Message-ID: <17431eli$9811200427@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Kristen78@aol.com Subject: "You Only Live Once" (Part 2) by Rod Stiffener (mf,cheat) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: Kristen's collection -------------------------------- cut here ------------------------------ ("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: prop2.txt (mf,wife) Authors name: rodsti@hotmail.com (Rod Stiffener) Story Title : You Only Live Once == == == This work is copyrighted to the author. No changes may be made to this story, and the author information must remain intact. This work may be copied freely for non- profit purposes only. == == == ************************************************ YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE PART TWO ************************************************ She wasn't sure how to approach Virginia, though. What if Ginny burst out laughing, said she was only joking, had just wanted to see what Mary's reaction would be? It would be so humiliating. Next day they were on playground duty together. "So ... does your husband still think I am spunky?" "Ooh Mary! You've been giving it some thought!" "Well, it's hard to drive a revelation like that out of your mind." "Our place or yours?" "Hey! I haven't said Yes!" "You must be about to, or you wouldn't have raised the subject." "All right then! My place." "Can I come, too?" "GINNY!!!" Now Mary really was shocked. The idea of borrowing Ginny's husband was already beyond the pale. Having Ginny watch them at it was simply debauched! Besides, it would evoke unpleasant memories of Ford Prefects. Ginny realised she'd over-stepped the mark, and moved swiftly to retrieve the situation. "Fine! Whatever you are comfortable with." She gave Mary's arm a squeeze. "You won't regret it. He's quite good, though I say so myself." Saturday. By now John was bobbing up and down somewhere on the briny deep, and the kids had been dropped off at Pattersons. She had all of Saturday afternoon to get ready for her guest. She thoroughly spring-cleaned the bedroom. Got a posh dress ready, and her best knickers. Located their one bottle of whiskey in case some extra confidence was needed. Prepared a few snacks, as he might want to munch on something else before he munched on her. Darkness had fallen (kla-donk!) when the Allen's rusty old jeep pulled up into the drive way. He was well scrubbed up, too. Long pants and a Hawaian shirt, beard neatly trimmed. He had a bunch of flowers. The same kinds of flowers she could easily have picked in her own garden, but hey, nice touch! He brushed her cheek with his lips, and she led him to the cool verandah to sit and see what witty repartee he could come up with. "Good to see you, Mary, and I must say you do look lovely tonight." A good start, she thought. "Orange juice? Or whiskey?" she asked. She hoped he wouldn't say beer, because she didn't have any. "Whiskey and water would be great." She did one for him and one for her, and directed his attention to a tray of nibbles. She sat, and drew a deep breath, inhaling the thick, heavy smells of the tropical night; the sweet scent of flowers combined with musty earth still damp from the downpour earlier that afternoon. "So ... Ginny says you think I am spunky." "Oh yes! I've thought so for quite some time." "Do you often have your wife procure women for you that you think are spunky?" "Not all that often. But I fancy you something rotten, and since we leave very soon I thought, well, its now or never!" "I can't believe that Ginny doesn't mind you carrying on like this!" "This is nothing. We were living on a commune back in Australia. Half the time nobody knew whose kids were whose. Ginny and I don't feel permanently attached; in fact we only got married so that we could qualify for the bigger-size married quarters over here." Mary found this all quite mind-blowing. I mean, she had read about communes and such, but not come face to face with any practioners of that lifestyle. "So you don't care about the fact that I am married?" "No, not really. As long as John won't come and shoot me, or anything silly like that." "Well, he might! But he is not to find out. And don't you want to know why I am doing this?" "Presumably because you are fond of good sex." Hmmm, flattering himself already. Well, that remained to be seen. "Actually, its because I don't know if I am fond of sex, or not." He was quiet for as bit, probably considering how to handle that one sensitively. "Oh." "You mean ... John doesn't, how should I put it, light your fire?" Though not familiar with the music of The Doors, Mary knew what he was driving at. "Well, I don't know, I mean, what's supposed to happen?" "If it had happened, you would know." They lapsed into silence, gazing out at the hibiscus hedge, listening to the crickets chirping, seeing the occasional firefly go past. This assignment would be tougher than he thought, but he was up to a challenge. He spoke up first. "Shall we?" "Lets." They went inside to the darkness of the bedroom. He put his hands on her waist, bent forward and kissed her chastely upon the lips. He smelled good. Half the time you had to remind John to go and brush his teeth first. Another kiss, that lingered longer this time. No tongue yet, though. His hands started wandering. Gliding up her sides, narrowly missing her bra-less breasts under the long cotton frock she wore. His kisses radiated outward across her cheeks, and along her neck under her ear, his soft dry lips gently brushing her skin. It was hard to believe this was really happening. Familiar surroundings, but a strange man. It was like a dream. He was running his hands across her backside now. An unfamiliar touch, but pleasant all the same. He was gently biting into the top of her shoulder, and licking up to her earlobe. Then he brought his hands up onto her breasts for the first time. She had a moderately-sized handful to offer in that department, with big nipples. He seemed to like what he found, because he spent a fair while stroking and teasing through her dress with light caresses, while his lips found hers again. "Can I take your dress off?" She was not averse to the idea. He unzipped her and she raised her arms while he pulled everything off over her head. At once his mouth pounced upon her chest, licking and sucking, while fingertips traced down over her tummy roll and lightly touched her pubic mound. All very nice, but she wanted to see what he looked like. She started tugging at his clothing, and he stepped back to get everything off. Not bad, a bit paunchy but generally more athletic than John. His ... thing, already erect, looked to be much the same size. She got on the bed and he came and lay beside her. More kissing of breasts and sucking of nipples, while his fingers toyed with her mound through her panties. She grasped his ... cock, or whatever, and held it awhile, feeling it twitch every so often. Hello! He was on the move. Sliding down lower, tongue licking across her stomach, tarrying awhile around her navel, but its intention was clear. John had never done that. He could finger-fuck with the best of them, but had never got his face down below. Mind you, she hadn't asked him to. She had just assumed all along that it would gross him out. It had always been ingrained in her to think of that part of her anatomy as "dirty" and untouchable. He was tugging her panties down, exposing all of her. She lifted up her bum to help him, and next her legs were being pushed apart and his beard was tickling her inner thighs. Derek had clearly been ingrained differently. She was a little nervous, but, oh well ... if he insisted! Little dabs of tongue up either side, then he was delicately swirling over the summit of her mound. Her clit, as usual, was well hidden. A fact he did not seem to appreciate. He kept up his tongue action for quite some time, and all though it felt nice and erotic, she didn't feel that it was really leading anywhere. She lay quite still, concentrating hard, trying to make the most of the sensations he was providing. He found her stillness a bit unnerving. Finally, tongue- fatigue setting in, he pulled away. "You're supposed to be going crazy by now!" Am I just! She felt slighted by that remark. He was up over her now, licking her breasts again. He seemed to really like her breasts, especially the nipples. She recalled that Ginny had big breasts, but small nipples. He must like something he can really get his lips around, she couldn't help speculating. "Play with me, get me hard." He directed her hand onto his ... well, you know. She tugged on it gently, doing what she did to John when he wanted that extra few p.s.i. of turgor pressure. His fingers tested her opening and, finding it still wet from his tongue-lashing, decided to plunge in. Her overwhelming thought at that moment was a fear that she might fart. It happened sometimes, if John used the wrong angle. And that was okay, that was only John. They were accustomed to each other farting in bed. This was different; Derek may not see the funny side of it. But she didn't fart, and he soon set up a steady rhythm, gathering her legs up to wrap around his bum while he buried his face in the side of her neck. Again, it felt nice. As nice as anything she had ever done with John. But no fire- works or explosions. The surf did not crash, the molten larva all stayed safely stowed in its volcano. He was enjoying himself, anyway. His panting was quite loud in her ear, and his back was quite sweaty from his exertions in this tropical heat. Reaching down under her with his arms, he clutched her buttocks one in each hand, pulling himself into her harder until their flesh was slapping together where they joined. Then he was going full force, thrusting hard into her, unstoppable. She felt well and truly impaled, and as helpless as going on a Nantucket Sleighride. He completed the last few jerky movements of his hips, then rolled off her to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling and catching his breath again. Mary closed her legs, feeling sticky and a little tender. Was that it? "You didn't come?" he wanted to know. "No." "That's odd. Usually I can make a woman come." She didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything. He snuggled closer, holding her hand in his. "Oh, well. We can try again later. Maybe I need to lick you for longer." Maybe. Anyway, they did try again later, and he did lick for longer. But Mary was trying too hard, and just felt herself tightening up inside. They screwed a second time. She wasn't as turned on as the first one, and really just lay back and left him to it until he was done. She sensed that he was a bit disappointed by her lack of responses. They dozed for a bit, then he got up and dressed again. She put on a nightie. He sat on the edge of the bed for another few minutes, holding her hand. "Thanks Mary. You were every bit as sexy as I thought you'd be," he said gallantly. "You can carve another notch on your gunbelt, then." She found herself saying. "Never! Mary, you are anything but a notch. Unless you mean top-notch!" The sound of his jeep receded into the distance. Mary looked up at the ceiling in the darkness. Oh well, that was her little adventure then. They say you only regret the things you haven't done. At the same time, she didn't really feel any overwhelming desire to ever do this again. Suddenly, for the first time in several years, she found her- self thinking of Hazel. Now there was a girl who seemed to enjoy fucking under almost any circumstances. Funny how people can be so different. STOP and FAST-FORWARD John ducked, and the jug she threw smashed against the wall. Her eldest boy was wide-eyed with horror. The other two had already run to their rooms, sobbing. Mary was so furious with him. It had started with something silly. She had learned how to drive now, and had wanted to drive back from the river they had picnicked at. He liked driving too, and thought fair's fair, it should be my turn. His dogmatic adherence to principle was driving her nuts. He got his own way on so many other things, why couldn't he give in to her just this once? Then the kids started reacting, and playing up. They wanted icecream, they wanted this, they wanted that, they wouldn't eat the yummy vegies she'd cooked when they got home. At her suggestion that they eat it even if she had to ram it down their throats, John had stepped in and said, "Now dear, I think you are being unreasonable." If any words could anger her more than those, she had yet to hear them. "You never back me up! How are we going to raise them right, if you don't back me up?" John refused to yield. In arguments, he had this infuriating habit of staying so cold-bloodedly rational. Next thing, the milkjug was history. Her eldest now retired from the scene of the battle, no doubt fearing a stray bullet. Mary really wanted to hurt John at that moment, really rock him back on his heels. "Anyway, what makes you think you're so perfect? You're a bad parent, and a lousy lover." "Had lots of lovers, then, have you?" he riposted, smug in thinking that he knew the answer to that one. "I've been able to compare. And you stink!" She blurted it out, knowing it was a secret she should take to the grave but unable to resist the chance to have a go at him. "Yeah, right! When? Who?" His disbelieving tone goaded her into further indiscretion. "Derek Allen. November 1973. While you were on the boat to Malaita." Well, if she had wanted to rock him back on his heels, it had worked. John had gone pale, and needed to sit down. In the ensuing silence, she began to calm down. The full import of what she'd just said was beginning to register. She'd just put her whole marriage at risk. She sat too, and stared out the window. No telling which way he would jump. He stood suddenly and went down to the basement. He was gone for several hours. Every so often she would hear the clink of a spanner or the revving of a power tool, as he worked on some project or other. She hoped it wasn't a gallows. Later, he returned and sat beside her. The kids were in bed asleep now. "Was Derek Allen really a better lover than me?" "Yes, but only slightly. He used his tongue on me." And after that had sunk in: "Was that the only time?" "Yes, that was the only time." Neither of them ever raised the subject again. PAUSE and SLOW-FORWARD Things remained a little cool for a couple of weeks after that last bust-up. They acted normally around the kids, but were not affectionate with each other. Then their daughter was found to have a cyst and needed a minor operation. The anxiety of that particular drama pushed everything else out of their minds, and by the time it had been satisfactorily dealt with, their relationship was back to normal again. Well, normal enough for sex to become a possibility. John could be an irritating s.o.b., but there was no denying that he thought the world of Mary. She often took the steadfastness of his love for granted, but right now she felt quite appreciative of it, and of him. She had also made an intriguing discovery. Putting a packet of sandwiches into his school satchel one morning, she glimpsed the cover of a book that was not directly linked to John's usual academic interests. It was called "The Joys of Sex". She thought this to be such a typical response of his rational mind; if there's a problem, then do some research. She wondered what conclusions he would draw from his review of the available literature. Kids asleep, nothing much on television, they had begun to snuggle. She was still the girl for him, he told her, and always would be. They retired to their bedchamber, and began the usual preliminaries. He spent ages kissing her breasts. He had always been a confirmed nipple man, and his usual practice was to linger over her boobs while using his fingers to check down below if she was ready or not. But tonight was different. After ministering to her nipples for a good long while, he left them glistening and erect while his tongue traced over her midriff and tummy. He had a long and pointy tongue. Sometimes to amuse the children he would poke it right out and could make it touch the tip of his nose. She hadn't seen anyone else who could do that. He had hidden talents, her man did! And now that he appeared to be on a southbound route, she wondered with anticipation what else he could make it touch. He progressed to the top of her mound, and began sniffing and nibbling. Trying it, to see if he would like it, she presumed. And he must have approved, because he was now sliding down between her legs and licking at her inner thighs. He'd never done anything like this before. And she'd have been shocked if he did, when they were first married. Or very surprised that he'd even want to. According to her upbringing, that was an unclean area. But her fling with Derek had opened her mind to the possibilities. It just needed some practice, some perseverence! And she wasn't about to stop John and question his motives at this point. All things cum who stand and wait? She hoped so. He was flicking up and down her outer lips, teasing the pubic hair there and making it wet and matted. He was close to the goal, but not there yet, and her feeling of anticipation was becoming intense. The moment arrived, when he started probing at the top of her cleft. Such a long, pointy tongue, soft and gentle, yet firm at the same time. It was starting to feel nice. He was not quite hitting the right spot, but in the mood she was now in, it seemed he could not put a foot wrong. So sensitive down there, and so delicious! She lay back, eyes closed, and decided to enhance her pleasure by stroking her breasts and rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger. He looked up and saw this, and was momentarily surprised that she was taking an active part in the proceedings. This was not usual, and the thought that he was inspiring some responses acted as a spur to his efforts. He still hadn't quite found the spot, and the teasing was becoming unbearable. She felt she better do something. So she reached down and used her hands to spread herself, parting her cleft. He saw the tip of something small and pink pop up amongst her folds, and he was onto it in a flash. Oh my GOD!!! Her hips jumped, and she almost lost her grip upon herself. It was as if lightning had just tickled her spine. He took over, using his own hands to spread her and find the target. She had to grab onto the bed head, as her pelvis writhed to get more tongue against her. Then it started. The intensity of feeling had built up until release now felt inevitable, she was past the point of no return. Oh please, don't stop now! She came in a heady rush of sensation, a level of physical pleasure that she never knew existed until that moment. Then she was coming back down from it, and couldn't bear to have him continue. It was just too sensitive, every neuron was on full alert. She clamped her thighs about John's head to hold him away from her sodden vulva. "Wow!" he said. "Was that finally the Big One?" She just went "Mmmmm ... ," feeling all follollopy and spent, wrung out like a dishrag. He had become very turned on by her reactions, and when he moved up over her to kiss her softly, she felt something bumping and prodding down there. He slid in easily because she was so open and wet, and to him it felt better than usual. Her insides seemed somehow more clingy, more elastic, and deliciously slick. Sometimes there could be difficulty or resistance in there, but not this time so he went for it. It didn't take him long, and she felt close and tender feelings for him as he got totally undignified with her. No rational, dissecting mind was anywhere in sight. She liked being able to turn him into such a beast. She lay on her side with her back to him, tucked in like spoons as he held her in his arms. "Well?" he said. "Do we have a sex life, or do we have a sex life?" "We have a sex life," she said contentedly. Yep, he certainly had the makings of talented tonguemanship. And now at last she knew why people make all this fuss about orgasms. Tonight had been a step forward, all right. Now there were just a couple of other things to sort out in their relationship. And she'd get to them; give it time ... PAUSE and FAST-FORWARD one last time. People were still coming to the house. Soon there would not be room for them all, and some would have to go out into the garden. Just as well the weather was fine. On every flat surface there were more plates of scones and trays of quiche than you could shake a stick at. Her eldest son had just phoned to say he and his wife would be flying in tomorrow morning. There had been at least twenty calls from people in the last hour alone. She felt empty, numb. Almost in a daze. People talked to her in low voices, and to each other, mostly talking about other things. Trying to take her mind off it, and their own minds too. When people spoke, she put up a good show of nodding and going "Mmmm" in all the right places. But she was thinking back, reviewing things in her mind. In the last few years, John had got a lot better to live with. It had taken a long while, though, and took almost a revolution in their domestic arrangements. When their children reached the stage of needing to attend *real* schools and universities, they had returned to their native country again. There, John discovered the cost of those years of broken service. Out of the loop for so long, the best he could manage was occasional relieving teaching. And snotty Westernized teenagers were a far cry from the Pacific island students, who would so willingly spend their vacations making copra to gain the priviledge of an education. Mary, on the other hand, began showing an interest in sculpture. Initially it was because, when gouging holes in a lump of something or other, she could imagine that it was John's head. Very therapeutic. But she got quite good, and began exhibiting. Then she was invited to be a tutor at an art college, and after paying her dues for a few years she applied for, and got, a position as a faculty member. John took it hard at first, this reversal in their roles. She was now the main breadwinner, which meant that now *he* had to ask *her* for money. But she made it easier for him by putting one quarter of her salary into his bank account each payday. He felt so useless when out of work, as if he were on the scrapheap. But he cashed in his pension fund and bought a yacht. A small keelboat, it was his pride and joy, and at least three times a week he would be out on the water in it. Building up an intimate knowledge of local tides and currents, he took pride in being able to out-fox racing yachts twice his size. And their sex had become worth looking forward to, these days. Another breakthrough for her was getting her tubes tied. The Pill had never ever quite felt like real protection. It was as if there was nothing there, and she always felt nervous of unwanted pregnancy. Nowadays, with her tubes tied, she could really relax and get into it. He was also better in conversation. Especially in the last few months, she really felt that he was listening to her. Not trying to rationally *solve* whatever problem it was, and then being unsatisfied if he couldn't. He seemed to have finally twigged that, half the time, she just wanted him to listen to her. And just accept her point of view without thinking that it had to be debated. A policeman came to the door, bearing a big plastic bag full of soaking wet clothes and personal items. John's Rolex watch (funny how he never economised on things like that!), wedding band, and wallet. She didn't know quite what to do with the bag, and in the end just left it outside the front door on the path. She went into their bedroom, just to escape people for a while. His pyjamas still lay where he had tossed them on the floor that morning. She hated it when he always did that. She picked them up and held them to her face. She could still smell his smell on them. As far as anyone could tell, there was nothing that could have been done. He was always so cautious, and took every possible safety measure. The weather forecast had not predicted winds of such magnitude, or from that particular quarter. It was just a freak. The only way to have avoided it was by not getting out of bed in the morning. And that was not his way. Are you supposed to feel this empty? She felt she should be showing more emotion than this, but didn't even feel the urge to cry. If there was any emotion at all, it was anger. John, you bloody idiot! What did you have to go and die for? ____________________________________________________________ Kristen's collection - Directory 8 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----