My hands had dropped from her breasts to that incredibly sexy narrow waist of hers and begun the exploration of her hips. At that, she suddenly rose to her knees and, with the kind of sweet-yet-sly smile that only genuine love and passion can produce, she lifted the diaphanous nightgown over her head and let it go, arching her back and opening her arms wide like a speaker or an actor proudly calling for the full attention of the audience. The driving heat of her body radiated the heat of her soul directly into me, inflaming me with desire.
The tracing of her hips with my fingertips evolved soon into wild kneading of the flesh of her wonderful ass. At this she rose again and planted her knees on either side of my face, inviting my eager tongue to seek and dance with her clit. I complied gratefully, my hands returning to her breasts as I flicked the sensitive nubbin. Her hips danced in little thrusts forward and back, growing bigger and bigger as she yielded control to her passions, sometimes making it difficult to stay on target, not that I had any objection to the task of locating it again. She supported herself with her hands on my hips, and found enough balance to free one of them to address the cries of my tumescent cock.
Her fingers on my penis and my tongue on her clit, we bucked and bounced, the fever rising as our surrounding reality faded from significance. The sound of her broken gasps as she drew in breath at each of her accelerating pelvic thrusts fired my bemused excitement further as my own breath matched hers.
Not interrupting my lingual attentions, I reached within her, seeking the sensitive G-spot inside, linking both touches in a way that the experience of our years together has taught me is particularly stimulating to her. In response her body stiffened for a moment and then resumed the wild gyration, even more intensely.
Then, suddenly, she lay back on the bed and seemed to lift me bodily to between her parted legs. Tonight this was her show, and I was pleased to follow her direction. It's long been that way with us: one time I'm leading the action, another time, she does. Both ways are immensely satisfying, and we seem to automatically know how it's going to play out, from one instance to another.
In a moment my eager cockhead had found the moist welcome of her vagina and I felt her legs behind mine, drawing me aggressively into her. She was moist and she was hot. I felt consumed by her lust, and reveled in it. Panting like an Olympic sprinter, she matched each powerful thrust of my body with her own, asking no time or persistence of me. This time she demanded it all, immediately, without regard to a more usual effort at restraint.
Her breathing and movements soon telegraphed a message I knew well. She was approaching orgasm. I matched her thrusts and held myself in check, drawing the electricity from her and giving it right back. I saw her face grow taut and red and I heard her breathing change to a tense moan as she coaxed the incendiary glow from within herself. A few breaks and thrusts later the lightning flashed; the thunder rolled, and I felt the warm flow of her moistness flow around the base of my turgid cock matching the relaxation of her body as it resumed the feverish dance of love.
Three more times did this repeat, and then it was the time that I must express the complement to her own. Struggling for breath I announced my imminent climax. The news triggered her next and final climb to orgasm. With automatic grace we matched our movements and drove each others' passions until I felt the thunderous spasm within me, driving my seed into her, at the very moment her climax seemed to desperately try to pull it into herself. This fervid explosion seemed to last and last, uncommonly so, only very slowly melting into loving peace, as our bodies surrendered. I remained in her, with her, refusing to relinquish the physical union we knew, seeking its quiet conclusion in embraces, nuzzling of our faces against each others' necks one moment, tenderly kissing at another, one expression flowing naturally and unhurried into another. Only much later did I lift myself from her sweat-coated body and collapse onto the bed, onto my back, still not completely recovering my breath.
"Just what the hell got into
you
tonight?" I asked, gently tweaking her dainty nose with my fingers.
"I have no idea," she replied, still breathless.
"Well, please find out as soon as you can. If we find it, maybe we can bottle it and put Pfizer to shame!"
"Believe me, if I can, I will," she murmured, and turned to nuzzle her face into my shoulder, her body nestling against mine. In moments she was silent; in but a few more, she slept, soon followed by her grateful husband.
If there had been any residue of worry over her satisfaction with me, that dismissed it. There was no longer any question: her trysts with Janine were entirely separate, a thing apart from our marital love.
Not long afterward I cautiously approached Sammy, Janine's husband and my very close friend, with the news. I was mildly surprised when he seemed to be almost expecting it.
"I've had my suspicions that Jannie was a switch-hitter for quite a while, Freddy, though I didn't think she was actually doing anything about it," he told me. "I made my mind up a long time ago that if I was right about that, it wasn't a problem for me. She's one fine wife in and out of bed, and as long as it's just on the side and nobody else has a problem with it, I don't either."
"That's pretty much the way I see it now," I said. "I'm just glad that it's the same all around. It would be a lot harder to take if I were taking it in stride but you weren't, or worse, if you in the dark about it."
I then proceeded to play the comforting banter Jason had recorded and played for me. Sammy and I had not a trace of worry left about the situation.
With that reassuring conclusion, though, came the same troubling consideration that was to be so painful for Linda at a later time. That consideration was, of course, Jason's role in all of this, and what his young mind was making of it.
Like many other boys, when puberty struck me I had a brief period of sexual attraction to my own mother. That comes from the sudden realization of that mysterious, newly-discovered quality about the female of the species, which we then see evident in our mothers as much as in the rest of womankind. Normally that passes quickly as our sexuality acquires focus and direction. If my son had somehow failed to make that transition I'd certainly have noticed long ago, now that he was in his twenty-first year.
The contrary opinion came from the question: why four months? That was far and away longer than necessary to simply gather evidence of these proceedings between my wife and her friend. Jason had shown me his optical apparatus and I was quite impressed, but also clearly aware that he was using it for more than investigative photography, and the lengthy study of their enterprise left no doubt that he was getting some serious jollies from it. You've read of Linda's agony as she processed this same information. I was less tormented, but no less confused and concerned, than she would later become.
My decision was to raise no issue with Jason, but to let him continue for the time being while I sought the best course of action. A little longer would do no harm, and I could take time to study and think over the situation. I kept an eye on Jason, looking for any indication of disturbing trends in his perception of his mother. The results were somewhat equivocal.
On the one side, his relationship with his girlfriend, Lori, and his apparent regard for women in general, as best I could observe them, seemed healthy enough. I did not see any overt obsession with his mother, no sense of her sexuality acquiring an ascendancy in his own. I looked for things like trying to spy on his mother when she might be bathing or otherwise undressed, interest in intimate items belonging to her, or any other kind of unhealthy behavior for a young man of twenty, and saw none.
On the other, though, was a milder but not invisible tinge of more than mere passive recognition of her womanhood. The signs were subtle and fleeting, sometimes leaving me to question if they had been there at all, or if they were merely imaginary, the fulfillment of fearful expectation. The end result was enough uncertainty to keep me watching but not enough to lead me to do any more than that.
So passed the weeks and months. Jason continued to observe and photograph and provide Sammy and me with the digital files. I continued to observe Jason while cautiously and provisionally accepting the fact that he had the pictures as well, and in addition, was watching Janine and his mother in real time and becoming aroused by the sight. From what I could see, it seemed harmless enough, at least, so I convinced myself. If it got out of hand, I'd deal with it then.
(to be continued)
