This Charming Man Ch. 03

My husband was reading a magazine in an armchair while waiting for me to get ready. He didn't hear me come down the stairs. I leaned against the door frame with one hand extended upward and the other on my hip. My shimmering blue gown showed off my classic curves. "I'd go out tonight," I said in a breathy voice, "but I haven't a thing to wear."

Phil glanced toward me. "You look great!" he said looking me up and down. His gave a wolf whistle that was ironic, but also sincere.

I'm not vain, but I must admit my thirties have treated me well. I've grown into my beauty. As a teenager, I was too thin, even scrawny, but time and a pregnancy has filled me out and softened my somewhat angular facial features. With my formfitting dress, I was going for the look of a bombshell movie actress from the forties, and I wore the dangling sapphire earrings Phil had given me that morning as an anniversary present. I took care not to overdo my makeup, but I had applied my blush heavier than normal. I once read somewhere that the underlying purpose of blush is to mimic the flush of sexual excitement. It makes men aroused, and I really wanted Phil to give me a proper dicking tonight.

Tonight wasn't just any anniversary; it was our tenth. To celebrate, we'd made reservations at an upscale hotel steakhouse and booked our regular babysitter, Cory, to watch our daughter for us. While Phil had been waiting for me, Cory played with our girl on the floor, but I knew the whole time she'd been stealing glances at Phil.

She and Phil had a thing going on, but then again, all women were attracted to Phil. Once when we were first dating, on a brisk and bright afternoon I kissed him goodbye before I went in to meet a friend at a coffee shop. My friend, who was sitting at a window table, had seen us.

"Is that guy your new boyfriend?" she asked when I sat down.

"I think so," I said, then smiled. "I certainly hope so."

"He looks like a boyfriend," she said, more to herself than to me, as she craned her neck to watch him walk away.

That characterization of Phil always stuck with me. He looks like a boyfriend. But what did that mean? I suppose my friend was referring to his friendly and open face, handsome without being too perfect, cute while still being manly. He looked like someone who laughed easily, who'd be comfortable meeting your friends male and female. His body was athletic but cuddly. Sexually, he seemed open-minded and available. Any girl could tell he'd be fun in bed. I personally knew that to be the case. I loved fucking him, and just as much, I loved waking to find him next to me in the morning. All these years later, he was my husband of a decade, but he still looked like a boyfriend to me.

As the hostess checked for our reservation, I looked over at him and thought he looked quite dapper with his classic-cut suit and his grandfather's cufflinks gleaming at his wrists. If I was an actress from the bygone days of Hollywood, he was my male co-star. He'd just shaved his beard and his haircut was growing out, giving him a tousled, rakish look. He was irresistible to me.

We were led in front of a little jazz combo—brushed drumming, a muted trumpet, and a lady with a rose in her hair crooning a bluesy number. Typically, I don't hearing live music when I dine, but right now it set a perfectly romantic mood. Our booth even had privacy curtains. After the waitress brought us our cocktails, I pulled the curtains shut and snuggled up close to my husband.

I kissed him on the lips, but gingerly. I didn't want to mess up my make-up. Maybe I should have indulged in the passion I was feeling, but I wanted to look pretty for him.

We looked at our menus and talked over our options. My hand absent-mindedly stroked Phil's thigh. I needed to do more, so I reached my hand down to his crotch. I was so attracted to him; I couldn't help it. I gave him another kiss, this time with more ardor, make-up be damned. I caressed his package through his slacks as I rested my head on his shoulder. My hand gripped his girth which lay on his left thigh and made an appealing outline through the material. I rubbed it with a soft hand. I felt such an urge for him, my heart fluttered.

"Do you want a little lipstick on your dipstick?" I asked.

Phil laughed. "What if the waitress comes back?"

"C'mon. I know you love the thrill of public sex, the risk of it."

"It's true. I do," he shrugged. "Go quick." He unzipped his pants and freed his member through his fly. Contrasted with his civilized clothing in this refined setting, his arching, veiny cock protruded like a lustful interloper, a visitor from our animal natures.

I scooted my body down on the banquette and wrapped my lips around Phil's penis. Covered by background murmur and clinking silverware, my sucking sounds only reached my ears. I warmed up with the head of the penis, then let my mouth travel farther down the shaft. Maybe Phil was gasping and moaning, or maybe not. Maybe he was pretending to read the menu as I blew him. I had no idea and in a way didn't really care. At this time, it was just me and this penis. This was one becoming of those blowjobs in which for me the male organ was its own entity, and the man it was attached to was pretty much secondary. I kissed it and suckled it and made love to it.

But I couldn't give this handsome penis the full treatment it deserved. It was just a teaser for later. To be frank, I was indeed nervous about getting caught. Here I am, I thought, a university professor in an upscale restaurant. I shouldn't be giving a blowjob under the table to a man, even if that man is my husband. That tension between what was natural and what was civilized was wetting my pussy. I knew I should stop soon but I just wanted one more lick, and then just one more. Down here on the floor of this plush restaurant, this penis and I were in our own little world. I didn't want to leave it. I knew I should. Why then did I take the whole thing in my mouth and devoured it? My arousal and my confusion were getting to be a bit too much. I gave the dick one final slurp and picked up my head.

Saliva rolled down my chin. My lipstick was smeared and my hair in disarray. Both my husband and I wore strained expressions of unfulfilled lust, and we touched hands as we recovered and breathed deeply. Just then the waitress parted the curtain. Phil quickly flapped the tablecloth over his nakedness.

"Are you ready to order?" the waitress asked as she put down our cocktails.

"Um..., I think we still need a few more moments to decide," Phil said. I brought a napkin up to my mouth to cover and dry it.

"Sure, take your time," the woman said without seeming to have noticed anything. She closed the curtain. My husband and I exhaled, then shared a long, long laugh. I gripped his cock through the draped tablecloth and gave it a playful squeeze.

"We're going to have a fun night tonight," he said. "I love you."

* * *

When we got back home, Cory was laughing at something on TV.

"How did our little girl do?" I asked her, putting down my purse.

"Oh fine. She's been asleep for two hours now."

We talked about the baby's feeding and bath, which gave me the opportunity to study our babysitter more closely. I'd describe Cory as cute—not stunning like Jennifer or exotic like Kaia, but certainly cute. She had a round face with a small, straight nose and wore her hair shoulder-length. Her figure had a some roundness to it too. Not that she was fat, or even all that chubby, but her busty body type seemed to be one that would always be voluptuous, even if she went on strict diet. It was a fleshy femininity, and I was sure many men found her sexy, men like my husband.

Nevertheless, in a society with a beauty ideal of flat stomachs and hard biceps, I had the sense that Cory was insecure about her body and herself. Her manner betrayed uncertainty. She wasn't good at making eye contact. She had that girlish habit of ending declarative sentences on rising note that to me suggests a lack of confidence. I doubted she was good at making decisions in her life She was the type of girl who needed someone to tell her what to do, to take control. Her parents, her teachers, her lovers. Yes, I was sure in bed it was no different. She would certainly be drawn to a handsome and a self-assured man fifteen years her senior who would take control and give her instruction.

"Cory, are you ready for me to drive you home?" asked Phil as he entered the room.

"Yes, I'm ready. Just let me to go the bathroom first," she said. Phil's eyes traveled down her body to her round ass as she walked away.

His eyes then turned me. They looked serious and commanding, but with a hint of playfulness. He grabbed me by the hips to join our pelvises together. Pressing his crotch into mine, he looked down into my face. "I have to drive her home, but I won't be too long." His voice was low and measured. "I want you to be ready when I get back, my pet. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I replied. My heart quickened. The "sir" was automatic. I hadn't realized I was saying it until the word was already out of my mouth. Now, it was too late to change my mind.

Most times, as with other married couples, our sexual encounters are a give-and-take. We communicate. We offer suggestions and ask questions: Does this feel good? Do you want to get on top? Should I come now, or should I try to hold off? But when Phil calls me "pet" and I return by calling him "sir," it means that I will do whatever he wants. By uttering that word, I had agreed to cede control to him. Tonight, I was to be his.

He and Cory left the house together. Her apartment was about a mile and a half away. She normally walked to our place, but after dark, we thought it best for Phil to give her a ride home. Of course, these rides gave Phil an opportunity for to spend some time alone with her.

I knew they'd started a sexual relationship and I'm sure Phil knew that I knew, but we never directly referred to it. It was an open secret between us, just as with my husband and all his other lovers. We both preferred that way. One reason Phil and I get such a thrill out of public sex is because of the risk of getting caught. The same goes for his affairs. I've read about open relationships in which the partners give the other permission to take lovers as long as they share everything that goes on. But for us, sharing his affairs would take away the risk. So I never objected to Phil being alone with Cory or any of the other women he effortlessly charmed out of their clothes. It gave our sex life mystery and imagination.

Besides, what choice did I have? I was his pet.

I knew why he felt inspired to call me "pet." It was because of Cory. She revs up his dominant side. It's obvious he has total control over her, that he holds the power in the relationship. Whatever he asks, she'll do with little or no hesitation. Cory lacks her own self-confidence so she leans on others'. She welcomes his commands.

In day-to-day life, Phil isn't bossy at all, and he's never sharp-tongued or sarcastic. He's quite a sweet man. One aspect of his kindness is that he loves to please women and give them what they want, and what Cory wants is an authority figure. It turns her on, which in turn turns Phil on. His authority becomes an aphrodisiac that gets to his head, and the erotic charge he gets from being in command over her extends to me. This aspect of his sexual personality isn't new, but Cory seems to draw it out of him. Kaia made him feel young, tender and exploratory, but Cory makes him physical, stern, and focused on his own pleasure.

Phil had told me he wanted me to be ready when he got back. I lit some candles and put on a CD of downtempo electronic music. I had already showered and shaved my lovely legs before dinner, but after I hung up my outfit and took off my bra and panties, I trimmed the hairs around my vagina with a small scissors. Curling my fingers through my pubes, I made her look pretty for my man.

I thought about selecting some lingerie but decided against it. He'd want me naked. He'd want me wet and ready for anything.

I rummaged through our box of sex toys. We have lovers' dice, flavored lube, and a teasing feather. We have cock rings, vibrators, and masturbation sleeves. I put some of my favorite toys on the nightstand. One was a strand of butt beads—a string of latex spheres, each one a little larger than the previous, and at the end was a ring to safely pull it out of the anal cavity. I decided to start with them in case he wanted to butt fuck me tonight. When he was in a this sort of mood, he could be rough and I wanted my ass loose.

Lying on the bed, I lubed up my fingers and spread the cool liquid outside my anus. When it was wet enough, I inserted the first bead which popped in easily. Then the next, and then the next. All the beads up my butt were getting uncomfortable so I stopped a little while and exhaled as I waited for my body to accept the intrusion. Despite the minor pain, I persisted. Finally, with one last push, I got the largest one in. I felt so full. More than that, I felt deliciously dirty.

I left the beads inside me and reached for my dildo that resembled an actual cock. When alone, I tended to prefer my streamlined silver vibrator, because it seemed less vulgar. It is more of an abstraction of a penis than the obscene tool that a penis actually is. But Phil preferred to see me playing with this cock replica. He wanted to watch a veiny phallus going in me. My pussy was already moist from my ass play. I stuck the head of the dildo at my cunt lips. Just the tip of it nestled at the entrance to my vaginal canal. I thought of what Phil must be doing with Cory at that moment.

* * *

Phil pulled up to front of her house. They sat in the car for a silent moment, but Cory didn't say goodbye or make any move to get out.

"Well," Phil said impatiently. "Don't you have to go home?" Cory just looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She was too intimidated to make direct eye contact. She was waiting for him to give her a cue.

"I was hoping you might want to come up?" she said finally. Phil knew this was what was on her mind, but he wanted to make her articulate it.

"You were hoping I might want to come up," he repeated, almost mocking.

"I missed you last time I babysat," Cory said. "You weren't around to drive me home. I was hoping we could, you know.... I've been looking forward to it all week."

"Fine. I'll come up just for a little while, but just for a moment. We can't have sex. Today's my anniversary, and I have to get home to my wife."

As they climbed the flight of stairs, Cory in front and Phil behind her, he grabbed her ass and felt the muscles of her thighs flex and shift as she climbed. She let him, of course, and welcomed his touch.

Cory lived in a studio apartment that had been converted from an attic. The ceiling peaked in the center of the space and slanted downward as it neared the room's walls, making it hard to stand up straight in certain spots. The room was hot and somewhat shabby, but this apartment seemed typical for a grad student's lifestyle. Once they got inside, he turned her around by her shoulders and pressed a quick kiss on her lips.

"Take off all your clothes," he ordered. She was happy to obey and unhurriedly began to undress. When she was down to her underwear and her hands behind her about to unsnap her bra, she looked to see him standing motionless, fully clothed, just watching her with his arms crossed across his chest.

"Aren't you going to take off your clothes, too?" she asked.

"Why would I? Now, remove your bra." She hesitated with uncertainty in her eyes. "I said take off your bra," Phil repeated.

Cory acquiesced. She pulled her bra across her bosom to reveal a heavy pair of melon-round breasts. The nipples were large and their areolas widely covered her mounds, so widely that, to her at least, they seemed abnormal when compared with other women's breasts she had seen. Out of self-consciousness, she raised her arms to shield her tits from Phil's stare.

"Put your arms down," he said. "I want to see your body."

"But it makes me feel uncomfortable, Phil."
Phil bristled. "First, you are to call me Mr. Sanders. Second, I don't remember asking you about your feelings. I do remember telling you to put your arms down."

Cory realized she didn't have a choice. "Yes, Mr. Sanders." She uncrossed her arms and stood before Phil with her big, natural breasts hanging. For a few moments, Phil took in their size and roundness with a wry smile. He then uncrossed his arms, stepped forward, and reached up and gently molded them in his hands. The were so large and full. Like many men, he loved squeezing big tits.

His caress trailed up and down her sides before returning to the melons, and then back down again. He explored her fleshy torso as if she were something new he'd recently acquired. Cory, at first so uncomfortable, now felt a rush of wet warmth to her pussy. She closed her eyes and submitted to my husband's stroking hands.

He took them away from her body. "Now your panties."

Cory's nerves tensed with another surge of uncertainty, but she knew couldn't argue with Phil's command. So she rolled her panties down her ample thighs, stepped out of them, and stood waiting. Fully naked, she couldn't bear to meet his penetrating gaze. She closed her eyes and waited.

The room was silent for a long while. Nothing moved. Had there been a plausible way for him to leave noiselessly, she might have wondered if he were still there. But she knew he was still there. She faintly heard his breath. He was looking at her, studying her Rubenesque body, hairless save for the cute, curly tufts swirling between her legs.

Finally, she felt his touch. His fingertips stroked her cunt. With her eyes still closed, she felt them trace around the lips of her vulva, and all at once, her cunt opened like a flower. The rush of wet warmth returned. Her wetness coated Phil's fingertips, and it wasn't long before Phil's index and middle fingers abandoned the external caresses and began to probe her slickness. They reached up inside her cunt, stroking back and forth. Cory moaned as she felt her rising arousal, her desire mixed with some discomfort. Phil was finger-fucking her with quick jabs.

"Oh, Mr. Sanders," she winced.

Phil's probing grew rougher and rougher. "You're a horny little bitch, aren't you?" Cory wanted to tell him he was starting to hurt her, but she didn't dare risk his disapproval. To ease the discomfort, she opened her legs wider which gave him easier access, and her arms gripped him around his neck for balance. His fingers pushed insistently in and out--in and out--in and out. "I asked you a question. Are you a horny little bitch?"

"Yes, I am. I'm a horny bitch," she gasped with both lust and shame. In spite of herself, in spite of all the feminist theory she'd learned as a grad student, Cory loved the way he was taking control of her. She loved the pleasure accented with pain, his rude fingers and his nasty talk. It was all arousing to Phil, too. Although normally such a gentle and considerate man, he was allowing his sexually aggressive underside to come alive.

"Good. That's what I want to hear. You're so wet, my little slut. Your slutty, wet cunt is drenching my hand." He was pushing deep, pushing up to the final knuckles and reaching his fingertips toward her G-spot. Knees buckling, she cried out and held tighter on his neck so she wouldn't collapse.

"Enough," he said. Phil wiped his wet fingers on her jiggly breasts and made her lie down on her bed. "Do you have any sex toys? A horny girl like you certainly has a vibrator." Without permission, he opened the drawer to her bedside table and found a shiny, hot pink wand, sleek like an elongated bullet. "I shouldn't be surprised it's not hidden away. It's right next to your bed. You probably use it every day." He switched the base to start it humming. "What do you think about when you use this toy? No, not what. Tell me who you think about when you use this toy."