Saturday, August 16, 2014


There was a heightened tension when Matthew came to our home, a heightened awareness. I know Emily, the sexual lust was written all over her face, and if Matthew was any kind of man, he was totally aware of the way she looked, acted, felt.

They kissed, not passionately, but certainly erotically. He looked at my wife, told her how sexy she looked, obviously meant it. Emily smiled, even blushed. "I feel…" I waited for her to say the word again, but she didn't. "Exposed."

"I know," Matthew said, looked over at me. "You picked the outfit, John," he asked.

"Yes," I said, blushing.

"Good choice, this is exactly what I want, John, this is exactly how I want Emily to look and feel."

I felt guilty at my pride at his compliment, after all, she said she felt like a whore. His whore. "Thank…thank you."

"Matthew, would you like a drink before we go," Emily asked to my surprise. "I…I don't know what you like, we…"

"I'm a Bourbon man," he said.

"We…we have wine…beer…gin," I said, "we don't really drink brown liquors."

"I assumed not, John, that's okay, you two don't strike me as the whiskey types. I'd rather not drink yet anyway, we're driving soon. I'll text you what I like, though, you can pick up a bottle for when we stay here for a while."

I blushed at his easy confidence, his assumption he'd be back, that he'd be entertained at our home. Not incorrect assumptions, but not ones I would ever make. "Coffee, tea, water," I asked, blushing at the words.

"A glass of water, sure," he said, I left for the kitchen.

When I came back, they were sitting on couch, touching, snuggling. He had his arm possessively around her, his hand casually resting on the side of her breast, the other hand on the bare skin of her thigh. Emily was touching his thigh; she looked half ashamed at the display of affection in front of me, but when she looked up at me, when our eyes met, I saw the need, the desire, the hunger. She wanted him, was embarrassed, but wanted him just the same. For a moment, I wondered if they'd make it out the door, wondered if I was ready for that.

He saw the dynamic, took charge. "We should get going, Emily, the sooner we eat the sooner…" He stood, sentence unfinished, pulled her up with him. She kissed me softly on the lips, passion but no eroticism, love for me, not lust. Awkwardly, water glass in one hand, I pulled her ear to my mouth with the other. "I love you," I whispered.

"God, I love you, too, Sara," she said softly, too quiet for him to hear. "You good?" I pondered my response. Yes, of course, but…

"Be his whore," I said, released her to him.

"You ready," he looked down at her clutch, pointed. Em blushed, so did I, she nodded. "Good," he said. "Results come Monday," he said to me, "you understand we'll use them today, John; but if things are good, and I assume they will be, today will be the last time."

"I…I understand, Matthew," I blushed, jealous, excited at the same time.

"That's a ground rule, then, no condoms…after today." I thought my wife was going to faint hearing her lover, her boyfriend, tell her husband of his intent to fuck her, to cum inside her. "Something Emily tells me you're both looking forward to, John." Speechless. Utterly speechless. He wasn't though. "I told you I get it, both of you. I know what Emily wants, I know what you want."

As he turned, I hesitated, said his name. "Matthew." He looked at me patiently, I looked down. "What time…"

He smiled. "That should be a ground rule, too. I'll have her home by 1…maybe 2, no later."

"Thank…thank you," I said.

I meant the time, thanking him for telling me the time. He knew, but answered otherwise. "You're welcome, John, she deserves it. You both do."

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