.
"Bend forward, Lucy. Keep your knees straight."
Bending forward at the hips, Lucy knew she was giving Anne the same view of her sex that Anne had given her that first day. Except that Anne was less than a foot away from her nether lips, instead of across the room. Lucy felt even more exposed than when Anne had licked her two nights before. <Is she going to lick me again? My God, I want her to! Oh Lord, am I gay?> Lucy shivered in anticipation.
As her back reached near horizontal, he stepped forward and cradled Lucy's head in his hands. Slowly he guided her mouth to the tip of his cock. He stopped there and spoke to Anne, "You make Lucy ready for me, Anne. Use your tongue. Make her wet and ready." Lucy jumped a little as a long swipe of that tongue traveled the length of her slit.
Then he pushed forward between her lips and said, "You make me ready to fuck you, Lucy. Make it swell. Cover it with your saliva, the easier to slip into your pussy. Suck it, Lucy." Lucy's cheeks hollowed as she literally sucked on his cock, as her tongue circled top and bottom of his glans. The precursors of his come, viscous streamers of salty seminal fluid, were gathered in the hollow of her cupped tongue and swallowed as he rocked gently in and out in a barely perceptible motion.
Behind her, Lucy felt Anne's thumb enter her vagina, and her fingers spread out to caress her mound. Lucy felt the thumb pulled out slightly, and then back in. With each retreat, Lucy felt Anne's middle finger slid wetly over her clitoris. Rapidly Lucy began to build to a climax.
But before she could come, she was jolted by a feeling that dissipated the building erotic charge even as it gave her a sinful thrill: Anne's tongue licked Lucy's anus. Lucy's mouth opened to cry "Stop," but he pressed his cock in deeper, stifling her outcry as she shifted to keep from choking. For several excruciatingly <dirty> exciting seconds, Anne's tongue worked the sensitive bud while her thumb penetrated Lucy's vagina. Lucy was washed with a fear that HE meant to do her there, but also with a feeling of wantonness the like of which she had never had, even when she was younger. The climb to orgasm began again, from a higher plateau, while Anne pressed at her rear, softer than any finger, but insistent nonetheless. Then it quit.
The man had pulled Lucy an awkward step away from Anne, severing contact with her tongue, and Anne dropped her hand from Lucy's sex. At the same time, he had pulled his cock from her mouth and raised her head until she continued on her own to stand upright.
"It's time to fuck you, Lucy," he calmly stated, as he pushed her back toward the bed. "Sit."
Lucy felt Anne's hands on her hips guiding her as she sat. She ended up between Anne's widespread legs, leaning back against the dress that still covered Anne's chest, with the crease where her buttocks met thighs at the edge of the bed. The man knelt down in front of her, his erect penis level with her knees. Gently he took a white nylon-clad calf and raised it, moving it outward, placing the calf outside Anne's leg. The process was repeated on the other side. Lucy looked down to see that she was once again spread open to his view, just as she had been when it had been the arms of the chair under her legs instead of Anne's knees. The opaque white tops of the stockings seemed to emphasize the bareness of her sex, more even than if she had nothing at all on. It was obscene. It excited her. She felt Anne's chin on her shoulder and knew that Anne was looking down at her too. It excited her more.
Lucy saw him slide forward on his knees, bringing his erection ever closer to her sex. Finally she felt it brush against her lips. Her eyes were glued to his penis as she waited for the inevitable. <HE's going to fuck me now. And I'm going to let him.>
"Guide me in, Lucy." Her right hand started forward, but he caught it in his left. "No, Lucy, use your left hand. I want you to watch as you guide me into your pussy with your wedding ring."
Almost like a spectator, like an out-of-body experience, Lucy watched her left hand take his <cock> between her thumb and her fingers and line it up with her vagina. As her fingers curled under, she couldn't actually see her ring, but his words had sensitized her to it, and she felt its presence. The thought of her ring, of Fergus, made her flush with shame, even as it heightened her arousal with the wanton, nasty badness of it. <I'm putting another man's cock into my husband's pussy. I'm putting HIS cock into my pussy. He's going to fuck me now.>
And he did. She watched, fascinated, as the head of his penis disappeared into her. She felt the entrance, the slow friction as more and more of the shaft disappeared. He kept pushing deep into her vagina until he could go no further. Lucy was so slick with wanting that there was no discomfort with this invasion, and she watched fascinated again as the shaft reemerged. The next thrust was quick, and then another, and the state of constant excitement that had waxed and waned in her all night finally could be denied no longer. She came. He kept plunging in and out of her as she fell back from orgasm to a plateau of arousal, slowly starting to build back again to that sweet release. She felt him plowing in and out and her litany began. She didn't realize she was speaking aloud, this time, "Oh God, oh God, he's fucking me. He's fucking me right now. He's fucking me right here in front of Anne. He's fucking me in my pussy." Suddenly she was there again, moaning out her pleasure, her release.
She felt him continue as once again she fell back to the plateau, but his thrusts were coming quicker now. Her excitement started to climb once again as she realized he was about to come, to shoot his semen deep into her. She felt him freeze, then a series of jerky thrusts, irregular, not rhythmic like before, signaled his orgasm.
She hardly remembered the aftermath. She woke up during the night, groggily wondering why she was naked. Then the sounds, the moans and the pants, the gentle shaking of the bed that had awakened her came into focus, and she remembered what had happened. She remembered she had been fucked, just like HE was fucking Anne now, and her hand wandered to her clitoris. But exhaustion and alcohol consumed won out, and she slept again before her passion could be roused.
The sun's glare hurt her eyes when she awoke, and a tiny headache that kept time with her pulse testified to the drinks she had savored the night before. The clock-radio said that it was 11:30. She had slept late, but she must not have slept well. She was still very tired. Still, she had to get up. Fergus and the boys were due in that afternoon. She had to get home. Stepping to the foot of the bed, she looked at her clothes. One look at the stockings and they went into the trash can. She didn't see her panties. <HIS pocket> she remembered. She pulled on her dress and looked unsuccessfully for his jacket. Finally, giving up on panties, she slipped on her shoes and walked to the kitchen.
"Good morning, Sleepyhead," said Anne, cheerfully. "I'm making some brunch, and there's coffee in the pot."
"I can't stay Anne. Fergus and the boys will be back soon. Please take me home." Lucy was depressed. It didn't seem so exciting in the sunlight.
A toilet flushed in the background, and then he stepped around the corner. "I'll take you home." He walked to the door without a backward look, and went out to the car and started it.
"Are you OK, Lucy?"
"I'll be fine, Anne. Got to get home is all." Lucy turned and walked quickly toward the car.
Nothing was said during the short ride. They both got out in Lucy's driveway. He followed her into the living room.
"Thanks for the ride," said Lucy flatly. A dismissal.
"We're not finished, Lucy," he said. "I told you I was going fuck you again this morning, on your own bed."
The memory of those words last night rushed back. She had forgotten. A little thrill tweaked her body. But this was daylight, in her own house. Not some fantasy.
"I don't think so. Last night was enough." She walked back to her bedroom. She needed a shower. He followed.
"You want to, Lucy. You want to have me fuck you right here on your own bed." He stepped close to her.
With a sinking feeling, she knew he was right. She did want this one last act of wildness, of wanton indulgence outside the bounds. But she said, "I don't want to. Please go."
His eyes caught hers, held hers. "Prove it to me, Lucy. Let me feel you. If you are dry, I'll go." His hand moved down her thigh to her hem. "But if you're wet, we'll both know what that means."
Staring into his eyes, she couldn't force herself to object as his hand found her slit under her skirt. She knew what he would find. She'd been wet thirty seconds after he said he was going to fuck her again out in the living room. She closed her eyes and moaned as he began to run his fingers back and forth in her slick folds, sliding gently over her clitoris.
"How do you like to be fucked, Lucy?" he asked. "How do you like Fergus to fuck you in your bed, Lucy?" His fingers kept moving.
"From behind." It was a whisper.
Gently he pushed her onto the bed, onto her hands and knees. Lucy heard his zipper, then felt the tremors in the mattress as he knelt behind her. <HE's going to fuck me again. On my own bed. He's going to fuck me on the bed where I sleep with Fergus. Oh God, and I'm going to let him.> The litany changed as he flipped up her skirt and pushed his cock into her. <HE's fucking me. Oh God, He's fucking me again.> Flushed with excitement, ashamed to be here on this bed, fucking a stranger, she let her head drop to the bedspread. <HE's fucking me just like Fergus did. On my own bed.> The litany trailed off into incoherency as she came, still blushing with shame. Behind she felt him pull her hips tightly to him, and then again the shuddery, irregular thrusts that meant he was ejaculating in her.
She fell forward on the bed. She felt the bed shake and heard his footsteps as he left without another word. When she heard the door slam shut, she let herself sleep.
Lucy came out of a half-sleep dream to feel a warm body next to hers. As she moved, she heard her husband whisper, "Hello, sweetheart. I missed you." She came to full attention when she felt his hand slide between her legs. In a panic she grabbed his arm with both hands, but he had already found the soggy evidence of her infidelity. "You really did it, didn't you? I still love you, you know. How was it?" His hand rubbing up and down now, too strong for her small hands to stop.
"Oh Fergus, forgive me. I wasn't going to do it, but when I saw the clothes . . . Please don't hate me." Still his hand moved.
"Feel me." He moved her hand to the front of his shorts. He was hard. "Does that feel like I hate you? I want you, Lucy. I want you more than ever. I want you with another man's come in you. I love you and I want you now, Lucy, my wife." During his speech he had moved between her legs, pushing them up and open with his.
"The kids," she started.
"Still at Jane and Bob's," he answered.
His erection was pressing in the crease of her thigh, then against her mons, then sliding to the left. She started to reach down as always to guide him, then stopped. Then she moved her left hand down and put him in her.
Lucy watched as Fergus' face got red and strained. He was pounding in and out of her now very fast now, and she knew he would come soon. Her own doubts and guilt wouldn't let her take pleasure for herself, while the traces of the other man were still on her, in her, but she needed to give herself to him, to her husband. She bucked her hips against his and tightened her vaginal muscles. She whispered in his ear, "I need feel you in me, Fergus, deeper." And she felt him come, deep inside her, putting his seed on top of HIS.
She felt her love for her husband fill her, and she held him tightly to her. She wanted to hold him like this forever, but she knew she couldn't. She knew that soon he would have to think about what she had done. That soon she would have to think about what she had done. Even as she pulled him tighter, she knew their relationship had irrevocably changed in ways that she did not yet know. She stared at the ceiling and pondered the future, afraid and excited at the same time.
Then she smiled when she heard him say, "Ready for some Stoly?"