Wives with Benefits: Volume Two (12 page)

“I told him you were asleep, you wouldn’t wake up.”

I kissed her mouth, then she was stroking my cock, and I pulled her panties up her thighs and slipped my fingers back inside her wicked pussy. She was so wet, like I’d never felt her before. I grabbed hold of my cock and rubbed it against her hot, wet pussy, coating it in her juices before slipping its tip inside her.

Then I’d slip it out, stoop to cover her sex with my mouth again, tasting her sweet sex again.

I was in no rush. I went slowly to avoid coming too quickly, and Diana was stroking her clit and my cock when I wasn’t eating her, when I was fucking her.

Then I lay on her, thrusting into her while kissing her mouth, her neck, her breasts, sucking her hard nipples into my mouth, breathing in that strange scent of Diana’s lover, of a strange man who had come all over her chest.

I kissed her, I fucked her, I ate her, but ultimately I didn’t last particularly long, even if I tried my best. She rolled on top of me, sliding my hardness inside her, and rode me without mercy, and it wasn’t five or six strokes before I erupted deep within her.

She was beaming, ear-to-ear as she collapsed next to me.

“I’ve decided to stop my therapy sessions,” she said.

“You have?”

“I don’t think I need it right now. I have this instead.”

“This?”

She reached over to take hold of my softening manhood. “It’s not a one-off, is it?” she asked.

“One-off? Tonight?”

“Your little thing about me cheating on you. Now it’s happened, you think you’d want it to again?”

“Oh, yes. Definitely.”

“Then that’s why I don’t need therapy right now.”

<<<>>>

A Mistress For My Wife

1

“Somebody was hitting on me at the gym tonight.”

When Ana said that to me as I came home late from work one evening, it really wasn’t much of a surprise. Three times a week I saw her return from her regular workouts wearing those little skin-tight lycra outfits, and seeing her like that, I was usually hitting on her as a result. She’d earned a little admiration from those around her.

But it did make me uncomfortable to hear that other guys were coming on to her.

“You wear your wedding ring when you work out?”

“Of course.”

“And he saw it?”

Sitting there on the couch tucking into a bowl full of last night’s leftovers, Ana wrinkled her nose briefly, said, “It was pretty obvious. So you’re mad at me? Rob?”

“No. At him. For showing you no respect. For showing me no respect.”

Actually, I was kind of interested how angry it did make me. It was a rare occasion -- I’m not an angry person, I’m not a hothead. I’m a diversity officer at a mid-sized college that will remain nameless -- part of my job is about dealing with anger, tackling conflict.

I wasn’t angry at my wife. Inside, I was quietly proud of her for looking as good as she did. She had no reason to do quite so many sessions at the staff gym as she did, I’d have adored her all the same. But she always complained that the Puerto Rican heritage on her mother’s side meant she would be destined for a spare tire or two if she wasn’t careful.

Yet I was feeling something under my calm exterior. A guy can’t just stand by and let someone else move in on his woman.

“I guess that’s what a girl wants to hear...” Ana put her bowl down on the coffee table and stood up, approaching me, hands reaching over my shoulders, pulling me in for a reassuring kiss. “Her husband still wants her. He’d still fight for her if some brute threw down the gauntlet.”

Had she merely been testing me? Such a thing wouldn’t be out of the question for Ana. Really, the frequency with which I tried to peel off her sports bras and get into her lycra shorts on evenings like these had to answer any questions she might have. As her lips touched mine, my hands fell naturally to cup her trim behind.

“Of course I still want you,” I said. “Has there ever been any doubt?”

Ana pulled away from me and wrinkled her nose. “Okay, so how would you feel if I told you it wasn’t a guy who was hitting on me?”

Well, that knocked me out of the ballpark for a moment or two.

“Are you still angry?” she grinned, teasing me.

“That’s different,” I murmured.

“Different how?”

Ana was a professor at our fair college, and her specialist subject was math. In particular, she was big into logic. She’d always enjoyed testing my logic.

“It’s just different when it’s a woman.”

“Says the man who just came back from an equal opportunities conference in Seattle.”

I chuckled, knowing I had to avoid rising to any bait. “I don’t have to have an equal opportunities policy for people hitting on my wife.”

“So it’s okay when women hit on me?”

As she pulled out last night’s leftovers to heat up for my supper, I stopped to think about it. A woman had hit on my wife. I couldn’t help it -- the anger, the jealousy, it had all melted away. If I imagined a woman approaching Ana as she was working out in the gym, fluttering her eyelids at her, making some flattering comments subtle or unsubtle, I simply wasn’t the least bit annoyed. It was totally different to how I’d initially felt when jumping to the conclusion that a man had been coming on to my wife.

“So, you don’t feel jealous?” she said, holding on to the edge of the counter as the microwave hummed loudly beside her, somehow drawing my eyes naturally to the pleasing roundness of her breasts. “You don’t feel threatened when it’s a woman showing interest?”

I shrugged, “I told you. I don’t feel obligated to feel the same way about men and women hitting on my wife.”

But inside, it did bug me a little. It made me curious as to why I should feel so differently. After all, in our state there was nothing stopping my wife from divorcing me to marry another woman. In this day and age I should feel just as threatened by a woman trying to steal Ana away from me as a man. Yet here I was, and it was almost amusing to me that Ana had been propositioned by another woman. That annoyed me a little.

“What did she say to you?”

Ana tilted her head a touch, suddenly self-conscious. “Asked me if I’d like to get coffee some time.”

I laughed. “And you took that as hitting on you?”

“A woman can tell.”

“She’s probably just new in town, needs a few new friends to hang out with.”

“She’s been eyeing me up for days. Weeks, maybe.”

I shrugged, and Ana gave me a quizzical look, which I knew to mean that my reaction provoked some kind of interest or curiosity in her. “You’re really not bothered at all?”

“Why should I be?” I asked. “You’re not interested in her, are you?”

Ana gave me a mischievous grin. “She’s very pretty.”

I rolled my eyes.

*

Once Ana was showered and normal routine resumed up to bed time, the small matter of my wife’s new admirer quietly fell by the roadside. I didn’t even think about it until after her next visit to the gym -- but then the mere sight of her in those tight leggings, and a lycra top that left her toned midriff bare, reminded me almost instantly of the discussion we’d had the last time.

Oh, and then there was the fact that as soon as Ana looked up at me from where she’d been lounging on the couch watching HGTV, she said to me: “She was doing it again.”

Was she testing me? Trying to make me jealous? I had heard that some women do that just to get their men going, push them to show more interest in them. That didn’t seem like Ana. Was she merely trying to taunt me for feeling differently about how men and women interacted with her? I was all about equality, but I wasn’t the type to imagine men and women were simply the same. Biologically, you just couldn’t argue with the differences.

“And it affects me how?” I said, attempting some kind of nonchalance, though I felt the sharp edge of irritation jab me in the stomach at the sense that I was being pulled into some kind of trap.

She hopped up to her feet. “You’re really not at all concerned, are you?” she said.

I sighed. “You’ve never shown any hint of bisexual tendencies before. So I just don’t feel threatened like I would with a man.”

“But I’ve never shown any adulterous tendencies before,” she said, approaching me now for her usual welcome home embrace. “That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be livid if a guy started coming on to me.”

Another sigh. My wife the academic: she just liked to pry and probe and examine every aspect of an issue sometimes.

“We’re not talking about a guy coming on to you,” I said, hugging her, my hands slipping down to that shapely derriere of hers.

“In theory, though, if I had shown bisexual tendencies in the past, you’d feel differently about this?”

I paused to think -- though only for a brief moment. I’d never really thought about it before, but the idea of my wife having bisexual tendencies was actually kind of hot. If I considered that possibility, I wouldn’t be angry at another woman coming onto her, but turned on. It seemed a little embarrassing to admit to Ana, though.

“I still wouldn’t be angry about it,” I said. “It’s just how I’d feel.”

She kissed me, her lips sweet, warm, soft. “Because you think sex between a woman and a woman is not as valid as sex between a woman and a man?” she had a glint in her eye, the one she always had when she teased me.

“No, I did not say that.”

“But you feel it. Deep down. If I said yes to coffee with Ellie -- “

“Ellie?”

“I didn’t tell you she told me her name?” she grinned. “But in your heart you wouldn’t consider our date to be any kind of threat to you. But if I’d agreed to go out with a man -- “

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” I said, pulling away from her to head for the kitchen area of our open plan bottom floor. My turn to cook. I was a little confused about my feelings, deep down. Ana was right in suggesting that I felt differently about the idea of her sleeping with a woman compared to the idea of her sleeping with another man. I just wasn’t comfortable with putting those feelings into some kind of a coherent argument. And my logic professor of a wife knew that full well.

“You did hear about the Supreme Court ruling?” she joked. “Women can marry each other now, in every state.”

I rolled my eyes again.

“She tell you anything else apart from her name?” I asked, ignoring her sleight on my support for marriage equality — going on the offensive in this damn conversation now, while I started pulling things out from the refrigerator that I might turn into some kind of meal.

Ana leaned on the granite counter of the kitchen island. “She’s a visiting professor here for six months,” she said.

“Visiting from?”

“France. Her specialty’s economics - she’s writing some kind of paper, asked if I might take a look at the calculations some time.”

“Well, there you go,” I said, planting an onion down on the chopping board between us to emphasize my point. “She’s just another colleague looking for a little assistance with her research.”

Ana laughed, “Ever heard of the word ‘pretext’, sweetie?”

“Pretty sure I have.”

“She might want help on her paper, but there was no mistaking her signals. You don’t check someone out for ages in the gym just because you might want to pick their brains.”

Now I laughed, “You want her to hit on you, don’t you? You love it.”

I swear my wife blushed a little. I couldn’t bring myself to believe that she might actively find another woman attractive, but it was amusing that I’d exposed her little flash of ego.

“I told you, she’s very pretty. She’d have any man groveling at her feet.”

“And she likes you,” I nodded. “Well, you do look stunning in your gym clothes.”

Ana beamed, my flattery smoothing over her grazed pride.

“So are you going to help her?” I asked.