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From: "Michael Carlisle"
Subject: New Story: View from Danny's Chair by Mick mfm, wife, cons?
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Shy Young Wife: The View from Danny's Chair - Part One (m/f, wife,
consensual??)
by Mick
****************************************************
Author's note:
All rights reserved by the author, 1998. Permission is granted for this
story to be reposted to alt.sex.stories or alt.sex.stories.moderated or
to any other Usenet group, or posted to any noncommercial Web site to
which access is unrestricted by passwords, fees, etc., provided it is
fully credited to the author ("Mick") and is not altered in any way - in
whole or in part - without the author's permission, which is unlikely to
be granted in any case. It may not be reproduced for profit or
commercial use, or made available to any for whom its possession would
be illegal or inappropriate, particularly minors.
If you are not 18 or over, well - I encourage your curiosity, but please
pursue it elsewhere...this story is for adults only. Thanks.
Shy Young Wife: The View from Danny's Chair - Part One (m/f, wife,
consensual??)
by Mick
****************************************************
Author's note:
All rights reserved by the author, 1998. Permission is granted for this
story to be reposted to alt.sex.stories or alt.sex.stories.moderated or
to any other Usenet group, or posted to any noncommercial Web site to
which access is unrestricted by passwords, fees, etc., provided it is
fully credited to the author ("Mick") and is not altered in any way - in
whole or in part - without the author's permission, which is unlikely to
be granted in any case. It may not be reproduced for profit or
commercial use, or made available to any for whom its possession would
be illegal or inappropriate, particularly minors.
If you are not 18 or over, well - I encourage your curiosity, but please
pursue it elsewhere...this story is for adults only. Thanks.
*****************************************************
....in which I struggle mightily to relate the experience of Pamela's
husband, Danny, seeing me seduce his wife in the library of their home.
I originally told this "true-but-significantly-altered" story in the
first person under the title "Shy Young Wife" - which has appeared at
a.s.s.m. and a.s.s. and at one or two web fora. It is available via Deja
News, or at the Dark Wanderer in the YW series, where it is #355.
Danny watched from a leather armchair nearby as his wife "gave in" to
me. This was strictly consensual - although I'm sure there were moments
when from his chair, it may have appeared otherwise. I have written this
version with very little to go on, other than what I observed, a few
things Pamela told me, and a few things Danny himself let slip over the
next year or so. We never really discussed his feelings or perceptions,
but I have wondered about them, especially in recent years, as I have
revisited these events in memory.
Undoubtedly, Danny's recollection of events would differ somewhat from
my own. He might even recall details that I have forgotten; he might
also choose to embellish what I didn't. That's what makes this exercise
interesting to me. Maybe one day, I'll try to write it from Pamela's
point of view, which is the one that actually interests me most of all.
This is dedicated to her. I hope she reads it, and recognizes herself,
and is glad.
Love,
Mick
Part I
Call me paranoid, or whatever, but my wife's "volunteer work" was really
about sex all along, and I knew it from the beginning. She went on about
self-actualization and needing to "discover herself" and to do something
about society's problems. And I went along, reluctantly - unhappily. I
knew this was really all about us. It was about sex. I knew my marriage
was in trouble.
Problem is, what do you do about it? My brother and my best friend had
both warned me. They told me Pamela was a brainy, sexy, spoiled rotten
bitch ("just like Gail," my brother warned - a reference to his wife's
sister, who had left her husband for a professor soon after she started
as a part-time grad student). Lately, they said, she'd been showing all
the signs of "turning hippy." What they meant was that she had begun
sheepishly defending the antiwar protesters, had expressed curiosity
about pot, and had taken to wearing less makeup and letting her hair
fall loose and full. Moreover, they said, she seemed to be bored at
family gatherings, which my Dad regarded as the very most disturbing
sign. Unlike my brother, who had never liked Pamela (although he'd made
it clear he found her sexually desireable) Dad had a genuine affection
for her, and seemed to think of her as the daughter he never had. She
returned his warm feelings, too - even when she started to get strange.
Naturally, I told them they were crazy. She had a right to her own
opinions, didn't she? (Well? Didn't she?) And, I added, I happened to
really like her new look. What's more, I lied, our sex life was better
than ever. Why did I say that? It was completely out of character for me
to even mention our sex life, for one thing. And for another, our sex
life was a source of total confusion to me. My wife had never, to my
knowledge, anyway, had an orgasm, and she had steadfastly refused to
discuss it, brushing the topic aside on the two occasions when I'd asked
her about it.
"What difference does it make?" she'd said on our honeymoon. "You were
great and I think you're probably the sexiest man alive."
And later, once when we were tipsy following a New Year's party, we made
love for much longer than usual. Probably due to the alcohol I'd
consumed, I'd been able to continue without climaxing for probably twice
the time of our usual brief couplings.
"Did you...?" I asked as we lay there afterward, the room spinning just
slightly.
"Did I what?" she answered, her tongue as thick with booze as mine.
"You know....did you have an orgasm?"
She gave a long sigh......
"How the hell am I supposed to know?"
With that she rolled over and almost immediately started snoring softly.
So that was that.
And lately, things had just gotten stranger. She always - repeat: ALWAYS
refused when I made the first move. Always. But occasionally, just
lately, she would initiate the first contact and each time, it was
something strange.
The first time, she came to bed late and snuggled up behind me, her
chest against my back. I woke up about halfway and thought little of it.
After all, she was wearing the chin-to-floor flannel nighty that usually
signaled a chaste bedding.
But as I drifted back to sleep, I felt her lips pressed to the back of
my neck, and her hand slid down into my pajamas. She is a lot shorter
than me, so she had to scoot down for her hand to reach my penis. As she
did so, she pressed her cheek against my back. I could feel her heat
through the material of my pajama top.
I tried to turn to face her, but she held my slack penis and resisted
with a murmured "No....."
I lay there blinking as she pressed up against me, her hand on my penis
for a while. I just listened to our breathing, wondering if she'd gone
to sleep.
Eventually, her hand began to squeeze and stroke me. Ineptly, at first.
Not really sure what to do with a soft penis, I guess. But as I began to
swell in her hand, her breathing began to grow rougher, along with mine.
And soon she was masturbating me....stroking my cock rhythmically - a
slow, maddening slide of her fingertips along the underside of my cock,
with her thumb pressed to the upper side. The loose skin slid over my
shaft under her fingers and she milked me insistently.
Soon I was nearing orgasm, and I was frankly embarrassed. Did she really
mean to make me do this? Shouldn't I at least get a tissue or a towel or
something? My years of masturbation with a wash cloth and soap came back
to me....was she going to make me squirt on the sheets?
"Honey, I'm going to...."
"Shh!! I'll stop," she whispered harshly, resisting my second attempt to
roll over to face her."
She squeezed me harder and I felt her taut body straining against me as
she held onto my shoulder with her free hand. We were both rocking with
her effort. I was both aroused to the point of fever, and deeply
humiliated.
I came hard. When she felt the first spurt, she loosened her grip, but
continued to stroke me even faster. What I would have wanted, I couldn't
ask for. I would have wanted her to stop stroking altogether and just
hold onto the base of my cock, pulling back as hard as possible, so hard
that the skin sheath would distort the shape of my cockhead, and hold me
like that, very still. I had done it many times, aroused myself nearly
to orgasm, then just pulled back on my cock and held still to wait for
the explosion.
But this, although physically not what I'd have requested had I been
less uptight, was in all other ways an extraordinary sexual experience.
Several heavy spurts soaked the sheets on my side of the bed as my
wife's hand flew over my cock. I thought I heard her chuckle to herself
against my back as I came.....and whisper something. Not sure, I
whispered hoarsely "what....?" but she never answered. I tried one more
time to turn to her, but she silently resisted. Wouldn't have it.
A while later, I felt her climb out of bed. Looking back, I think she
probably went somewhere in the house to satisfy herself. Also looking
back, I suppose she was thinking of him the whole time.
Another time, as she came to bed after a night of her "volunteer work,"
she turned off the nightlight in the hall that we usually kept on for
our daughter. She quietly closed our bedroom door, as I continued to
feign sleep. I heard her tiptoe to the windows and carefully, almost
silently, pull the shades and curtains shut. She paused by the dresser
to turn the alarm clock to the wall, the final source of light in the
room. Total darkness.
She found her way over to my side of the bed and knelt down. I felt her
hand go up under the covers, and directly to the waist of my pajamas.
Faintly, I could smell beer and cigarette smoke....she'd gone out for a
beer with the other volunteers, as she often did. But had she been
smoking? Totally out of character.
Her hand found me and I pretended to be coming out of sleep as she began
to fondle me, her fingers cool and dry. I reached down to touch her in
the dark, but her free hand found mine and she pushed me away silently.
Before I was completely hard, she pulled down the sheets and fished my
cock out through the fly of my pajamas. I inhaled deeply - smell of her
perfume, mixed with the smell of whatever pub she'd gone to actually
excited me, and by the time she got me freed, I was hard.
Then, to my complete surprise, I felt her lips and tongue on the head of
my erection, at first tentative, but almost immediately her tongue began
to swirl over my flesh and her full lips opened to take me in. She had
occasionally teased my cock with a kiss or a lick when we were dating,
but had never actually taken me into her mouth. I'd subtly hinted that I
would like more, but nothing doing.
But now, my wife was kneeling by our bed in the darkness mouthing me
with real urgency and, from the sound of her breathing and her
occasional, involuntary sounds, she was hungry for me. When I reached
down with both hands to touch her hair, she batted me away, but
continued to suck, actually moving her head over me as she took more of
my length into her mouth. Never, never, ever had she done this, or
anything even close. Each time she plunged downward to take in more of
me, she moaned deeply - was it effort, or satisfaction?
Inevitably, I began to moan. Usually, I wasn't at all verbal in bed, but
THIS - well, I began to babble I suppose.
"Oh, Pammy, yesssss......oh, god.....please, yes......oh, god,
Pammy....."
Almost roughly, her hand flew to my mouth and covered it! I was reduced
to stifled moans as her hand left my face.
Soon after, and just as I began to feel my orgasm approaching, she
pulled away from my cock and there was a pause of what felt like
forever, but was probably about thirty seconds, before I heard her make
a sound I'd never heard. It was somewhere between a moan and a squeal
and her breathing was ragged and loud as she keened from spot on the
floor by our bed.
"Are you alright? Honey? Sweetie....."
As I began to fumble for the bedside light switch, I heard her softly
leave the room and close the door behind her.
My cock hard and my balls aching, I fantasized going after her,
demanding - well - demanding SOMETHING! An explanation? An orgasm? What?
I briefly fantasized just going and raping her, but I put the thought
out of my mind. Surely she must know what she was doing to me....surely
she knew how unfair this was, and how strange it all was to me.
End of Part One
****
Shy Young Wife: The View from Danny's Chair - Part Two (m/f, wife,
consensual??)
by Mick
Hindsight can be comforting or sickening. As I look back on those days,
it is indeed a comfort to be able to make sense of what was going on. At
the time, I was mostly just confused and angry. Pamela was struggling
with something, though - something she couldn't possibly have explained
to me, because she didn't even come close to understanding it herself.
Looking back, I now know that she was as tormented in some ways as I was
- at least at first.
Pamela continued for some months to be completely unpredictable.
Distant, quiet, and unaffectionate for days at a time, then all of a
sudden, she'd do something so sexually exciting that I couldn't believe
it was the same woman. One night when I came home from a poker game, I
found my wife in our bed, lying on her tummy, with several quite new
copies of a popular sex magazine on the pillow beside her. Only her
reading lamp was on, and the soft, long curves of her slender body was
the very picture of feminine beauty. She had only her panties on, and
she had one hand under her body, obviously hard at work in her panties.
In her free hand, she held one of the pocket-sized magazines, with one
finger apparently holding her place. I thought she must not have heard
me come in, but she almost immediately proved me wrong.
With a deep, anguished moan, she let go of the magazine, and pulled her
hand free of her panties. She kept her face turned away, gripping a
pillow in one hand and reaching back to pull the crotch of her panties
aside with the other. There was a light sheen of sweat on her skin, and
she seemed to glow in the relatively dim light of the little lamp.
"Do me, Danny. Do it to me."
It took a moment for me to find my voice. I was feeling mellow from a
few beers - for a brief moment I felt vaguely ill, then sort of dizzy.
"Pam, I'm sorry, I just..."
"Don't talk! Please, Danny....please just do it. Now. Don't talk."
By this time, I had already realized that nearly every time she
presented one of these "episodes", she asked me to be silent. And I had
begun to understand why: my voice would spoil whatever fantasy she was
having. Again she said it, still in the harsh, urgent whisper I'd come
to associate with these encounters:
"Now. Do it or go away."
I dropped my jacket, kicked off my shoes and undid my slacks as I
approached the bed. I got on my knees between her thighs and began to
caress her ass.....god, that ass. Still makes my heart beat faster just
thinking about it, and it's been years!
I slid my hands up her thighs to the firm, smooth fruit of her ass and
began to massage her, but she reached back - still without looking back,
her face turned away from me - and pushed my hands away.
"No! Just do it, you bastard. Just do it.....please. Oh god, please."
I probably knelt there blinking for a few seconds.....hurt, but so
aroused I could have passed out. My hands shook and my heart pounded. I
looked down and saw her sex open and wet from what she had been doing
when I came in.....and then I just plunged my fingers into her, two or
three of them, screwing them into her as I pressed down on the small of
her back.
She made a deep, raspy noise as she pressed a pillow to her face and I
felt her sex gripping my fingers. I roughly withdrew them, and her ass
rose as if to snatch them back.
My cock was in position already, and when her ass rose, I pushed into
her. She pressed both hands against the mattress as if to do a push-up,
and her upper body began to rise. I astonished myself by roughly pushing
her back down with the flat of my hand between her shoulder blades. She
gave a little yelp of surprise, and when I took her small hips in my
hands and yanked her up to me, she seemed to briefly struggle before
beginning to writhe against me.
I pressed into her as deep as I could and when I was all the way in, her
hands came up and back, and she crossed her wrists over the small of her
back.
It seems silly, I suppose, but when she did that, I immediately began to
come. One of her hands whipped around to her clit and in a matter of
seconds, her muscles were gripping me again in what I now know was her
orgasm.
She fell forward and began to sob. So did I - releasing only a small bit
of the tension and confusion of those months. She didn't say a word as
we drifted off to sleep. When I awoke a little while later, with my
trousers still around my knees, she wasn't in the bed. As usual, she'd
gone off somewhere else in the house. I went back to sleep.
I believe it was about a week after that night that she came into the
library where I was going over the mail and asked softly if we could
talk. She dimmed the lights, asking me to sit in my "favorite" chair, a
leather wingback. She stood behind me.
"Danny, I owe you an explanation. I know I do. I've been a terrible wife
to you lately and you deserve some kind of explanation...."
I got up to go to her, to hold her, to tell her it was alright, but she
turned away.
"Danny, I can't do this if you're looking at me - I just can't. Please.
Sit down. Let me do this my way."
Suddenly I knew what I was about to hear. She was going to leave me. I
felt like the whole room was coming down on me. God, I loved her so!
This beautiful, warm, sweet, person that I had married - who had chosen
me over so many others that had pursued her. I was losing her. This was
the night.
I sat on the edge of my chair and held my head in my hands, staring down
at the carpet as the lump in my throat spread and numbed my body. Anger
and grief washed over me and mixed somewhere in my stomach....but I kept
control.
"I've been changing. You know I have. I ... we ... it's not us. I mean,
it isn't you. It's me. It's not something I can really ..." she slammed
the back of my chair with her small fist. "Damn! This is so stupid ...
how do I ..."
She must have heard my heavy breathing ... or maybe I was crying. I
really don't know. I was still sitting there with my head down and she
came around the chair and stood in front of me and took my head in her
hands, pressing my face to her tummy. My arms went around her and held
her tight around her hips and again we cried. I still hadn't seen her
face since she came into the room. I held her to me tightly and I heard
her say:
"You just have to be patient with me, Danny. Please. Please, Danny, try
and understand. There's something happening that I can't explain -
something inside of me. Please give me time, Danny. Please....."
Her hands held my head to her tightly, her fingers in my hair and on my
neck, my ears. Perversely, I suppose, I became aroused. I began to press
my face down into the front of her dress, into her mons. She held my
head there for a moment, and then pressed forward as I pressed my face
to her.
Now, in all our married life, oral sex had been entirely out of the
question. I've already described her minimal oral flirtations before we
were married. But cunnilingus was particularly taboo. And I must admit
that it was as much my problem as hers. The thought of going down on a
woman seemed somehow less than masculine to me - sort of demeaning. And
actually, I felt the same about her going down on me. I mean, I wanted
it, but it seemed wrong to me. And the one time I had playfully moved to
kiss her "down there" during our first year of marriage, she was
genuinely shocked, crying out my name, and pushing me away. It was, as I
recall, the abrupt end of what had been a rather promising foreplay
session.
But just then, in the half dark of the study, my face hot with tears, I
wanted to bury my face - my *self* in her sex. I breathed in sharply,
and imagined I could smell her through the material of her panties and
skirt. With my hands on her ass, I pressed harder against her, and I
felt her press back, a small circular motion of her hips that ground her
mons against my nose.
"No....no.....," she whispered, and I recognized that it was *that*
whisper - the strange, troubled, urgent whisper I had lately come to
associate with the strange, intense sex she'd been initiating.
"No......please.....," she kept whispering as she pulled her pelvis back
and pushed me away, her small hands on my shoulders. Again, I briefly
imagined forcing myself on her, making her give herself to me on MY
terms, but I didn't. Maybe I should have, I really don't know. After
all, in those days, no one had ever even *heard* the phrase "no means
no." In fact, it wasn't at all clear that it was even legally *possible*
for a man to rape his own wife. But I let her push me back, at least
partly because - get this - I wanted to see her face, I wanted to kiss
her softly and make her smile as I had done so often over the years, and
hold her and tell her everything would be ok. For a moment I imagined
that would happen.
But she kept her face down and as I lay back in my chair, she knelt
down, her loose hair hiding her face. Her hands slid over my thighs as
she settled down between my spread knees, and although it had never
happened before, I knew what would happen next.
Gripping my spread thighs, she pressed her face into the front of my
trousers, and her mouth slid over the shape of my stiff penis. I
actually tried to gently push her away, but she persisted and began to
hurriedly open my pants. Almost painfully, she extracted my cock from my
half-opened pants, and immediately took me into her mouth. She began to
bob up and down over me in the time-honored fashion, slowing
occasionally to take me deep into her throat.
I gently stroked her neck and shoulders as she did this, but soon
enough, she took my wrists in her hands and pinned them to my thighs,
all the while continuing to suck me and to fuck me with her mouth. I
could easily have overcome her, but I didn't. And in a few more moments,
she firmly put my hands on her own head and *made* me push her head down
onto my cock. I started to say something, but again she pressed my hands
to the back of her head, and moaned as she slid down over my erection.
I began to feel my orgasm building and I tried to squirm away.
"Oh, god, baby, I'm almost..... I'm gonna.....Pammy, please, I can't
hold it....please, I'm gonna...."
Right up to the end, I was trying to pull out of her mouth, but she held
me fast. For so long we had colluded in making oral sex taboo - now she
was *making* me demean her, use her like some kind of whore. She
released my hands and I found myself pushing her down on my own, pushing
myself even further into her as I felt my balls tighten. At the last
minute, though, I just couldn't do it - I believed so deeply that it was
a gesture of disrespect that I finally pulled free, pushing her away
from me as I did so. She fell back and caught herself on her hands and I
saw her eyes wide and excited as my ejaculate came shooting forth into
the space between us arcing up and out onto the carpet, her bare leg and
thigh, and even her dress.
She just looked up at me from the floor, breathless as I was, not
exactly smiling, but with a look of deep, raw excitement on her
tear-streaked face. Our eyes met for only a moment before I put my hand
over my eyes and when I opened them, she was gone.
*******
It went that way for a long while. She refused every sexual overture
from me, but every now and then, she'd initiate something - always
something that had her in control.
Fact is, it was the most sexually intense time I had experienced in my
life. She was so exciting, so unbelievably hot. And when she felt safe,
when she had in mind exactly what she wanted to do - she was shockingly
inventive and hungry - demanding. A few things were always the same. She
wanted me quiet. She wanted no eye contact (even blindfolded me once)
and no conversation. Usually, she was behind me, or I was behind her.
And she never repeated herself. It was always explosive sexually, and
totally baffling emotionally.
Twice during that time, she came up, as if casually , and hugged me, her
face turned to the side and down, and whispered "It's going to be
ok.....it's all going to be ok, Danny." Then she'd be gone.
Then one night she stopped into the library before going out to her
volunteer work. She seemed thoughtful as she entered. She walked slowly
around the room making a show of looking up at the shelves.
"Help you find something?"
"Hmm? No....oh. No, I was just thinking...."
Soon she'd come around behind my chair. I was pretty sure she was
initiating one of her "episodes" as she slid her hands down over my
shoulders to my chest and leaned down to whisper in my ear from behind.
Her voice pure warmth, pure love.
"Danny, darling, I love you. I love you more than anything...you are so
good to me. You've been so patient....so good. Just a little longer,
honey. Please. Just a while longer. And whatever happens, baby, I love
you. I do."
With that, she left, and I watched her ass swing as she made her way out
the door and down the hall.
It was later than usual when she came home.
She wasn't alone. She introduced her "friend" as "Mick."
End of Part Two
caledonia_99@hotmail.com
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