Pillow Talk, Just Pillow Talk

She had that confident posture and statuesque presence that told men that she was more than just a hot body and a pretty face and it didn't bother me that some mistook me for her father. She didn't look her age. She looked thirty-something. With the long hours I worked to build my career to make the money that I made that afforded her a luxurious lifestyle, and with the excessive alcohol I consumed from entertaining clients, I looked older than my years. I looked sixty-something.

Admittedly, there were times she made me yearn for a woman more my age. Yet, she was so beautiful and so damn sexy, she made my cock hard. I was lucky to have her, even if I couldn't always enjoy her in all the sexual ways and positions that I wanted and she so needed.

No longer able to satisfy her, I feared losing her. She wants more and I want less. I'd rather talk, listen, and watch. She'd rather dance all night and fuck and suck later.

Even though she was still smokin' hot, guys want young chicks and I knew she was safe around the young help she hired. Since I was always working and she was home alone, I couldn't help but imagine her with the pool man or the landscaper or the pool man and the landscaper, nonetheless. Even though they were both young, dumb, and full of cum, it was just a fantasy that I enjoyed having and something to talk about when lying on our pillows. After seeing them work around the house in the hot sun in their shorts and without their shirts, if I were her, I'd be attracted to them, too.

"Help yourself to some lemonade," I imagined her walking outside in her bikini and high heels and saying to the pool man and the landscaper, while approaching them with a tray of drinks. "I'll be out back getting some sun, if you need anything, anything at all, just come and get me."

No complaints about wearing a bikini and walking around in a bikini in high heels, is there, now, sister? Still, I knew she wouldn't do anything. I knew that I could trust her. I knew she wouldn't risk the lifestyle that I could afford to give her by throwing it all away just to have some quick, hot sex with lesser men than me, men whose only attributes were that they were half my age and able to make love without tiring, before sexually satisfying her. I'm an old man compared to them. Yet, what I can do that they can't do, is to buy her whatever she wants and whatever she needs.

I figured she was going through a stage and possibly experiencing the beginning of menopause. Along with hot flashes, I figured her raging hormones were making her horny. Embarrassed that I could no longer make love to her, for as long and as hard as she needed for her to cum, certainly, she was hard for me to sexually please anymore. With her sexy lines, she was a Ferrari, an exotic sports car that I could no longer drive fast or a fine racehorse, an Arabian mare, that I was no longer able to control and too afraid to jump with, while riding her fast and hard.

Nonetheless, peppered by our pillow talk and inspired by our sexual openness, it was fun to imagine her being oblivious to her surroundings with her eyes closed, while her earphones played sweet melodies. I enjoyed thinking about the pool man and the landscaper coming upon her and surprising her, while she was sunbathing topless or totally naked by the pool. I imagined them tying her arms to the chaise lounge and forcing themselves on her. I imagined her screaming for help, while trying in vain to fight them off, until they took her.

Once they plunged their stiff cocks in her pussy, once they felt all they had imagined she was, and once she felt their heated desire for her, I imagined her wild with passion. Wrapping her legs around their strong backs, I imagined her returning their humps with hers. More than once, she wanted me to pull her hair, while slapping her ass raw red and I did. Her favorite was when I squeezed her tits and pulled and twisted her nipples. Embarrassed by her kinkiness and always reticent and reluctant to relate them to me, she was a woman who needed to be coerced to confess her sexual desires.

"It wasn't my fault, Paul," I imagined her telling me through crocodile tears. "Really, you must believe me. The landscaper and the pool man forced me to fuck them. An hour later, they forced me to blow them, too, both of them, numerous times before spinning me around and boning me up the ass."

Sometimes, a bit too much for me, especially after a long day, I was content to just fall asleep. I knew she needed more. I knew she wanted more. I knew she was insatiable in her lustful desires.

"Now that Paul is slowing down, Sheila, it's a relief, a Godsend," I overheard Gloria saying to her friend. I knew that she knew I was there and could hear her talking. She, no doubt, was saying all she was saying for my benefit. Obviously, she just didn't want me to think she was an insatiable slut. "He'd more rather talk about sex than actually do it. He was wearing me out before. I don't know where the man gets his energy. For an old fart, he's insatiable. I swear, the way that I feel about sex now, if I don't have sex again, I'll be happy."

"I feel for you, Gloria. I feel the same way about sex, too. Give it a rest. My husband Ron is a letch, too. He can't get enough."

Only, content to imagine her getting it from someone else, the thoughts of her having sex with another excited me more to talk about her doing it, than it did for her to do it. I feared, if in talking about her having sex with another, during one of our pillow talking sessions, she'd take the next step and actually have sex with someone, someone who could give her what she wanted and needed.

"I thought this is what you wanted, Paul," I imagined her saying. "All the times we talked about me screwing another man, I thought you wanted me to do that, just so I could tell you about it later, while giving you hot sex."

It was just the beginning of a long, hot summer and excited by the volume of pillow talk that our bikini pool parties would instigate, in the back of my mind, I feared losing her. I was afraid our pillow talking sessions would encourage her to have an affair with a younger lover. What if she fell in love with someone else, a younger lover, and someone who had as much money as me?

I wouldn't want to live without Gloria. She's my passion. She's the love of my life. I'd do anything to make her happy. I'd even stop this nonsensical pillow talk, if she asked me to refrain from talking about her having sex with another.

I was excited about hearing her tell me what she'd do and how she felt when thinking about doing something sexually to someone and someone doing something sexually to her, but I was reticent to continue in this lifestyle for fear of pushing her away. A bittersweet excitement that could only lead to a lifetime of regret and sorrow, much like fooling around with an Ouija board and unleashing the unknown demons within, pillow talk was as dangerous a game to play. Indeed, I needed to proceed with caution. Indeed, I needed to cherish more of what I had with her.

What if our pillow talk progressed to an extramarital affair? How would I feel knowing that it was no longer pillow talk? How would I feel knowing my hot, trophy wife was fucking and sucking another man? How would I feel about another man cumming in my baby's pussy and/or mouth? How would I feel that she was really thinking about someone else and not just telling me that she was just pretending, while giving me hot pillow talk to appease my sexual perversions of wanting to watch her have sex with others?

It was certainly fun to imagine she was doing another, but how would I feel is she really was? I didn't know and wouldn't know, until it actually happened. Maybe it's happened already? Would I be jealous if it had? Probably. Would I be hurt? Probably that, too. Would it ruin our relationship? I don't know. I hope not. I didn't want to lose her. I love her.

What will happen next? I'm afraid to even go there. I have a funny feeling that it's not going to be good. Only, the chance to have more and hotter pillow talk makes me want to continue down this dangerous road.

I didn't know what to do. Just as I love talking dirty to her, I'd hate to give up the excitement of her whispering her dirty thoughts in my ear, while I fondled her big, phony tits and she stroked my cock, before blowing me. What would you do? You tell me. Should I stop having all this pillow talk or should I continue with it to see what will happen next?