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Phone Call from a Convention

12

This is based on a real incident from the past, embellished a little. Well, maybe more than a little. Okay, a lot. And the technology in the story is updated so that she can talk to me on her wireless earphone. She actually used to use a wired one with an old cell phone, but that was clumsier, and, hey, we can adopt modern technology for the purpose of clarity. This was all quite a few years ago.

Names have been changed. And of course, though her lover is known by his initials in this account, she called him by his real name, in conversation and in the heat of passion.

If you don't like sharing-wife stores, stop reading now and go somewhere else.

*****

My wife was off at a convention in New York. She had permission to play. She always has my encouragement to play and enjoy herself, so long as she's careful. We discussed this clearly. "Just be careful, Sweetie. Condoms, of course. Call me regularly to tell me where you are and with whom. And make sure he knows that you called me." A city girl's purse contains both condoms and pepper spray.

She called from a bar, told me that she was with a guy. But, surprise surprise, not just any guy. This was M, the infamous M, whom she had a long, intense affair with some years ago. It was before we were married, so not strictly speaking infidelity. We were dating seriously, but we worked in different cities and carried on a long-distance relationship. We both had our dalliances during those years, some short-term, some long-term. But this one that she had with M was very intense and very public. She was my girlfriend for all intents and purposes, but she was seeing - and screwing - this guy much more often than she was me. She was with him all week and with me only some weekends when one of us could travel.

It wasn't just a dalliance with him; it was a full-blown affair. Two years. They worked in the same marketing company in New York. She was just starting out; he was senior. She was single; he was married. She was young; he was ten years older. An old story, oft repeated. Many or most of the people they worked with knew it was going on, though they tried not to do anything in the office. Everyone suspected. Eventually someone saw them out together, long after working hours, holding hands and mooning over each other in an obscure little restaurant, so everyone's suspicions were confirmed.

I knew about it. She told me some of the particularly erotic incidents as part of our sex play. Made me crazy. Crazy hot. I loved hearing that she was getting laid. I just didn't know how serious it was getting. When she told me how he held her, and felt her, and fondled her, and worked his way under her clothing - a lot of it in public - and then went to a hotel and fucked her brains out, I would get hotter than a pistol. I loved hearing how he was all over her sexually, and how it turned her on to be fondled sort of secretly but sort of in public, and how when she was really turned on they would barely make it back to the hotel room before shedding just enough clothes to screw. Then after their first release, they would get naked and loll and play and suck and fuck for hours. She didn't tell me to torture me. She told me to turn me on. It was our version of phone sex, and a turn on whenever we could get together.

Oh, how I wanted to be there with her to do that to her. In addition to him? Instead of him? Alas, neither of us was willing to change jobs and move, until we finally decided to get married several years later.

Back to today. So she called him up to see if they could get back together for a day. Better him than a stranger, she said.

Then came another surprise. She was using her new little wireless earpiece, which is completely hidden by her hair. She will keep it on so that I can hear everything that she says, even if she whispers, and anything that he says close enough to her, everything that goes on. He was right there, listening to her talk, but he couldn't hear what I said to her.

Just for security, she read me his full driver's license and business card. And a couple credit cards to boot. And told him that I was recording the entire "adventure." So no hanky-panky that leaves marks, just good, honest fooling around, kinky sport fucking, whatever turns her on.

"Do you understand, M, my husband is on the line here. He can hear everything we say and do. He wants to hear me play around, and I want him to hear me. We can do anything we want. Like we used to. Just know that he wants to hear everything, and I'm going to be giving him a running commentary on our . . . activities. Don't let it distract you from the evening's fun."

Then to me: "Like right now, honey, M has his hand on my leg. . . . He's looking at me incredulously." To him: "I told you I was going to tell my husband everything. Don't let it bother you."

"We've been kissing a lot, and I think we should continue."

There was the sound of kissing and moaning for a minute. She came up for air. "Ooh, that was very nice, M. You always did kiss really well. And I especially enjoy your hand on my breast."

"Honey, he's feeling up your wife again, his hands are all over my breasts, is that okay?"

"You're sitting in a bar, in public, kissing him, with his hand on your boobs?"

"Oh, this bar is amazing. No one can see anything here. This place must have been designed for the express purpose of assignation and seduction. It's almost completely dark. I've told you about this place before. There are small circular booths, only big enough for two to spread out, or maybe for four *really* close friends. The booths are very close together, but you can't see from one to another. There are curtains of glass beads between the booths, lighted from the top. Makes a great intimate but opaque curtain. That's the only light in the place, so there's a little light inside the booth, but you can't see through to next door. And there's enough noise and background music that you can't really hear from one to the next, either. There's a gap where the waitresses deliver drinks, but you can't see into any other booths because of the layout. It's incredibly seductive."

"What are you wearing? Can you hide his hands on you?

"What am I wearing? My blue suit, you know, the good one: jacket, straight skirt that's really tight, white blouse. Vanilla underwear. Pantyhose, nice Lycra ones, cool and silky. Just business dressy, nothing especially seductive. But no need to hide anything in this place, except maybe actual skin. A little touchy-feely? That's happening in every booth. That's the purpose of this place, I think."

"Oh, M, your hand is on my thigh. That's a little familiar, don't you think? You like the material of this dress? The lining makes it slide so easily against my slippery stockings, doesn't it? See how the skirt goes up and down smoothly like that?"

"Oh, honey, he's nuzzling my neck, and he's running his hand is under my dress, on my leg. I think he wants to feel inside my thigh. I think this is going too far."

She's taunting me. She always does that in her stories of old lovers. Tells me how much bigger they are, how much hunkier, how much harder and deeper they plow her, and how much she loves it. The last one is true for sure. She does love being pawed and manhandled and penetrated and fucked silly by new guys. In this case, now a live lover not just a memory, it's a guy she was with before, but sort of a new guy that she hasn't seen (that I know of!) in fifteen years.

So she taunts me, will taunt me, it's just starting. I think she does it to inflate the ego - and dick - of the lover she's with, to make him pound her harder, and to inflame my lust by feeding our fantasies about her being plowed by super-lovers. About their huge members going deeper into her than I ever could. Deeper and wider, filling her up more than I ever could. And banging her harder and faster than I ever could. And spraying tons of cum into her and all over her. This sort of exaggerated sex talk excites the hell out of both of us. She gets to think and feel and scream her passion, and I get to wonder and cringe, just how much of it is true: how much bigger his cock is than my average one, how much harder she comes on his cock than on mine, how much she wants to take his cum inside her and have it overflow down her crack, and how she loves to feel it drip down her legs when she walks after being royally fucked, how she likes other people to see it all shiny on her thighs, oozing below her skirt, down to her knees, as she walks through the hotel back to her room, or even down the street on his arm. Oh, god, that turns me on so much to think of her being that openly slutty, hypersexual, oh fuck me fuck me big boy stick that thing in my hole and plow me 'til I scream. That's my baby. She likes to scream it, and I like to hear it and see it. Nothing excites me more than having her turn into a sex-crazed animal wanting to be penetrated and cry her orgasm!

Her lover doesn't know if she's acting, either. It drives him nuts to fuck another man's wife like that, she's so passionate and vocal and appreciative. She yells it in his ear and it drives him wild. If it makes him more hunger for her, that's a great thing. But miles away, I don't know how much she's acting, if he really is fucking her better than I do, or ever did. I don't know how much bigger and harder his dick is, how much better he uses it, how much deeper he gets. I sure can hear how much louder she comes and yells and breathes, and how much she begs to be filled up with cock and cum. It makes me incredibly hard and hot on the other end of that phone line. We both have lots of fun in our ways.

I choked, "You're having fun, aren't you? You want to be touched. . . . Open up a little for him. Let him feel your thighs. Let him feel inside your thighs."

"Really? He's pulling my legs apart so he can get up them. He'll keep going if I don't stop him. You want me to let him feel me up like that? He'll feel all the way up to. . . mmm."

She would open her legs for him anyway, but she wanted to hear me say that I wanted it, too. "Relax and let him feel your thigh. Relax and let him do it. Enjoy it."

"Ooh, that tickles. And feels hot. Honey, he's pulling your wife's legs open and pushing up my skirt. He's most of the way up my thigh. Isn't that kinky."

"Go ahead, M, we like kinky. You're welcome there, feeling up my thighs, I like it and hubby likes it. Mmmm, yesss, pull my skirt up so you can reach higher, I'll lift up. There."

A few moments of low talking. "Oh, the waitress just arrived with refills, and we ordered, more, too. I'm sure she could see that my feet are nowhere near together and she knows what that means. And I bet she sees that all the time. I wonder if it turns her on to see other people so clearly . . . involved . . . all the time?" After some kissing and moaning and nuzzling, I hear, "Yes, feel me, I love having my breasts squeezed."

"Can he reach into your blouse and fondle you more directly? Let him feel you, skin to skin."

"M, undo a couple buttons so you can reach in. No one will see us here. Mmmm, better, oh, yes, my nipple is so sensitive."

"Honey, his hand is in your wife's blouse, feeling her breast in her bra. Now, inside the bra, oh, that's lovely. Oh, yes, inside the bra, on my naked breast, yes, play with my nipple. That's the breast normally reserved for my husband, my kinky husband who thinks it's okay for you to do that.

"God, this is going awfully far, isn't it? I mean, when the waitress comes back, he probably shouldn't have his hand inside my blouse, should he? I have to hold the jacket closed to hide it. Oh!"

The waitress arrived with refills, and they ordered yet another round. This must be the third or fourth so far. She will get smashed if she continues. More sounds of kissing, moaning, rustling of cloth. "Are you feeling him, too?" I asked.

More moaning. "Yes, I have a hand in his lap, too. I can feel that he is aroused. He's very aroused. There's a salami in his pants."

"You're feeling his hard-on?"

Whispering to him: "Is that all for me? Do you think it will all fit in me? Yes, I know it used to."

"Is he still feeling your boobs? Is he inside your clothes?"

"Yes, he has lifted both my boobs out of my bra. He's playing with my nipples. My insides jerk when he tweaks my nipple. You know how I react to that."

She whispered, "You know that makes me really hot. My pussy is just throbbing with every touch. Your wife is turning into a hot cunt, and she will want that filled. A strange man is playing with your wife's breasts and making her pussy drip. What can I do about that?"

Oh, the C-word. That's a word she almost never uses. Only when she is super hot, dripping, and desperate to have something stuck into her sex. "Sweetie, listen. Get up and go to the ladies room and we'll talk." She excused herself and took off. "Take off your panties. Before you put the pantyhose back on, you have a nail file in your purse, right? Cut a slit in the crotch, over your pussy, right over your labia, leaving an entrance. You know what I mean. You told me he used to do that to you, rip the crotch of your pantyhose sometimes. Remember, you told me how he would rip your pantyhose open so he could get into you easily? Yes, yes, I know they're expensive. I'll buy you a dozen pairs. Sweetie, I want you to be accessible tonight so that you can play with your sex, he can play with it."

"You want me to open up my sex to this man? You want your wife to give him an easy opening into her body? You want him to use my body so openly, so easily? You want another man to get inside me?" There's the taunting again.

"Yes, I want my wife to get her pussy poked."

"Jesus, are you sure? You really want me to let him use me like that? I mean, I want to be used, but. . . . You know how intense he and I used to be. If we start here, we'll end up going all night. And maybe tomorrow. You know I won't stop until it hurts."

"I want my wife to open her legs for this man, let his hand into her most private area. I want her to do whatever she wants to do. . . . I want her to let him do whatever *he* wants to do, too."

"Oh, god, I'm dripping. You are such a perv. . . I love you for that. . . . Okay. Let me get to it." She moved and rustled and groaned a lot while rearranging her clothing. "Okay, honey, there's an entryway into my goodies thru the hose. I rolled the skirt up a couple inches to shorten it, too. And I had to blot my lips a lot because I'm dripping inside. And shaking. This is too much."

"Don't worry, Sweetie, you can stop any time you want. You know you can. Just close your legs and push away. This is a public space. And you know him well. You used to be lovers. He won't do anything to upset you."

More rustling. "Okay, hole in the pantyhose, panties in the purse. I am almost afraid what's going to happen when he finds this. It will be like the old days."

Boy, I hope so. The stories she used to tell me about their affair were searing hot.

She went back to the table. "Miss me?" Much kissing.

"His hand's on my knee again, inside it on my thigh, and he's caressing my leg, sliding up it. Oh, god."

"Sweetie, open your legs for him. Let him feel your legs up to the top. Open up for his hand."

"Oh, his hand is under my skirt now. M, your hand is really high on my thigh. You're close to touching me intimately. My husband says he wants me to open my legs for you so you can touch me higher. So you can get between them."

I encouraged her more. "Spread yourself open for him and let him feel you. Did you open a hole in your pantyhose as I asked? Let him feel that. And inside that. You want his fingers to touch your juicy lips, don't you? And then feel inside you?"

I heard his gasp when he discovered the inviting gap in her pantyhose. "Oh, you opened a path for me. How delicious! You were always my favorite pussy! You are fabulous, woman!" And then her gasp when he reached in to find her labia, and her clit. She inhaled sharply when her clitoris was first touched. And again when he slid his fingers inside her.

"Oh, M, you bad boy. You're touching my most private spot. Oh! There! Ah! I can feel you inside me." In a hoarse whisper, "Yes, plunge your fingers into me!"

What would the others in the bar think if they could hear this? But that's precisely what this bar was for. No one could hear or see what was going on. She was probably not the only woman in the place whose vagina is being probed right now. But she's mine! I want to hear her enjoy this!

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" And moaning. More kissing, more rustling of fabrics. A tiny suppressed squeal! She was coming! She had a small orgasm on his fingers. She exhaled long and slow. "Oh, let me relax. Please. I need to come down for a minute."

Then to me, "Did you hear? I came. I came on his fingers. Your wife came with another man finger fucking her pussy. In public. I love his fingers in my pussy, and it excited me, and I came. His hand was inside your wife, not your hand. And your wife had an orgasm, you heard it. Almost in public. He still has his hand under my skirt and his fingers are still in my sex. Your wife spread her legs wide open inviting this man to come into her. Into *me*. He's massaging the inside of my vagina right now."

Hissing, "Fuck me, M! Fuck me with your hand!"

I was rock hard. "I love it. I love you. I want you to have fun tonight. I want you to enjoy sex with another man tonight. Open your legs for him. Open your pussy for him. Spread your legs and let him in. He only wants to please you, and I want him to please you."

"Oh," she whimpered, "I will. I am having fun with him tonight. His hand is still inside me. I can feel how hard he is. There's a stiff rod in his pants, pulsing and hot, I can feel it."

He stopped her: "No, I'm too sensitive. Don't waste it. You have me too turned on. Let's go to my hotel where we can be alone. Or yours."

"He turned on the light for the waitress to get the bill. I'll call you back when we are alone in the hotel."

---

She called forty minutes later from the bathroom of his hotel room. I was already going crazy wondering what was happening.

"Are you sure about this? You really want me to go ahead with this?"

"Yes, Sweetie. Yes." I answered. No hesitation.

"You understand that I'm really turned on. There will be no turning back if we start taking clothes off."

"Yes, yes, I want you to. I want you to have fun. This turns me on as much as it does you. Nothing will come between us."

"He was all over me in the cab, feeling my boobs. My skirt was almost up to my waist. People crossing the street could see my legs wide open and his hand in my crotch. The cabbie was watching when he could. I came again, in traffic. I was afraid we would get in a wreck."

"He wants you. Do you want him?"

"Oh, god, as much as ever. Years ago, he used to drill me like crazy, and I loved it. I'm sorry, honey, but I did love it. He was really good. I was never fucked like that before or since. You know how we fucked like bunnies for two years! He still has a steel rod in his pants. He wants to use it on me. A lot. He is going to fuck my brains out. And I want him to. I want him to use me as his fuck toy, over and over again. So long as he makes me come and come. Are you okay with that?"

Oh, god, my cock was so hard. I already had it out and was stroking it slowly, trying to wait for a critical moment. "Yes, yes! I want you to enjoy yourself any way you want! It's just sex. Just for fun."

"Oh, god, I'm wet halfway down my thighs. You're really sure? If I start, I'm afraid I won't stop for a long time. You won't be angry with me? If I beg him to fuck me? More and more? . . . You may hear things you don't want to hear."

12
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