Wives with Benefits: Volume Two (13 page)

“Would it bother you?”

“Of course not.”

“Even if she hopes to seduce me?”

I laughed, but my wife’s repeated suggestion that such a thing might happen was beginning to give me food for thought. And I still couldn’t get away from the fact that the idea of her actually being seduced by a woman was something of a turn-on.

“If you want her to seduce you, it’s okay by me,” I said. It felt good to have something to tease her about.

“Good, because I’m having coffee with her tomorrow.”

2

Honestly, I didn’t think much of my wife going for coffee with a woman she said had been hitting on her. From what she’d said, I really did believe that the reportedly attractive visiting professor was simply looking to collaborate or even just consult Ana in a purely academic context.

Deep down, I even believed that Ana had made up the whole bisexuality angle simply to get me riled up.

Only, the next morning I happened to be passing my wife’s favorite coffee shop at a particular time of the day I knew she’d just be getting out from her morning lecture, and I did happen to see her sitting at a table opposite a rather beautiful brunette. And the way this beautiful brunette was looking at Ana, there was no doubting her flirtatiousness.

There was the full-on eye contact, the smiles, the touching of her hair. The arching of her back to casually push out her breasts. Signals I’d probably miss if they were being tried on me, except that when I met my wife she made a point of ridiculing my inability to pick up on signals from a woman, before coaching me on what I’d been missing.

I had to admit that Ana had been right to say this particular visiting professor was pretty. Just to look at her made my heart feel as though it was being squeezed in a vice. The high cheek bones, the full lips, the large, alluring dark eyes. I would have put her age at perhaps five years less than Ana - young, though hardly naive. Naturally, having heard all about how she’d met Ana, I was inspired to wonder what Ellie would look like in her workout clothes. But I couldn’t stalk her at the gym - that would have been too much.

Ana was all smiles as well, and appeared to be attempting to meet Ellie’s eye contact as much as possible as though to appear polite -- but there was a distinct uncertainty about her demeanor. As though she’d agreed to this coffee with the belief that it really would turn into just another academic discussion, and had stumbled into a full date scenario.

Pleased with my wife’s ability to attract such an angel, and mildly amused by her apparent resolution to see this young woman socially perhaps only to tease her husband, I sauntered off to continue my day.

Even now, I couldn’t see Ellie as any kind of threat to my relationship with Ana -- I couldn’t feel troubled by my wife dealing with her. But walking away from that coffee shop, feeling my pulse quicken and my cock thicken at the thought of my wife somehow giving in to the charms of her young admirer, I felt the absolution that came with accepting that some biological urges just could not be challenged by rational thought. I could be as liberal and open-minded as possible, but I’d always find the thought of my wife fooling around with someone like that arousing. It didn’t make me a secret or unconscious homophobe just because I would have felt differently about my wife having coffee with an adoring young man.

Now I had managed to rid myself of the irritating doubts about how I perceived this little logical puzzle thrown my way by my better half, I felt at peace for the rest of the afternoon -- and actively looked forward to seeing Ana that evening, to find out how her meeting had gone from her point of view.

I got home before Ana that evening, though it wasn’t a gym night. It being her turn to cook, I traipsed upstairs to put on some old clothes and get back into the painting of our master bedroom.

I hated redecorating, and so did Ana for the most part -- it had been a year since we’d bought our little house just off campus, getting a good deal since so much work was needed. It had been a project intended to distract us from our disappointment at failing to conceive after two years of trying. The theory was to get the house in shape, and then we’d try again with the help of doctors if we needed to. So far, though, our attempts to get the house decorated had stalled. We’d managed to paint the spare bedroom and half of the master bedroom over the course of a whole year. My guess was that both of us were merely putting it off because we had doubts we’d ever be able to have a baby.

The last time either of us had picked up a paintbrush had been months back. Normally, simply laying eyes on that room -- empty but for our lovely big bed covered in a dust sheet -- made me feel all gloomy. This time, though, getting in there and starting on the walls again with a roller, helped me to zone out while I waited for Ana.

By the time I heard the front door close as she came home, I snapped out of my daze to find a whole wall done.

“Hey, you did some more painting!” she cried jubilantly as she burst through into the room and flung her arms around me.

“Well, if you can be tempted into the arms of a beautiful young woman, I thought I might see if I could manage a little more decorating,” I joked.

“It was only coffee,” she said, smiling, but her tone seemed to downplay things when I was fully expecting her to continue teasing me about my little gender inequality issue regarding her flirting with someone else.

“Should I grab a paint brush as well?”

I shrugged, “We might actually make some progress -- you want to order pizza?”

“Sure.”

She came back after ordering our supper wearing a baggy red t-shirt and old jeans that still had the paint stains from her last attempt at decorating, some months before.

“So how did it go?” I asked her, and she knew to what I was referring, though my question played it relatively safe.

She tilted her head, “It was fine.”

“You had fun?” I touched her cheeks, then cradled her head in my hands and delicately kissed her mouth.

“Sure,” she said, her tone almost exactly as though she were responding to a question from me about a recent conference she’d attended, which she knew full well I’d have no real interest in specifics. As though to suggest her coffee with the alluring Ellie had been nothing more than a mere professional situation.

I think I might have been disappointed that Ana took this attitude toward her coffee with her new friend -- except that I’d seen the two of them at that coffee shop, I knew it hadn’t been simply a professional meeting. The way Ellie had flirted with Ana, the way Ana perceived it, and didn’t quite know how to respond -- it hadn’t been merely two academics putting their heads together.

I was curious why Ana should seek to downplay that coffee shop rendezvous now.

I also found myself strangely hopeful that it meant Ana was being somehow affected by the exquisite young French woman -- enchanted, beguiled, seduced. Did I seriously want something to happen between the two of them? It seemed so. The way my pulse picked up while thinking about it, the way my manhood thickened slightly inside my old jeans. I had to concede that my reaction would have been completely different had it been a man my wife had been having an intimate coffee with -- but now I accepted my innate response to it, I could accept that I felt attracted to the idea of Ana being drawn to her new friend.

“You talk about her paper?” I asked her, again not wanting to scare her off topic.

“A little,” she said. “It wasn’t really the right place for that, too busy, too noisy.”

“But you are going to help her with it?”

“Sure, I don’t see why not.”

Why was she so down about it all? So flat, so lukewarm? Having witnessed a few moments of their meeting, I fully expected Ana to languish great tales of how this young woman had attempted to flirt with her, about how obviously interested she was in something beyond the platonic, and how that might make yours truly feel somehow insecure after all. Her unexpected response made me think something was up.

“You do like her, then?”

She shrugged. “She’s nice. I told you.”

“Nice. That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

I kissed her again, and the way she took control of it, eagerly sucking on my lips, easing her tongue inside my mouth -- it made me suddenly think she was trying to prove herself, prove her commitment to me.

“So when are you seeing her next?” I asked my wife, I think surprising her a little that I was dragging her back to the analysis of today’s coffee shop meeting.

“Next?”

“Well, presumably you are if you agreed to help her with her paper.”

“I don’t know. Wednesday, I guess. After work.”

I nodded, my eyebrows raised suggestively, unable to keep from a little teasing after all this. I said, “Wednesday evening -- sounds like a good second date.”

She jabbed me with her paintbrush, “It’s not a date,” she insisted. “I told you, I just agreed to help with her paper.”

“Hey!” I tried to grab the paintbrush from her, with the intent to pay her back for getting paint all over my shirt -- my roller was no use in short-range hand-to-hand. Then I asked, “So have things cooled off with her? She’s no longer... hitting on you?”

“I don’t know...” this uncertainty I was seeing in Ana was so unusual. It was completely intriguing.

“She’s lost interest?”

“I’m not sure I’d say that...” Well, at least she was unable to give me an outright lie.

Then she looked me straight in the eye and seemed to make a decision to go on the offensive against my probing questions. She said sharply, “You sound as though you want her to hit on me, you want me to go on a date with her.”

She jabbed me with the paintbrush again, splashing my old t-shirt with paint. I made more of an effort to claim it from her clutches, and we jostled a little for the thing.

“You can go on a date with her if you want to,” I said, a little breathless.

She rolled her eyes at me. “You’re just like all those other men -- you want to imagine me getting involved in some tawdry lesbian porn scene.”

I shrugged, “What can I say? You’re a very beautiful woman, and she’s... well, you said she’s pretty. There would be undeniable aesthetic value in you dating her...”

“You’re just a pervert, basically.” She smeared more paint all over my t-shirt.

I laughed, and in lieu of controlling the paintbrush, I made a grab for Ana herself, pulling her to me in an embrace tight enough to prevent her smearing more white paint all over me. I think she was about to struggle and put up some kind of half-hearted fight, and actually try to paint me some more. But pressed against me, I guess she felt something inside my jeans.

“Jesus, that’s you?” she asked.

“No one else in these jeans.”

She gave me a quizzical look, as though working out what my erection meant in the context of our conversation about the lovely Ellie.

“You really do like the idea of me going on a date with her?” she suddenly said, as though up to this point she’d assumed my tolerance of such a potential had only ever been in jest.

I shrugged, unable to deny it.

“I’m not a lesbian, you know,” she insisted.

“I know. Just a touch bi-curious, that’s all.”

“Jesus,” she said, dropping her paintbrush, her fingers tightening their grip on my shaft through my jeans, and then starting a slow caress. “You really would let me jump into bed with her, wouldn’t you?”

“Up to you,” I said.

“You’re crazy. This is all I need,” she kissed me again, just as forcefully as before. Proving herself. I wasn’t complaining. My hands found the pleasing roundness of her behind, and pulled her to me, crushing my hardness against her. Spurring her on.

She pulled off my t-shirt, hardly breaking from our kiss to drag it over my head. Then as she continued to suck on my lips, she fumbled with my belt and my fly. I pulled her t-shirt off over her head to reveal a plain gray bra, but then she topped me by stooping to haul down my jeans and my underwear, fully exposing my aroused state.

She straightened again to kiss me, pressing herself against my bare cock, and now I reached behind to remove her bra. Her nipples were stiff as pebbles. I bent down to take one into my mouth, and felt her hands take hold of my cock, to slowly pump me.

The way she crouched in front of me, and took my hard cock in her mouth, seemed to continue her attempt to prove her heterosexual credentials. She wasn’t just trying to give me pleasure by stretching her lips around my full girth, one hand enclosing the base of my shaft as she enveloped me in the soft, wet heat of her cheeks and her tongue. She was demonstrating -- to me, and more importantly perhaps to herself -- that she was turned on by the act of going down on me, of servicing this big, hard cock.

I moaned, and placed a hand gently on her head, to show my appreciation and guide her rhythm, just as she liked.

We heard the doorbell sound -- the pizza delivery guy -- but Ana looked up at me and shook her head.

She pushed me back, and I went with it, to collapse back onto the bed, gazing up at her pulling down her pants, and then her panties, before swooping down to lie with me, to kiss my mouth and lift a knee to straddle my thighs.