Wife and Friend Take Flirtation a Step Further



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My wife, Charlene, is in her late thirties. She studied English literature in college, and soon after graduating, settled in New York City, where she found work as a copywriter, churning out kitsch for everything from baby food to headache pills. She is now a senior executive at a well-established PR and marketing agency, managing operations in Japan, Shanghai and Southeast Asia.

You would not have guessed any of that if you happened upon Charlene at the mall. Instead, you would have looked at her and assumed she was a college co-ed, with painted nails and a belly button stud, wearing cut-off denim shorts so short they would have shamed her poor father into cardiac arrest.

My wife runs six miles a day, five days a week, but she looks more like a dancer than a runner. She has beautiful, shapely legs and a soft, limber body. Her flowery-scented chestnut hair falls beneath her shoulders. Her eyes are a striking hue of brown. Charlene likes men. She likes wild times. She likes to fuck. Over the years, my wife has performed in strip joints and bachelor parties. She has bedded neighbors, former college buddies, colleagues at work, even the CEO of a company that once employed her. She calls her double-life “our kinky little secret,” and insists – incredibly enough -- that she is not accountable for her behavior. “I can’t help it,” she says with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "It's in my nature."

That same impish sparkle shone in Charlene's eyes when I told her our friend Sean would be in town for a series of panel discussions at a digital marketing conference in the downtown area.

Charlene has always been particularly fond of Sean, whom I had met years ago while working on a project for an advertising company in New York. He is a tall, outgoing man, with an irreverent smile and a rugged face one can easily imagine on an Old West cowboy. I had introduced them to each other at a friend's wedding. They hit it off almost immediately, and it was not long before they began flirting openly with each other.

"Is something wrong, Charlene?" Sean would ask as we sat down to lunch or coffee together. "Does your husband seem less impressive a man today?"

"Hmmm. I think maybe just a little less."

"Is that so? Much less?"

"No, not that much," Charlene would say, looking at me with a smile. "I'm keeping him for now." Then she would turn to Sean and quip: "But I do have your number on speed dial in case he starts to bore me."

Sean has two children from a marriage that ended in an ugly, long drawn-out divorce four years ago. He has since eschewed romantic relationships altogether. "I'm never going to make that mistake again," he told me on the phone not long after he and his ex-wife finalized their divorce. "From now on, when I want pussy, I'll call a fucking escort service."

* * *

I drove out to meet Sean at the airport just as a crisp, blue-skied Monday morning began to spill its gaudy light on the city. Charlene and I had offered him the guest room in our apartment, but he insisted that his office had already made reservations at a West Hollywood hotel.

"You sure you don't want to stay with us?" I said as we walked to the car. "Charlene made up the guest room for you."

"Nah, I don't want to be a bother," Sean said.

"Your call, but the room's there if you need it."

"So how are things with Charlene, by the way?" he asked once we were inside the car.

"Oh, okay, I guess."

"You guess? That doesn't sound right."

"We're doing fine," I told him. "She's dying to see you."

Sean suggested dinner sometime during the middle of the week, but Charlene and I did not hear from him until Saturday afternoon. We were watching TV in the living room when my phone rang. Charlene checked the caller ID.

"It's Sean," she grinned, elated. "It's him."

I put the phone on speaker mode and set it on the coffee table. "Hey there, Sean."

"Hey, I'm sorry I couldn't call earlier, " Sean said. "I just had too much work on my hands."

"We should at least have dinner before you go, though," Charlene chimed. "We've missed you."

"What's that?" said Sean. "I didn't catch... "

"I said we should at least have dinner together before you leave town," Charlene repeated, leaning closer to the phone "Oh, hey there, beautiful," Sean said. "Well, that's just it, guys, I called to tell you something's come up at the office. I have to fly back east first thing tomorrow. I was planning to see you Sunday, maybe stay over at your place a few days, but that's just not going to happen now."

"Too bad," I said. "We were really looking forward to seeing you."

"Well, would you guys mind if I dropped by for dinner tonight, then?" said Sean, tentative.


"Yeah, if that's okay with you guys. Listen, I really don't know when I'll be back. Might be years, who knows? I really want to see you two bad-asses before I go. We need to catch up. It's been too long. "

I looked at Charlene, inquiring. She nodded eagerly and gave me the thumbs up. "Sure, no problem," I told Sean. "We'll be expecting you for dinner, then."

My wife took extra care to look sexy that evening. She wore high-heeled stiletto slides, a cotton midriff shirt that accentuated her boobs and abdomen, and denim shorts so tiny they failed to cover her butt cheeks when she bent to retrieve loin chops from the oven. She did not only cook dinner, she prepared a feast.

Sean arrived at a little past seven o'clock and the three of us sat down to dinner. I could tell our guest had already had a drink or two before coming over. His face was flushed, and he was more effusive than usual. "Charlene, you've outdone yourself once more," he said, surveying the food. "This is magnificent."

We ate and drank and had an enormous and animated conversation about all our friends back in New York, then we talked about work. Charlene was especially interested in Sean's plans to move to Miami, where he'd recently accepted a job offer. While we chatted, Sean's eyes went constantly to Charlene's tits. My wife had chosen not to wear a bra that evening, and it was difficult not to notice her boobs jiggling under the fabric of her shirt.

"I have to say, I really have missed you two," Sean said. "Things just haven't been the same without you guys."

"Well, we've missed you, too," Charlene told him as she poured the last of the Merlot Sean had bought with him.

"You two should come with me to Miami," Sean ventured, taking the glass Charlene had filled for him. "You can stay with me. We'd have fun, like the old days. "

"Yeah, right," Charlene chuckled as she got up to fetch another bottle of wine from the kitchen. "We'd be unemployed. We'd have nothing to do there."

Sean laughed. "I don't know about your man here, but you'd have plenty to do there, sweetie," he said, stealing a quick glance at my wife's bare midriff as she returned to the table with a fresh bottle of wine. "A beautiful woman like you will have plenty to do in Miami."

We decided to move to the living room after supper. Charlene lit a few candles and put on some music, the volume turned down low. She curled up beside me on the sofa, hugging her knees. Sean settled into the big, leather-upholstered armchair across the coffee table, a glass of wine in his hand. The conversation continued to flow easily, naturally, as it does among friends, and it seemed that we could go on talking forever.

We finished the second bottle of wine rather quickly and agreed to end the evening with something with a little more kick. Charlene retrieved a bottle of whiskey and some glasses from the kitchen. She poured, handed out the glasses. Sean hardly noticed, and perhaps we didn't either, that he was now doing all the talking. He seemed unable to stop himself, the chatter being so cheerful and familiar. "Man, it's so great to see you guys," he punctuated every now and then.

I admit to a pang of jealousy when I observed how keenly my wife watched Sean's face, his mannerisms, his little gesticulations. Charlene was quite thrilled when Sean described the house he intended to buy in Palmetto Bay: the airy, sun-drenched foyer, the spacious kitchen, the bright, soaring ceilings, and the fire place. She seemed in the mood to listen, even as it was becoming increasingly obvious that Sean was having difficulty keeping his eyes off her.

Charlene had always relished Sean's attention. She encouraged it. She would cross her legs provocatively, run her palms up and down the back of her thighs, then dip forward, perhaps to replenish her glass or move a trinket on the coffee table, arching her back to allow Sean a better view of her boobs. She would then cut into Sean's monologue with some humorous remark, seemingly random, and he would laugh – a booming, chesty, drunken cowboy laugh.

Then it gradually dawned on me: the two were talking to each other exclusively, giggling over whispered jokes, making furtive gestures here and there, sending little surreptitious signals to each other. They were speaking a language shared by two people and two people alone: a vocabulary designed to elude my privy.

"You're not looking too good there, buddy," Sean said to me toward the end of the evening. "I think we overdid it with the whiskey. You might want to lie down for a while."

"Oh, I'm fine," I said. "Why don't you fetch us another bottle of wine, Charlene?"

"I think it's time for bed, darling" Charlene said. "I'm not feeling too good, either."

With that we said good night and Charlene showed Sean out the door. I wobbled into the bedroom and finally collapsed onto the bed. I could hear Charlene and Sean talking outside as I stretched my leg out and let my head drop back onto the pillows. I felt sick, but was too tired, too drunk, to head for the bathroom.

* * *

I do not know how long I slept. I have some vague notion of dreaming, although I don't remember what it was I had dreamt. I was in fact not quite awake yet, lying in bed, listening to the sounds drifting up from the street below: car doors were slamming shut, engines were turning over and, somewhere farther out, a siren screamed across the night sky. But above all of that, I began to isolate a noise that was quite different.

There was little to distinguish the sound of Charlene's moaning through the walls from the thick, sprawling hum of the city outside the window. But it was undeniable, as much as I would have wanted to believe I was mistaken. Holy shit, I thought. Those two are fucking. Suddenly wide awake, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and made my way to the now darkened living room. I moved past the furniture, past the framed photographs of long ago tropical vacations and camping trips, toward the hallway that led to the guest room. The door was wide open. There was a dim light on inside. I edged sideways along the wall, avoiding the rectangle of light that fell on the floor. Then I stopped, my feet teetering on the threshold, and looked in.

The room was dark except for the lamp on the bedside table. Sean was standing with his back to the door. His jeans were in a pile on the floor. Charlene was on her knees, sucking his cock. Her shorts were gone. Her shirt was rolled up over her tits. There was a telling patch of wetness in the crotch of her panties. The bathroom door was open behind her and the mirrors inside allowed a view of what she was doing from various angles.

My wife was slurping Sean's manhood as though she worshipped it. Her lush lips moved adoringly up and down his cock, licking the shaft, flicking her tongue on the knob of flesh just below the head. Her hands teased his balls and ass. Sean was thrusting into her face, telling her how good she looked with his cock in her mouth.

I was stunned. My heart was pounding so hard, for a moment I was convinced it would explode. I wanted to leap into the room to confront my betrayers. But the awe-inspiring sensuality – the raw physicality -- of what I was witnessing coiled me into the passive role of voyeur.

After a while, Charlene drew her mouth away from Sean's cock and looked up, smiling coyly, a string of spit dangling from her lips. "You like how I suck your cock?" she asked, winking.

"Oh, you little tease," Sean told her. "Come here." Charlene shot up to her feet obediently, and they kissed, their tongues swirling around each other, my wife balancing on the tips of her sandals as Sean stooped to pinch her nipples and fondle her tits.

"Fuck me," Charlene whispered when Sean released her. "I want you to fuck me like you fuck those whores you like so much." She then grabbed Sean's cock and led him to the bed.

Fearing my presence would be discovered when they turned toward the other end of the room, I edged away from the doorway and ducked back into the living room. I stood in the shadows for a while, listening. Charlene and Sean were shuffling around the bed, giggling, moaning, whispering to each other.

By the time I inched my way back to the doorway Charlene was already spread out naked on the bed, with her hard, swollen nipples pointed heavenward, her trimmed muff magnificently exposed. Sean sat with his back to her, stripping off what remained of his clothing. "You sure he's asleep?" he asked. "Why don't we close the door, at least?"

"He's out cold," said Charlene. "Don't worry about him."

"Well, then, move over," Sean said, scooping her in his arms and throwing her aside as he got on the bed. He put a pillow under Charlene's butt and began to finger-fuck her, getting her nice and ready.

Charlene squealed and wiggled her bum in pleasure. "Oh, that feels good," she said, raising her hips to permit Sean better access to her cunt. Sean began to work on her, pushing his finger deeper into the wet folds of her vagina while he kneaded her clit with his thumb. "That's it, baby," Charlene gulped, closing her eyes. "Keep going."

That was all Charlene needed to say. Sean shifted his position, then drove three more fingers knuckle-deep into her slit, causing a gasp of surprised arousal to escape her mouth. She began to squirm, roll her hips from side to side. "You have no idea how long I've dreamt of doing this," Sean said as he brought his mouth to her crotch. "Oh god," my wife gasped. "Oh my god!"

I watched Sean flick and swipe his tongue on Charlene's clit like a little snake. Slowly, carefully, gently sucking and licking, he slid down to twirl and tease along her labia. All the while his fingers continued to tantalize the inner creases of my wife's dripping quim, probing and rubbing, making her moan and buck and sway her hips.

The expression of supreme ecstasy on Charlene's face – her eyes half-closed, her lips slightly parted -- was almost too much for me. My shamed heart crumbled into a thousand howling pieces inside my chest. But I was also rock hard, extremely aroused, watching her grind her delicious wet twat against Sean's mouth and knuckles. I could not believe how devastatingly erotic it was to see another man bring my wife such intense sexual pleasure.

"Fuck me now," Charlene whimpered, biting her lips. "Turn me out, baby. Turn me out. Hurt me bad. Don't respect me. Fuck me dirty like you fuck your whores. "

Sean did not hold back. He grabbed Charlene by the ankles, flipped her over, and got her on her hands and knees. Charlene looked back over her shoulder and watched him position himself between her legs. He then leaned forward, held onto her hips, and sank his entire cock into my wife's cunt in one powerful thrust.

I will never forget the expression of amazement and delight on Charlene's face -- how her jaw dropped, how her eyes widened -- when Sean plunged into her pussy and started pounding away. "Wow," she gasped. "Wow, you're big!"

Sean fucked her hard, mashing her tits, twisting her hair around his fist, drilling her like a jackhammer. He was physical, ferocious, fucking Charlene as though he intended to pound her through the headboard and into the wall. Within minutes Charlene's body was quaking. She then cried out and came violently, the muscles of her legs shuddering, her teeth clenched, her eyeballs rolling to the top of her skull. "Don't stop," she exhaled, her hips bucking. "Please make me come again!"

Sean was relentless. He continued to wallop my wife's snatch, rocking her entire body, pushing his cock ever deeper into her with each fierce thrust. My wife was so aroused that her juice was oozing out of her slit. Sean sustained this incredible fuck rampage for about five more seemingly endless minutes. "I'm about to come," he said finally, his breath labored. "I'm coming!"

"No!" Charlene cried. "No, don't come yet!" she pleaded. "Not yet!"

Sean looked at her for a moment, frustrated, incredulous, then pulled out and fell to the bed, sweat beads popping on his forehead, his hard-on still rampant and throbbing. "Gimme a minute," he said, inhaling sharply. "I just need a minute."

Charlene slid down and lay beside him, her chin on Sean's shoulder. "Relax," she cooed, gently positioning Sean so that they faced each other, lying on their sides. They kissed for a while and touched each other, Charlene rubbing a thigh against Sean's leg. "You fuck beautifully," she told him. "Take your time." Without missing a beat, she then draped a leg over his shoulder and guided his cock back into her soft, hot, slippery-soaked cunt.

Sean moaned, watching his cock disappear into my wife's pussy. "You feel so fucking good down there."

"You've been watching me," Charlene whispered, looking into Sean's eyes as she eased herself down along his erection. "You like to watch?"

"Yes," Sean muttered under his breath. "I like to watch you, most of all. I've always loved watching you."

"Would you like to watch me fuck your friends?"

"What? " Sean said, looking up at my wife's face, confused, and in a flash, saw something in Charlene's eyes that turned him into a willing accomplice. "Oh, you little slut you. Oh, you dirty, filthy slut. Yeah, yeah, I'd love that."

"Oh god," sighed Charlene as she began to slowly roll her hips against him. "I want to fuck all your friends, and have you watch." She curled forward, wriggling her bosom against his chest. "My husband won't let me fuck his friends."

"I'll let you fuck my friends, and I'll watch," Sean said, plowing deep into my wife, swinging his hips from side to side to hit all her corners. "I'd love to watch you be a slut and get fucked."

"Oh yeah?" Charlene purred as she threw her head back and rolled her eyes with delight. "Make your friends fuck me any way they want. Let them come in my pussy, my mouth, on my tits, come in my ass, and I'll make you come whenever, wherever you want."

With that, Sean lifted my wife's leg off his shoulder, seized her by the waist and rolled over on his back. Charlene shrieked with glee, finding herself suddenly on top of him. She tucked her ankles beneath her haunches and commenced to bounce up and down his cock. "Fuck me, Sean," she whimpered, rotating her hips. "Fuck me!"

Sean raised his hips and pushed his cock into her quim full to the hilt. Charlene began to moan loudly as he pumped into her, ramming her from below like a piston, shoving his cock as far inside my wife as it could go. They gradually built a steady rhythm together, looking into each other's eyes as their bodies commenced to move as one. It was not too long before Charlene began to thrash and quiver wildly. I could tell she was already experiencing a succession of small orgasms. "I'm ready," she huffed. "I'm ready for you, baby!" The pair reached climax just moments apart, gasping and moaning in chorus. "Oh yeah," Charlene wheezed, gripping Sean's shoulders tightly, rocking her hips forward and backward, her pussy twitching, aching for his semen. Sean let loose, snarling and groaning like a wild animal as he proceeded to flood Charlene's womb with his spunk. My wife threw her head back and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, relishing each wave of pleasure that passed through her loins, tousling her hair with one hand while the other anchored her to Sean's chest. She was spectacular.

When, finally, the spasms subsided, Charlene slumped forward, exhausted, and put hear head on Sean's chest. "Oh, shit," she sighed. "Oh wow, Sean."

Sean, sweating and breathing heavily, lifted my wife's chin up with two fingers and looked into her eyes. "I swear, Charlene, that was probably the best fuck I've ever had in my life," he chuckled. "I do not know where you learned to do all that, but I am sure glad you did."

I took that as my exit cue and, without looking back, snuck down the hall and returned to our bedroom.

I lay awake in bed through the small hours, staring at shadows in the ceiling, trying not to think. The freedom to think implies the freedom to confront one's demons. I hadn't the courage to confront anything at that moment. I blotted out the sound of Sean and Charlene resuming their fuck session in the guest room. I did not have the courage to construct an explanation for the erection that lingered in my pants. I did not want to think about anything.

Sean left just before daybreak. I was still wide awake, listening to the cab idling in the street below. I heard them talking in the living room, their voices hushed, furtive, lilting with new-found affection and familiarity. There was a silence in which I imagine they kissed. Then I heard the door to our apartment open and shut and, a moment later, I heard the cab pull away from the curb and drive off. Not long after, Charlene strode into our bedroom and lay in bed beside me, still smelling of hot, musky, sticky sex. I turned away and lay with my back to her. I squeezed my eyes shut and listened as the city out the window gradually woke to a gleaming spring sky.

"I left the door open for you," Charlene said, her tone equivocal. "Did you enjoy watching us do what we were doing?" I said nothing.

I am madly in love with my wife. I have always loved her. She is the kindest, sweetest, most generous --and most authentic -- human being I have had the good fortune to know.

Yet, like a little child, she breaks my heart as casually as she breaks the rules. I have lost count of the times that I've tried to leave her, swearing never to come back, only to succumb to her pleading and her promises. She’d find me, fuck me, then bring me back home. I had things to say to her, yes, but I knew there was time enough for all of that later. I had time. For now, I was content to lie in bed and find comfort in the soft certainty of the sheets. There was nothing hostile, nothing resentful, about the silence that settled over the room.

It was in fact a calming, familiar hush.

"It's Sunday," Charlene said after a while. "Would you like me to make you some pancakes for breakfast?"

Charlene's Man - tantivyslothrop@gmail.com




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