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LINKS
HOT LINKS     |
13/11/2019
When I met my wife Clare in law school, she was a virgin, the product of having been religious in her high school years and petrified of pregnancy in college, but also too shy to ask her steady dates if they had condoms and certainly too shy to buy them herself. She didn’t get on the pill because she thought she only do so if she were in a very serious relationship.
In the early years of our marriage, I sort of enjoyed the idea of her having been a virgin, but when our twenties slid into our thirties, I sometimes worried that one day she would resent her lack of experience and grow curious. When I’d ask her about this possibility, she would assure me, oh no, that I was the only one for her.
Then, one night, at a wedding of one of my colleagues, we ran across an acquaintance, Sam, a tall, handsome younger guy who broke in during a dance and asked if he could dance with Clare. As they twirled on the dance floor, I was somewhat taken aback with how much Clare seemed to be enjoying dancing with him, and at the very end, I got a little jealous when he took her in his arms and ended the dance with a dip with her smiling ear to ear.
The next day I groused, and she apologized, and I didn’t think about it again until we ran into Sam and a date of his, Sophie, at a local bar a year or two later. In those days bars closed at midnight on Saturday nights, so we invited them home to our place for a nightcap. Sam noticed the hot tub on our deck and asked if we were up for a soak.
Sure, I said, but I don’t think we had suits that would fit them. “We don’t need suits,” he said, and given how attractive blonde-haired Sophie was, I said sure. Clare and I had platonically hot-tubbed naked with friends a couple of times, so it was no big deal for us.
We did provide bathrobes, which were duly removed and draped over the rails. We slid into the steaming hot tub, watching our steps but stealing furtive glances. We eased in slowly, the water too hot, the ladies’ floating breasts sinking slowly below the surface. Sophie was younger than Clare, in her early thirties. Her breasts were perfectly round, probably C-cups, while Clare was an A-cup, so hers looked firm, younger than you would expect for a woman in her mid-forties.
At first, Sam sat next to Sophie but then mentioned that he’d just taken a masseuse course and would like to try out on someone besides his girlfriend.
Something told me that I was not the target of this invitation.
“How bout it,” Clare,“ he said. “You wanna be my guinea pig?”
Shy Clare hesitated, but I added, “I’ve never known you to turn down a backrub.” She smiled, and she and Sophie changed places. I hadn’t noticed when she got in, but Sophie was wearing some sort of amulet around her neck that dangled between her breasts hidden in the churning water as the jets pumped full blast. As I checked it out, a half-moon of an aureole rose above the froth. I asked her if I could see the amulet, and she pulled it up out of the foam, fully exposing both tits. “It’s the Chinese character for Tao,” she said, holding it close so I could see it in the semi-dark as bubbles foamed below those rose-tipped risen moons.
When I looked back over at Sam and Clare, I was surprised to see him sitting behind her, his legs outside of hers, and I realized that his dick had to be touching the base of her spine.
He started at the back of her neck, his thumbs pressing in at her vertebra as his fingers caressed the sides of her neck and slowly massaged her shoulders but then disappeared fluttering down her arms beneath the surface of the water.
Even at this early juncture, Clare couldn’t suppress a moan, just audible above the humming of the jets. Later, she told me that it was almost as if his hands were hypnotizing her, that more than once the “no” she intended to say came out “oooohh,” like when his hands, hidden beneath the water, slid around her waist to her stomach and slowly circled their way up to her breasts, his palms ever so lightly brushing her nipples but not lingering, moving back down to her stomach and around again to her back where his thumbs pressed firmly to the tension that had settled there after a trying work week.
Meanwhile, Sophie had nestled closer to me, our naked legs touching, her right breast brushing my arm.
I leaned over to speak into her ear. “I assume you’ve had one of these massages,” I said, and Sophie smiled, nodding.
Later, Clare told me that she when Sam had finished with her lower back, she leaned forward to get up but that he grabbed her by her thighs and pulled her back down, and she could feel his rock hard dick pressing against her ass as his hands massaged her inner thighs, moving down to her ass, squeezing, kneading her cheeks, and she was simply paralyzed with desire, his left hand ever so slowly migrating beneath her ass to her mound, grazing softly, his fingers pressing, progressing, locating her slit, easing into her, as his thumb found her clit. I noticed his right hand move from behind her and cup her left breast. I leaned forward but stopped myself from stopping them.
She couldn’t stifle her moans. I did want it to stop it but just sat there watching.
Through the vapor I saw on her face an expression I had only seen in bed, and then she rose slightly, as he repositioned himself, and she settled back down, his dick entering her, reverse cowboy style. A look of surprise flashed across her face. She started to rise, but then abruptly lowered herself, impaling herself on his dick, and the telltale movement began, at first slowly, ambiguously.
After a minute or two, he gently moved her head sideways, her torso following, and they kissed. Now there was no doubt about what they were doing.
They seriously started fucking, now, faster and faster. In their consciousness Sophie and I had disappeared.
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Harder,” Clare moaned. “Harder. Oh, fuck me, Sam. Fuck me.”
The top half of her slender body was completely out of the water, her small breasts, bouncing, her nipples pinpricks, his hands on her hips as he thrust deeper and deeper.
Both jealous and turned on, I placed my arm around Sophie, and we watched the show until its writhing climax, a duet of guttural groans and high-pitched shrieks as Sam shot his load inside of Clare while she too was cumming.
The waves subsided. Panting, her face orgasm-flushed, she stood up and moved to the Sam’s side, avoiding eye contact with all of us, staring into the foam.
I can’t pretend that it wasn’t awkward afterward. No one really mentioned what had transpired, and it wasn’t until we were back into our own bed until I confronted Clare. Weeping, remorseful, Clare claimed, and I believe her, it was as if he had put a spell on her, that her mind kept saying no while her body wanted more. Sam had unleashed in this shy woman an inner animal I had never encountered.
I told her I understood and that I’d been half hoping over the years that she’s get to fuck someone else, having been a virgin when we met and my wanting her to at least have a greater realm of experience. I’m not quite sure, though, that I’ve ever satisfied her way Sam did that night, and I was not sad to hear that Sam had been transferred to New York where we’d be unlikely to bump into him in a bar.
In the early years of our marriage, I sort of enjoyed the idea of her having been a virgin, but when our twenties slid into our thirties, I sometimes worried that one day she would resent her lack of experience and grow curious. When I’d ask her about this possibility, she would assure me, oh no, that I was the only one for her.
Then, one night, at a wedding of one of my colleagues, we ran across an acquaintance, Sam, a tall, handsome younger guy who broke in during a dance and asked if he could dance with Clare. As they twirled on the dance floor, I was somewhat taken aback with how much Clare seemed to be enjoying dancing with him, and at the very end, I got a little jealous when he took her in his arms and ended the dance with a dip with her smiling ear to ear.
The next day I groused, and she apologized, and I didn’t think about it again until we ran into Sam and a date of his, Sophie, at a local bar a year or two later. In those days bars closed at midnight on Saturday nights, so we invited them home to our place for a nightcap. Sam noticed the hot tub on our deck and asked if we were up for a soak.
Sure, I said, but I don’t think we had suits that would fit them. “We don’t need suits,” he said, and given how attractive blonde-haired Sophie was, I said sure. Clare and I had platonically hot-tubbed naked with friends a couple of times, so it was no big deal for us.
We did provide bathrobes, which were duly removed and draped over the rails. We slid into the steaming hot tub, watching our steps but stealing furtive glances. We eased in slowly, the water too hot, the ladies’ floating breasts sinking slowly below the surface. Sophie was younger than Clare, in her early thirties. Her breasts were perfectly round, probably C-cups, while Clare was an A-cup, so hers looked firm, younger than you would expect for a woman in her mid-forties.
At first, Sam sat next to Sophie but then mentioned that he’d just taken a masseuse course and would like to try out on someone besides his girlfriend.
Something told me that I was not the target of this invitation.
“How bout it,” Clare,“ he said. “You wanna be my guinea pig?”
Shy Clare hesitated, but I added, “I’ve never known you to turn down a backrub.” She smiled, and she and Sophie changed places. I hadn’t noticed when she got in, but Sophie was wearing some sort of amulet around her neck that dangled between her breasts hidden in the churning water as the jets pumped full blast. As I checked it out, a half-moon of an aureole rose above the froth. I asked her if I could see the amulet, and she pulled it up out of the foam, fully exposing both tits. “It’s the Chinese character for Tao,” she said, holding it close so I could see it in the semi-dark as bubbles foamed below those rose-tipped risen moons.
When I looked back over at Sam and Clare, I was surprised to see him sitting behind her, his legs outside of hers, and I realized that his dick had to be touching the base of her spine.
He started at the back of her neck, his thumbs pressing in at her vertebra as his fingers caressed the sides of her neck and slowly massaged her shoulders but then disappeared fluttering down her arms beneath the surface of the water.
Even at this early juncture, Clare couldn’t suppress a moan, just audible above the humming of the jets. Later, she told me that it was almost as if his hands were hypnotizing her, that more than once the “no” she intended to say came out “oooohh,” like when his hands, hidden beneath the water, slid around her waist to her stomach and slowly circled their way up to her breasts, his palms ever so lightly brushing her nipples but not lingering, moving back down to her stomach and around again to her back where his thumbs pressed firmly to the tension that had settled there after a trying work week.
Meanwhile, Sophie had nestled closer to me, our naked legs touching, her right breast brushing my arm.
I leaned over to speak into her ear. “I assume you’ve had one of these massages,” I said, and Sophie smiled, nodding.
Later, Clare told me that she when Sam had finished with her lower back, she leaned forward to get up but that he grabbed her by her thighs and pulled her back down, and she could feel his rock hard dick pressing against her ass as his hands massaged her inner thighs, moving down to her ass, squeezing, kneading her cheeks, and she was simply paralyzed with desire, his left hand ever so slowly migrating beneath her ass to her mound, grazing softly, his fingers pressing, progressing, locating her slit, easing into her, as his thumb found her clit. I noticed his right hand move from behind her and cup her left breast. I leaned forward but stopped myself from stopping them.
She couldn’t stifle her moans. I did want it to stop it but just sat there watching.
Through the vapor I saw on her face an expression I had only seen in bed, and then she rose slightly, as he repositioned himself, and she settled back down, his dick entering her, reverse cowboy style. A look of surprise flashed across her face. She started to rise, but then abruptly lowered herself, impaling herself on his dick, and the telltale movement began, at first slowly, ambiguously.
After a minute or two, he gently moved her head sideways, her torso following, and they kissed. Now there was no doubt about what they were doing.
They seriously started fucking, now, faster and faster. In their consciousness Sophie and I had disappeared.
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Harder,” Clare moaned. “Harder. Oh, fuck me, Sam. Fuck me.”
The top half of her slender body was completely out of the water, her small breasts, bouncing, her nipples pinpricks, his hands on her hips as he thrust deeper and deeper.
Both jealous and turned on, I placed my arm around Sophie, and we watched the show until its writhing climax, a duet of guttural groans and high-pitched shrieks as Sam shot his load inside of Clare while she too was cumming.
The waves subsided. Panting, her face orgasm-flushed, she stood up and moved to the Sam’s side, avoiding eye contact with all of us, staring into the foam.
I can’t pretend that it wasn’t awkward afterward. No one really mentioned what had transpired, and it wasn’t until we were back into our own bed until I confronted Clare. Weeping, remorseful, Clare claimed, and I believe her, it was as if he had put a spell on her, that her mind kept saying no while her body wanted more. Sam had unleashed in this shy woman an inner animal I had never encountered.
I told her I understood and that I’d been half hoping over the years that she’s get to fuck someone else, having been a virgin when we met and my wanting her to at least have a greater realm of experience. I’m not quite sure, though, that I’ve ever satisfied her way Sam did that night, and I was not sad to hear that Sam had been transferred to New York where we’d be unlikely to bump into him in a bar.
Poster:
Stan Robinson
