This is the third and last of the "Letters from the Attic" series.
I hope you enjoy it.
Jill stood in front of the bathroom mirror, turned, and posed. She didn't think of it as posing, more like an extensive visual check-up. She liked what she saw, finally. She was in the best shape she'd been in years. The tiny white thong she wore was beautiful. It was a basic G-string with a wavy sheer white sash attached at the waist. You could see everything beneath it if you looked. The G-String in the back plunged through a strong, muscular behind with the same heft and shelf it had back when Jill was a pole vaulter in college.
Her stomach above the thong was flat and well-muscled and the legs extending below the tiny string "covering" her pubic bone were equally stout. She'd worked hard on her thighs, which were the last to come around. After weeks of work, their full musculature had returned. Since this was the thing that had first drawn Paul's interest so many years ago, she wanted them back. The lacy white teddy top, split down the middle and tied below her neck, revealed well-toned abs, full pert, upturned breasts with a slight East/West point to the nipples, arms muscled out by hours of work, and not an ounce of fat. The face wasn't half-bad either, she thought. Strong high cheekbones, big blue eyes, clear skin, no wrinkles, a pert nose and full pouty lips, all framed by honey-blonde hair highlighted naturally by the sun.
Her visit to Gulf Shores last summer with her husband Paul, and their friends Carmen and Tim had taught her several things about herself. First, she was more of an exhibitionist than she ever thought she could ever be, but she usually needed some lubrication to bring it out. Part of the conclusion was driven by her allowing her friend Carmen's husband Tim to pound her pussy into a wet mess in the middle seat section of a suburban rolling down I-75. She'd liked the thrill, even the risk of getting caught. The bathing suits she'd worn on the beach were scandalous, and she enjoyed the looks she got as she strolled through the crowded beach.
She also found that she had a submissive streak a mile wide. She'd always thought of herself as strong and independent, and in virtually every part of her life she was, but she had willingly let Tim and Emilio, the young Mexican stud she and Carmen had picked up from the beach, spank the ever-living hell out of her ass and tits while each were impaling her front and back. To her great surprise the abuse hit her like a sexual afterburner. This was simply something she and Paul had never even thought to try, but having tried it, she loved it.
The trip also put her on a self-improvement mission, and she was now seeing the results. None of her friends had caused it, it was Emilio. She could still remember everything about Emilio, his long, tapered fingers, his jet-black hair, his winning smile, and yes, his ridiculously luscious, thick dark cock. Months later she could still feel it pressing against her walls, winning its way into places no one had ever reached, feel it roughly violate her rump as Emilio pinned her against the kitchen island and took her from behind until her legs jellied. He was a natural dominant, probably because he'd been raised by Mexican industrial royalty and had been ordering people around his whole life. He roughly ass-fucked her, punctuating his thrusts with a continuous spanking of her bottom and a degrading series of forced concessions. To her surprise, this lit her candle like nothing she'd ever felt before. She had nearly passed out from the continuous series of orgasms in her that he had produced. God! it had been unreal. She remembered it as though it were yesterday.
She would probably have been self-conscious if others had been watching them. There had been lots of drinking, but she still clearly remembered enough to recall the gibbering, mindlessness desperation with which she had given herself to Emilio. But Carmen and Tim had already gone to sleep and Paul was entertaining Emilio's cute little girlfriend in their bedroom, so no one saw her utterly lose herself to him. Paul was forgiving, but there are some things you can't un-say in a marriage. Usually they are things said in anger when words are used like bullets. But Jill was pretty sure that if Paul had watched her let Emilio pin her arms behind her while he ass-fucked her and heard her tell Emilio that he owned her, that she was his slut, and that he could have her anytime, anywhere, and in any way he wanted, he would have a hard time forgetting or forgiving.
Emilio's insulting comment was delivered so offhandedly that it couldn't possibly have been meant as a slight. "You are so lovely" he said in the afterglow of their wild sex. He had run his fingers over the slight paunch from the top of her stomach to just above her quim and asked "how old are you?" She had flinched. When she told him her age, he responded "that is my sister Lucretia's age, she has had children and has gotten bigger too." That's all it took. That's it. She went on a manic mission to the gym four times a week along with three long runs a week as well.
The Gulf Shores trip had changed more than just her attitude towards working out. It, or perhaps their tryst with Tim and Carmen, had changed the way she and Paul acted towards one another in the bedroom. Before they ever shared themselves, she and Paul were a typical loving couple, she thought; 'til death do us part, forsaking all others, the whole nine yards. They were a bit more adventurous than some, but essentially their world revolved around one another, exclusively.
But when Paul discovered that she and Carmen had been lovers since college, he encouraged her not to bury it, but to act on it. The result was that all four of them ended up in the sack together at Carmen's place, again in Gulf Shores, and twice more since. She reminisced about those times as she idly ran her fingers over a taut nipple.
The sex they had enjoyed with other couples was so different, so intense, so much more satisfying than the ordinary variety, that they tried to duplicate that feeling in their own bedroom. Their sex became rougher, edgier, less like making love and more like fucking. Jill wasn't sure whether it was the feeling she was doing something wild and unpredictable when they swapped, or the dominant way that Emilio and Tim had taken her that sent them in this direction. Whatever the cause, the contents of their "toy drawer" in the dresser had changed. It formerly kept under lock and key the nighties that were to skimpy for the kids to see and the occasional porn. Now it contained fur-lined cuffs, a ball gag, several varieties of big dildos and vibrators, nipple clamps, blindfolds, paddles, and various other restraints. If you judged it solely by the frequency and intensity of the sex, their sex life was better than it had ever been.
But if you looked at whether they continued to achieve true intimacy, that unbreakable bond formed when two people give themselves to one another completely, well...that hadn't been seen for a while. When she walked back into their bedroom in the condo at Gulf Shores to wake Anne, the young coed they'd picked up at the same time Emilio joined them, she'd found her asleep with her head neatly crooked into Paul's side, her head on his chest, his arm trailed protectively, even lovingly, down the young girl's back.
That's my spot!
Jill had thought, and she had broken down crying before drying her eyes to wake Paul's young paramour and send her away. Paul hadn't said a thing to her that indicated he still held a candle for Anne and she had no reason to believe he had kept contact with her, but she couldn't get the image of the two holding one another so closely out of her mind.
There certainly wasn't an ounce of hostility between she and Paul. Paul loved her thoroughly and he wasn't taking her for granted, and she felt the same way. They continued to love, laugh, and play with one another and the kids just as they'd done before, but things in the bedroom had dramatically changed. Everything they did was with her complete and enthusiastic consent, but the connection was way more physical, far less emotional.
It was water under the bridge she thought as she heard Paul stir in the bedroom. She couldn't undo it any more than she could take back her words of surrender to Emilio. Still, she and Paul were no longer alone in bed together, even when they were alone together.
Paul was waiting for her, so Jill pushed all those thoughts out of her head as she left the bathroom.
"Hey beautiful!" he said.
"Hey handsome" she answered. This was an old exchange, repeated hundreds of times through the years. Comforting.
Paul looked delicious, as always. He was laying on his side with his leg propped up, wearing only his boxers and reading some sports article on his Ipad. Always. He closed it and threw it on a pillow near the nightstand.
"Come to me!" he said opening his arms. She did. For the next several minutes they spooned, her back to his front, not kissing, not touching each other's erogenous zones, just being close. Paul ran his hands up and down Jill's arms and rubbed her back and neck when it felt tension. It was heavenly.
Paul flipped her onto her back so that she would face him.
"Do you ever regret it?" he asked. Jill knew exactly what
it
was. She was amazed at Paul's ability to sense her mood. How did he know what she'd been thinking?
"A little, sometimes" Jill answered. "Sometimes I wish we could just go back to where we were before, the way we were with each other in bed, everywhere. But I guess you can't go back, can you?"
"I don't know why we couldn't" Paul answered. "Basically, we'd just have to say 'no more' and mean it, and we'd have to be satisfied with just one another, which isn't hard. That's the way it was for years before all this began. It's just a matter of commitment and concentration on what we want. Is that what you want to do?" he asked.
