An Innocent Question Ch. 01

Story Info
Honey, have you ever thought about having an affair?
11.7k words
4.46
404.1k
236

Part 1 of the 3 part series

Updated 10/30/2022
Created 05/29/2006
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
ohio
ohio
4,418 Followers

[Note: This is a three-part story. The three parts will be posted on consecutive days.

Yes, I know that pregnancy and STDs are problems in the real world--but this is a story, and they're not a problem here.]

"Honey, have you ever thought about having an affair?"

***************

DAN'S STORY

That may seem like a very loaded question, but I asked it in all innocence. Ellen and I have always talked a lot, always asked each other odd questions, always shared the pleasure of discussing everything under the sun.

"Why do you suppose the clouds stay up?"

"If Jesus came back to earth today, what would he have to say about the Christian religion?"

"What's the point of putting up that new office building downtown, when they had to tear down two perfectly good office buildings to do it?"

"Ever wondered why frogs make that crazy noise at night?"

"What do you think it would be like to have three or four husbands?"

Those might strike you as some of the dumbest, or dullest, questions ever. But my wife and I had fun talking about each of them, at one time or another.

We met at Ohio State, in a junior year philosophy seminar (I was a philosophy major, she double-majored in philosophy and political science). From our first date we talked and talked. You might almost say our attraction was as much intellectual as sexual.

Well—almost! Ellen is a short, voluptuous blonde, about 5'4", with wonderful big breasts and a curvy figure. In her mid-forties she's only gained about 15 pounds from her college weight, and she still looks fantastic. I've stayed in pretty good shape, too, but when we're in public together I might as well be invisible: it's Ellen that people are looking at.

Once we'd spent a couple of evenings together, Ellen and I knew we were meant to be together. We graduated, got married, stayed in Columbus, and both found jobs at OSU. Ellen has worked in the Registrar's Office for years now, and I'm the chief tech support person for the Economics Department. We raised two kids: Dan Jr. just graduated from Denison University and works in Chicago, and Alexis is a junior at Northwestern.

And all that time—23 years now—we've been talking. Friends joke that either one of us could talk the bark off a tree, but together we could talk the white off a polar bear!

Like every other long-married couple, we found that our sex life had gotten less intense and less frequent, though it was still very pleasurable. We'd gone through the early stage—where you make love all the time, and you basically can't keep your hands off each other. And we'd had the parent stage, where you're either too tired or too busy with the kids to have sex very often.

There were ebbs and flows—maybe a couple of months where our interest picked up, and sex became more frequent and much more exciting. But there were also slow periods, where work or family problems or a minor illness pushed sex far onto the back burner.

And now we were in the empty nest stage, when we once again had time and privacy. So we did do it more, but nowhere near as often as in the early days. And as much as we loved each other, there's just no way sex can be as thrilling after 25 years together. Pleasurable, intimate, special—yes to all those things. But not white-hot or breath-taking.

What was deeper, and richer, and better than ever, was our sense of love and trust and mutual understanding. We both loved to talk, and to listen. We spent hours talking about all sorts of things, from Asian philosophy to the crazy way our neighbors trimmed their hedges. And as I've said, odd questions that no one else would ever think to ask came naturally to us.

All of which is a long way of saying that there was nothing strange or all that significant about the question I asked Ellen that Sunday afternoon:

"Honey, have you ever thought about having an affair?"

But what was strange was her reaction. We were both in the kitchen, putting away groceries; and Ellen just turned and looked at me for a moment, open-mouthed. Then her face blushed red, and she quickly turned away. She grabbed a couple of soup cans and moved towards the cupboard, saying, "of course not, Dan. Don't be ridiculous."

Her response surprised me—it wasn't a ridiculous question, at least not for the two of us.

"I don't know, Ellen. It doesn't seem like such a crazy question. Lots of people have affairs. I know I've at least thought about it from time to time."

By this time she had turned back to face me, and she looked calmer.

"Yes, I guess you're right," she said. "I suppose I spoke too soon. I've certainly had a few affairs with George Clooney, late at night inside my head." She gave me a smile, but it was kind of a tense one.

"That's not really what I meant, Ellen. What about an actual affair, with someone we know? Have you ever thought about that, what it would be like, how you'd keep it a secret, that sort of thing?"

She sat down at the table. I noticed she wasn't meeting my eye. "Not really. I mean, there are men we know whom I find attractive, but I've never gone very far down the road of imagining an affair with any of them." Then she turned and looked at me.

More aggressively she said, "how about you, honey? There must be some reason this crazy question popped into your head. Have you got anything to confess?"

I laughed. "No, Ellen, I'm innocent. Of an affair, that is. But I've had daydreams a few times over the years—remember that 5th grade teacher that Dan, Jr. had? Miss Keller, or something like that? She was certainly a hot one." I laughed again. To me this was just a casual conversation, the kind of thing Ellen and I had done a million times before.

And now she seemed to be more in the spirit of it as well. "At last I learn the truth!" she said with a grin. "I'll have to get Miss Keller on the phone and hear her side of the story!"

We went back to the groceries, and within a few minutes our conversation had moved on to some other innocuous subject. The whole question about adultery dropped right off my radar.

Until that night. On a typical Sunday without the kids, we would have had a relaxed dinner, maybe watched some TV, and gone to bed early. Perhaps we would have made love, if either of us was strongly in the mood. But these days we had privacy all the time, so we probably wouldn't have.

But on this Sunday, Ellen disappeared upstairs after dinner, as soon as we'd cleaned up the dishes. I read over some papers for work, and at 8:30 was interrupted by a call from Ellen.

"Hon, when you have a minute could you come upstairs?"

What greeted me when I entered the bedroom was a shock. The room was lit only by a couple of candles on the night tables. In the middle of the bed lay Ellen, and she was a sight. She'd put on makeup and brushed her hair, leaving it down over her shoulders, and she was wearing her sexiest nightie. I'd bought it for her when we took a trip to Cancun—it was a real fuck-me nightie, see-through in all the right places, and she knew it turned me on to see her in it.

"See anything you like, cowboy?" Ellen murmured.

When I pulled my jaw back up off the floor I said, "I'm not sure, actually. I think I'll need to look more closely."

She laughed and said, "go jump in the shower and get your ass back here—you've got five minutes."

Needless to say I was back before her deadline! As I quickly washed I wondered what was up. For Ellen to suggest we make love wouldn't have been unusual, but for her to make such a big production out of it was completely unprecedented. It was the kind of thing she might do for our anniversary, or my birthday, but never on an ordinary Sunday night. At least not in the past 15 or 20 years.

When I came back to the bedroom, Ellen growled, "come here, you," and took me in her arms. We began to kiss, and her energy surprised me. Our sex-play didn't usually include a lot of kissing, but tonight she ravished my mouth with her lips and tongue. Her hands were all over me, aggressively. She rubbed them over my chest, running them through my chest hair, pinching my nipples lightly.

As I slid my own hands up under her nightie and up her back she groaned into my mouth, and pushed her heavy breasts against me. She dragged them back and forth against my chest, and through the thin nightie I felt how hard and erect her nipples were. It was very odd. She hadn't been this quickly turned-on for years, and then she'd been like this several times in the past month or so.

Our foreplay continued, with Ellen being more aggressive than I could remember. She pulled off the nightie and glided up and down my body, rubbing her belly against my erect cock, then surrounding it luxuriously with her breasts. She slid her body around mine like a cat, making noises of pleasure in her throat. I stroked her back, her breasts, her thighs, whatever I could reach, while blissfully enjoying what she was doing to me.

When she slid down lower, it was clear I was in for a blow-job, a rare thing from Ellen. (And I mean rare, like maybe twice a year.) Soon it became clear this would be a once-in-a-lifetime blow-job. She took her time, teasing me with her tongue before taking me deep in her mouth. She backed off, licked my balls, stroked my cock, cooed little affectionate words to the big guy, then slid him back in her mouth again.

I tried to pull her hips up towards me for a 69, but she pulled away, saying "just for you tonight, honey". She worked me slowly up to a fever pitch, then took me over the top. I gasped and groaned as I pumped myself into her mouth, and (again a surprise) she swallowed vigorously.

I lay back, trying to catch my breath, feeling the sweet tingle of total pleasure and relaxation shooting through my whole body. If it wasn't the absolute best blow-job of my life, it was certainly at least the best in the past 15 years.

"Wow!" I said. "What was that all about, sweetheart? Sex has been great lately, but you were absolutely a woman possessed tonight!"

She nestled up close, again deliciously rubbing her large breasts against me. "I just thought it might be time to remind you how much I love you, Dan."

"Well, let me be honest," I replied. "I'm not sure I completely remember yet. Could you remind me again in, say, an hour or so?"

She laughed and said, "sure thing! They say the memory is the first thing to go..."

We nuzzled together, dozing, for a little while. Sure enough, after a bit her hands began to explore again, gliding over my arms and shoulders, my chest, and finally down to my thighs and my cock. I lay back and enjoyed it for a few minutes, aware that Ellen virtually never took the lead like this—though she had been doing it a bit more in the past few weeks.

Then I roused myself enough to return the favor, caressing those big breasts that still excited me even after 25 years together. Soon we were pressed tightly together on our sides, groaning with pleasure as we stroked each other with our hands. My fingers reached her pussy from behind and probed inward, finding her soaking wet.

Breaking from her embrace, I kissed my way down her body, from neck to vagina, making a lengthy visit to her nipples en route. Ellen always loved me to lick her pussy, but she usually took it pretty quietly, lying still with her eyes closed, making soft noises in her throat, then moving her hips only at the last moments before her orgasm.

This time I could barely hold her still enough to lick. Her hips rolled and bounced as she pushed herself vigorously onto my tongue. She moaned and murmured, said, "yes!" and "ooh, Dan," and "right there!", and "oh, baby, more!". I used my fingers to reach inside her for her G-spot while my tongue circled her clit over and over.

Soon she began to come, and she just didn't stop! In the past an orgasm usually made her too sensitive, and I had to move away for a minute, but tonight I kept licking and stroking, and she kept coming. Her moans got louder, and before long they were yells of pleasure. She came at least four or five times within about ten minutes, with no sign of wearing out. But by then I was on fire to fuck her.

I climbed up and slid into her in missionary position, groaning at the pleasure of her heat. After so many orgasms I was sure she would just lie back, relax, and let me take her. But again she surprised me, humping up at me energetically, fiercely, as though she were climbing towards her own first orgasm.

Her ferocity made my own arousal soar. In no time I was slamming into her hard, gasping for breath, while she squeezed me tight with her arms, scratched me with her nails and bit my shoulder. I wondered for a moment if my wife had had a blood transfusion from a tiger—then I stopped wondering anything, and just thrust frantically until my orgasm took me over. As I shot into her I could feel Ellen coming again beneath me, her pussy spasming deliciously. After nearly a minute of mind-numbing pleasure, I collapsed on top of her.

Although the last few weeks had featured several great sessions in bed, this had been about the hottest sex of my life—certainly in many years. I was too tired at the time to think about the why of it, I just enjoyed that it had happened!

Not bothering with toothbrushing or anything else, Ellen and I blew out the candles, snuggled tightly together, and were soon fast asleep. As I drifted off I felt her give me one more fierce hug and whisper, "I love you so much, baby!"

Something woke me out of a sound sleep—I don't know what. I looked around and Ellen was gone. It was 3:20 am. Sleepily I pulled on my boxers and headed for the door of the bedroom.

Before I reached the stairs I could hear her. She was downstairs, probably in the living room, and she was sobbing. I quickly went down to her.

Ellen must have heard me coming, because she was blowing her noise and making an effort to pull herself together.

"Honey, what's wrong?" I asked. She smiled at me. Her eyes were red and her face looked haggard. Clearly she'd been crying for quite a while.

"It's OK," she said. "Something, maybe a dream, made me think of my dad. I just got sad, thinking about him, and I started to cry. I came down here so I wouldn't bother you. I'm sorry, honey!"

Ellen's father had died about six years earlier. It seemed awfully strange that she'd be sobbing her eyes out about him now, but I didn't say that. I just hugged her, comforted her, and led her gently back up to bed.

***************

All the next day at work I was on edge. I should have been happy, feeling the afterglow of the most exciting sex in a long time, reveling in the love of the woman I loved so much. But something was odd—there were too many unusual things in one day to overlook.

I took a long walk at lunchtime, trying to put it all together. I ask Ellen a random question about an affair and she reacts very strangely, blushing and not meeting my eye. The same evening, she takes the lead in an unusually aggressive way and gives me the hottest sex since the Battle of Bunker Hill. In fact, it was the high point of several weeks of unexpectedly great sex. Then in the middle of the night, she's downstairs crying.

The most likely conclusion was also the most appalling and unbelievable one: she was having, or has had, an affair. My innocent question obviously upset her for some reason, and what other reason would there have been?

If I was right, then the hot sex was guilt, or some sort of spillover of lust, or a kind of apology. And maybe the crying was guilt as well, or fear about the marriage. For all I know, Ellen may have the idea that I know all about her affair, and am just playing a game of my own.

I walked around the campus, hardly noticing the warm sunshine or the sounds of people all around me. I just thought. Ellen and I had a good marriage, a strong marriage. I had never strayed, and I never thought that she had either.

Back in the first few years of our marriage, we had known a couple who did some wife-swapping. Naturally Ellen and I had a long talk about it, as we always did about every subject from aardvarks to Zeus.

While each of us admitted that occasionally we saw a member of the opposite sex who tempted us, neither of us wanted to go anywhere near adultery or wife-swapping. Sex only with one another was a price we were willing to pay for the love and trust of a monogamous marriage.

Given how emotional and strange Ellen had been yesterday, it appeared unlikely that my stray question had brought on an attack of guilt about a long-past indiscretion. So if her crazy reactions were because of an affair—however wildly unlikely that seemed to me—it had to be something recent.

I also couldn't believe that she could have had some past affair, at least one of any duration, without me noticing something. As I've said, Ellen and I talked all the time, about everything. We knew each other very well: our habits, our friends, our preferred foods, political views, favorite beers, hobbies and sports. I knew her underwear sizes and she knew mine. Hard to believe I could have missed an affair!

On the other hand, what about her suddenly higher level of sexual excitement in the past month or so?

What to do now was the next question. I didn't look forward to going home and confronting Ellen—both because I had no evidence and because my accusation might be completely wrong, and infuriating to her. In the short run, all I could think of to do was to keep quiet and be very very watchful.

As it happened, I didn't have to wait for long. That night I got home to find Ellen putting the final touches on a beautiful dinner: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, French bread, white wine. Tablecloth and candles on the dinner table. It looked and smelled fabulous, and I told her so, with a big hug and a kiss.

"What's the occasion, Ellen? This is marvelous," I said.

"Just trying to show my husband that I still like having him around," she said lightly. There was a kind of strained look on her face, even as she smiled at me.

"Well," I said, "you know how they say, 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.' I've always actually thought that there's another way—but you found that one last night!"

She laughed, and said, "and perhaps I can find it again soon! Now come and sit down, the food is just hot."

We enjoyed the meal, but Ellen didn't seem relaxed. I did my best to entertain her with stories of my work-day, including some of the crazy characters I have to supervise, but she listened with only half an ear.

"Can I thank you for this lovely dinner by taking you out for ice cream?" I asked when we were done.

"No, thank you, honey—I've got a blueberry pie waiting for us in the kitchen."

She went in to get it, and I thought, stranger and stranger. She must have come home at least two hours early from work today, gone to the store, then baked the pie and done the rest of this cooking. What on earth is going on?

After dinner I took her hand and we went out into our back yard, enjoying the breeze and the fading light of the summer evening.

I said, "Ellen, you've been treating me like a king, and I want to be sure you know how much I like it. Whether it's sex or cooking, you're my Number One!"

She smiled at me, and hugged my arm tightly. "Dan, you're my Number One in all categories. I love you so much."

I led us to a bench and we sat down together. Then I went on.

"But honey, as much as I've enjoyed last night and today, I have to wonder about the reason for this sudden outburst of appreciation. Is there something bothering you?"

She looked into my eyes, trying to smile. "No, baby, nothing at all!"

"Really?" I said.

"Really."

"Really?" I repeated, looking hard at her.

"Really," she replied, her smile wavering a bit.

"Really?" I said a third time, with heavy emphasis, still looking at her.

ohio
ohio
4,418 Followers