The concept for this story is from a loyal reader who suggested the exhibitionism/voyeur category. I hope I've done it justice. Please vote!
Part 1
"Timmy! Over here!" called my wife, Katerina, as I stumbled up the stadium steps carrying the cardboard tray of hot dogs and cokes, back to the seats she and I had on the forty yard line. It was halftime, our old college team was leading by 21 points, and the football fans in our section – those who weren't standing in lines for the snack bar or restrooms – were as rowdy and irreverent as only season ticket holders can be.
As I approached the end of our row, I noticed my beautiful, 34-year-old spouse talking animatedly with an older man sitting two rows lower than she. He was turned halfway around, looking up at her, as her expressive hands fanned the air while she made some conversational point. Then she crossed her arms, covering her tasty breast cleavage under the scooped neckline of her dress, and rubbed her olive-skinned upper arms up and down nervously. I'd witnessed this self-conscious mannerism before, and had loved it during the eight years of our marriage, since I could predict what she'd do next. And, sure enough! She reached down and vigorously stroked the olive flesh of her shapely ankles and calves, which always indicated that she was sexually aroused. I noticed that her eyes flashed excitedly at something he was saying.
The man she was talking with sat below her on the old, bench-style seats. A good-looking guy, he was in his mid to late forties – ten years my senior – of stocky build, with salt-and-pepper hair and mustache. Though appearing to hang on her every word, his eyes were looking straight up her short dress, which – given the fact that her feet were propped on the seat in front of her – did little to cover her soft inner thighs and black bikini thong. My pulse quickened at knowing he'd probably gotten a glimpse of her moist crotch. She moved her legs nervously as she'd done nearly always when speaking with a certain type of good-looking older man. I'd always insisted that Katerina wear skimpy underwear, for it turned me on...just knowing that such men might catch a glimpse of the steamy nexus of her legs as she moved them restlessly about.
Beyond that, for months I'd urged Kat, as I call her, to loosen up a bit and make our sex life more interesting, which meant:
feed my voyeuristic appetite
. In practical terms, I truly wished for some kinks in our marriage...to include other people in our sexual relationship. First, I'd pressured her to watch porno films, then had made bolder suggestions to chat, send pictures to – and perhaps meet – some mature swingers on the Internet. We even went out a few times to bars known for attracting couples looking for swinging companionship. But, sensuous as she was, she'd always retreated to playing the innocent at the moment of truth, taking refuge behind her conventional role of wife and mother to our two kids.
She introduced me to Carl, her new acquaintance sitting near us. We made small talk and, since the second half of the game was about to begin, we gulped our snacks and subsequently cheered our team on to victory, with him glancing back repeatedly at us – at Kat, actually – whenever our team made a great play. "You seem to have made quite an impression on our new friend," I muttered in her ear. Then, devilishly, I asked, "Is he making you wet? I noticed you rubbing your arms and legs, like you always do when you get that horny itch."
"Oh, Tim, stop it! He's so
nice
!" she protested, a bit too strenuously, I thought. "He lives out near us...takes the train to games, like we do. He reminds me so much of my brother, Tony," she sighed, casting a nervous glance down at the back of his head.
Here she goes again, I thought. Since before we'd gotten married, I'd become used to Kat's hero worship of her eldest brother, Tony. She was the third child of four, having three brothers – Tony, Jamie, also older than she, and baby brother, Roy. She was the only girl of an Italian Catholic family from Australia. When I'd met her she was 25, and had come to the States to belatedly finish her Master's Degree in Library Science. I'd been captivated by her energy. Oddly, though, she had a somewhat shy personality, which included a very Catholic attitude toward sex and family. Underneath all that I'd happily discovered her extraordinary passion in bed, where she was a multi-orgasmic dynamo. I'd met her eldest brother once – eight years ago at our wedding – and considered him rather dull. But then, he was a career Aussie military man. A lifer in any Army in the world was a person I'd always considered of suspect imagination.
Our fellow football fan, Carl, was a different sort. He seemed knowledgeable and interesting as we walked to the commuter train station together. The rail line takes many thousands of football fans on Saturdays in and out of the relatively small university town for weekend home games. He was a residential developer, and looked as if he'd spent decades physically building his own houses. Relatively short at 5'10", but muscular compared to me, he filled out a shirt and slacks in a way that I couldn't, given my angular northern European physique. When we exchanged business cards indicating I was a mortgage banker, his eyes took on a knowing look. I didn't know why, but it hardly mattered, since our train was pulling in. The least comfortable part of the day was coming up – though perhaps the most interesting – being crushed into a subway car travelling 25 miles with only one stop, along with hundreds of sweaty, exuberant football fans.
We had to stand, as usual, with me hanging onto a ceiling strap and Kat pressed against my front. Carl stood behind her as the train pulled from the station, with my succulent little wife sandwiched between us. As the tracks curved eastward, she widened her stance a bit for balance and smiled over her shoulder at him, muttering an apology, then she looked up at me with an embarrassed – almost guilty – glance. Her eyes were shining with excitement and her flawless olive complexion glowed with perspiration. I knew why. We'd made this trip mashed against the bodies of scores of unknown fans many times before and she'd become turned on physically. But it'd never yet happened with a person we knew...never with a man to whom she was so obviously attracted.
On football weekends the transit company traditionally dusted off surplus train cars to take care of the passenger overload. We were in an older car whose lights flickered continuously, but mostly they stayed off. And as the trip wore on, the entire contents of the car – dozens of sweaty passengers pressed into an agglomeration of bodies – rocked in a somnolent rhythm to the
clack-de-clack-de-clack
of rail travel, with weird, interrupted, illumination which froze their faces in various expressions as we bore on.
I'd always enjoyed the tunnel, mainly because it allowed my sexual imagination free rein. It provided twelve minutes of near-uninterrupted darkness during which – on this particular day when the train car lighting was poor at best – there were so many bodies...hands...fleshy parts and openings...truly a movable feast for a lover of anonymous sex, which I am. In the past, on the way home from a game, Kat might've already reached inside my pants to masturbate me in the darkness, and I would've come close to popping. In the past, also, I might've reached down behind myself and fingered an anonymous, compliant woman pressing against me. Depending on the woman, I'd groped under skirts and panties, rubbing moist crotches, all the time the train had been screaming through the tunnel. I'd been the instigator then, though. On this day, I was pleased that
my wife
appeared to have an active, conscious, prurient agenda. Though not really being aggressive, she appeared at least open to some imaginative play from our new friend.
The second we entered the tunnel and the noise of steel wheels on rails began to screech, Kat pulled away from me and backed against Carl. Though my hand had been under her short skirt, I withdrew it and swung back against the person behind me to watch as much of my wife's unusual adventure as I could.
The train car was dark. The noise was deafening. Kat still had one hand in my trouser waistband, holding on, but her bottom was pushing rhythmically against Carl's groin, with each slow rocking motion of the car. I saw no evidence of penetration...only the heavy-lidded look that is Katerina's when she's sexually excited. As flickers of light flashed on in the car, I noticed one of Carl's hands on my wife's right hip. Then I saw the back portion of her skirt pulled up slightly.
Was he inside her?
I wondered, though I immediately recognized that he couldn't be. The angle was all wrong. But, as I looked at the concentration on her face, with eyes closing and teeth biting her lower lip, I
knew
he was stroking her – perhaps pulling aside her thong – and maybe rubbing his stiff dick against her from behind. Her half-lidded eyes told me that she
wanted
him to be inside her, so I was pleased at Kat encouraging and accepting these moves. This, I thought, could be the start of something interesting!
Toward the end of the tunnel, I realized that – in addition to Kat holding herself on her feet by grasping my trousers, her other hand was under her skirt in her panties. She was masturbating while Carl was somehow pleasuring her from behind! And, as the brakes on the car began screeching while we exited the tunnel to the first stop – Carl's stop as it turned out – my lovely little Italian wife shuddered through a short, soundless orgasm. As daylight illuminated the car our twelve minutes in the underground came to a close. Carl appeared to be straightening his pants and the goose bumps on the back of Kat's soft arms began to subside. I was flushed with desire as my bride of eight years had allowed me to glimpse an act of sexual exhibitionism with another man. Had I been included intentionally, I wondered? Regardless, I was pleased as Carl stumbled past me to exit the car, the front of his pants swollen, mumbling that he'd call during the coming week.
After we'd put the kids to bed that night we turned in early and enjoyed a couple of hours of exceptionally bawdy, harsh sex. Kat loved to be
taken
, hard and fast. When she climaxed, screaming, her vagina would snap at my cock uncontrollably like a spasming clam. But it was after our play that things got truly interesting. Normally quiet and sleepy after making love, this night she wanted to chat, and snuggled into my armpit for pillow talk.
"Y'know, I masturbate a lot," she confessed, "sometimes even when I'm at work 'n' stuff." Kat worked part time at the university library.
"That won't hurtcha', babe."
"I've done it since I was a teen, as I've told you. But now it's getting
really
compulsive," she said, raising up to look down at me. "I mean...often, when I'm on a ladder re-stacking books, this one professor in the Classics Department will come up to me. He's always asking me to help him on his research project...when I'm on a ladder! Of course, I see his eyes look straight ahead at my...you know, my thighs, 'cause I wear short dresses and...I get all wet! His eyes just burn into my flesh! Honestly, I want to pull his face right into my pussy when he does that!"
"Really? What d'you do then?" I asked.
"Then I've gotta go to the ladies room and diddle myself to get off! Gawd, I cum hard, just thinking about his sultry look! Timmy, please don't be angry! Our sex life is fabulous, but I still can't stop fantasizing when I get that way!"
"You mean like today...on the train...with Carl?"
"You saw that? Ohh, Gawd, Tim! I'm so sorry! Are you angry? I acted like such a horny slut!"
"It's okay, Kat! I told you...it turns me on watching other men get excited by you!"
