Debbie's Workout

Some years back, I was stationed in Japan with the military. A good buddy of mine named Pete and I palled around a lot, and he taught me a few cool things about computers, such as BBSes and modem-based chats, which were still big back then. After awhile, everyone basically knew everyone, since each base had only a few bulletin boards or chat rooms. We often had house (or barracks) parties together, especially during the holidays, when many of us either couldn't afford to go home, had no families to go home to, or had started new families.

Pete was one of the latter, so the computer allowed him to keep in touch with everyone, even when he couldn't come to one of our parties. (Again, this was before the Internet, so even being able to send messages between rooms or buildings was a big deal.) However, when he hosted, he was fortunate enough to have a few understanding neighbors to watch the kids. For one party, it was a good thing.

I was a short-timer; my orders had come in, and I had already packed out all but a few essentials, since I was shipping out in a few weeks. This topic joined the usual conversation elements at our parties, such as the next steps in computer technology, whether computers would ever play video games as well as the arcade machines, whether TV-based consoles would remain superior for such play, whether 'net porn was a big deal (little did we know!), and the like.

We were all kicking back with various beverages, shooting the breeze, singing karaoke, or watching Pete show off some of the cool stuff he had installed on his Atari ST (a series of computers that could have saved Atari had anyone inside the company just let it happen) when Pete's wife came in. If Pete was a geek, his wife Debbie was very nearly an anti-geek. She was a very cute, petite brunette who liked movies and music, but that was about as far as her love of technology went. As such, she didn't mind our little get-togethers, but generally she only went along to be sociable. That she was cute in a bouncy-petite sort of way, and didn't mind talking to a bunch of misfits and nerds made her quite welcome. Besides, conversations sometimes drifted away from computers to stuff she liked, and so she generally didn't feel too uncomfortable.

At the time, though, even though I didn't consider myself the most socially astute person on the planet (or even in the room), I could tell she was not happy about something. She crossed the room, heading straight for the kitchen. She did smile and greet people on her way (read: in her path), but she was clearly headed for the fridge and the beer. As soon as she had a can of whatever the base Class Six store had on special that week, she made her way with similar resolve to the back room, where she and Pete had some workout gear. She slammed the door, cranked up some tunes just to the point where we could hear them, and that was the last we heard of her for close to half an hour.

In the meantime, Pete and I got into a conversation about whether Atari or Amiga had a better handle on sprite animation, which continued with some really cool examples, when Debbie popped out of the workout room, grabbed another beer and a bottle of booze (Jack Daniels, if memory serves), and darted back in. My eyebrows must have gone up, because Pete held up a hand and shook his head, wordlessly indicating that he really did not want to talk about whatever was going on. I nodded, understanding only that something bad was going on, and that I wasn't really entitled to know what it was.

After another few dueling demos, we took a break and had a couple of drinks. It began to get late; since quite a few people had early duty, the party began to wind down almost in shifts. First, the early watch standers said their farewells; then the guys with the most computer gear to pack up; and finally, even the die-hard karaoke nuts began to give out. Finally, it was just Pete and me playing video games and chewing the fat. Then Debbie came out.

She had her black hair in short ponytail, and was wearing a loose, but flattering, white sweatshirt and a pair of very form-fitting blue tights. I hadn't noticed them before; either she had changed clothing after coming home, or I had been more interested in bits and bytes before she came out.

She sat between Pete and me, and cut off whatever he had been saying to ask him, "So, what'cha talking about?" in a voice that let us both know she really didn't care.

Pete tried to gut it out by answering. "Oh, we were just talking about football, the usual stuff...."

"Y'mean, you weren't talking about your little computer?" she asked, sarcastically. The thing was, she was definitely not a sloppy drunk; every word came out as perfectly formed as her spandex-clad thighs. Unfortunately, she was a very mean drunk, so every word also came out a little louder and a lot sharper than would have happened when she was sober. (As a military man, I spent a lot of time watching friends get drunk; one gets fairly observant.)

Pete gritted his teeth, and said defensively, "Those little computers put food on our table, dear..."

Debbie edged closer to me, for reasons I could not yet fathom. "Oh, not those computers, honey. The computers at work do that. Those computers just let you have little chats with your little friends."

I tried to raise an objection at that point, not for myself, but for Pete, but I only got as far as "I--" before Debbie cut me off and said, "Oh, I don't mean you, Joe. You're not little at all, are you?" On the word all, I felt her thigh bounce off mine quite deliberately. Given how rarely I dated back then, that was enough to give me a rapid and stiff erection.

Pete, an affable, diffident fellow, was nonetheless not timid. "Dear, leave him out of this," he said firmly. "You want to talk about my computers and us, let's wait until morning..."

Debbie snorted. "We never talk. You'll just get on that computer and play your games, and tell me we'll talk later."

I made to get up. "Look, guys, I really should go; you seem to have some stuff to..."

Before I could leave the big, plush couch, Debbie playfully and clumsily pushed me back in my seat. "No, no, stay here, I want you to help me make a point." Her hand touched my inner thigh, and then my erection. Worse, since I tended to wear gym pants a lot in those days, my hard member was unmistakable. "I mean, I know you find me attractive, don't you? More so than a computer?"

"Mrs. M..." I said, deliberately emphasizing that she was married, and not to me, "You are quite attractive, but I'm not who..."

Pete reddened; Debbie abruptly lay back across my lap and grinned stupidly, as though I were a chaise longue in the sun, and someone had just handed her a fruity drink with little paper umbrellas in it. "Oh, but you're all man, Joe...just the sort I'd consider qualified to ask..." She squirmed against me, and I couldn't wriggle away.

I could feel my face had grown even redder than Pete's; in addition to feeling embarrassment for him, I also felt extremely embarrassed over my own arousal. I tried again. "Look, Debbie, I know Pete finds you extremely attractive, but this is really not..."

Even though she sensed my discomfort, or perhaps because of it, she pressed on—and I do mean "pressed." She wiggled again, and this time plopped her round little ass right on top of my erection! She started giving me a lap dance right in front of her husband, and I found myself at a total loss. If Pete hadn't been there, I would have been sorely tempted to let her keep going, or even go farther. The fact that I felt that way made me feel even worse for Pete, who looked more humiliated than I had ever seen a man. "I mean," Debbie said, seemingly oblivious to Pete's and my discomfort, "What do you think Pete here would do if I started doing this?" As she mentioned her husband's name, she began to grind against my cock, and I could feel the cleft between her butt cheeks as she turned to line up so that her back faced me.

I tried to push her off. Given that I weighed 170 muscular pounds at the time, and she weighed at most 110, it should have worked, but she had leverage; I was trying to get up out of a soft couch, with my knees much higher than my own butt. Plus, as I moved my hips forward, she simply continued to work that bouncy ass on me. "Debbie, please don't do this," I growled, half of me cursing the other half for trying to make her stop. I started to push sideways, but still couldn't get away. Her thighs were strong, and she had the kind of extra strength one seems to get when drunk. "Pete?"

Pete grabbed one of her dainty hands and pulled her toward him, while I rocked the other way and got free, but not before she wriggled that butt against me a few more guiltily pleasurable times...and taking me past the point of no return. I was going to cum any minute; it was not negotiable.

"Thanks, Pete," I managed. He nodded sternly and then glared at his wife. I was grateful for the shift of attention, as it let me turn my throbbing erection, sending powerful signals of pain and pleasure and want straight to my brain, away from his view. I managed to lay my hands on my jacket, and threw it on. Even so, I could feel pre-cum leaking from my cock, and was petrified that he would notice. "Look, I really have to go. I promised Master Chief Wiggins I'd have the training database updated by close of business tomorrow...and...look. I'm...sorry I got in the middle of this. You guys...look, you guys need to work this out, 'cause neither of you deserves any grief." I felt a spasm, but managed to contain it—or at least, if I didn't, both Pete and Debbie did the best acting job ever by ignoring it.

Pete inexplicably started to apologize to me—so he either didn't know what was about to happen, or he did, and he was just that embarrassed. I held up a hand. "It's okay, Pete. Both of you. Just...take it easy, okay? I'll see you later."

I made the three last steps to the door in absolute agony; my testicles felt ready to explode. Pete followed; we exchanged red-faced pleasantries and shook hands. As he closed the door behind him, I felt another spasm, and sprinted as quietly as I could to the seventh floor elevator, praying I could make the trip to the ground floor solo. Thankfully, luck finally smiled on me, and I was the only one in the elevator. I held off pressing the button until my body gave me some kind of signal to indicate what I was in for. At first, my clenched abdominal muscles relaxed, and my erection actually began to subside in my pre-cum moistened pants and shorts...but then I felt an all-too-familiar warmth and tension throughout my whole groin, and I had one of the most intense orgasms of my life, shooting cum so strongly that I could feel its warmth spreading against the cloth of my gym pants. I pulled down at my jacket a little, and buttoned the bottom buttons. Just then, the elevator's motors shuddered to life. It moved up to the ninth floor to pick up a drunk guy in a brown mountaineering jacket; he nodded unsteadily at me, smiling in a way that suggested whatever was going in my world, all was right in his. I nodded back, and tried to return the smile; whether convinced or not, he didn't seem to worry much, so I simply acted like I was roughly as drunk as he seemed, and we passed the trip down in blissful silence.

Thankfully, the trip home on foot didn't take long, and even though my own semen got really, really cold in the winter night air, it was too dark for anyone to see it.

To this day, a big part of me really wishes I had stayed and let Debbie finish me off properly.