Easy Sex

Easy Sex

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Summary

A wife confronts her husband suspected of having sex with her stepmom. The intrigue unfolds and perhaps a 3-some will eventuate.

Summary

A wife confronts her husband suspected of having sex with her stepmom. The intrigue unfolds and perhaps a 3-some will eventuate.

Content

Submitted: May 16, 2017

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Content

Submitted: May 16, 2017

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I was on the sofa watching sport on TV with the sound off (the commentator was half-a-minute behind play) when my wife Catherine asked, “Have you had sex with my mother?”

Those words entered my ears in a somewhat confusing mix. However, the ominous edge to her tone triggered an alarm deep in my skull and spun me into defensive mode to give me precious moments in which to try to reform the question into intended order.

“There’s no need to think, just give it to me straight.”

I replied cheerfully, “If you already know the answer, why ask?”

I was ignoring the game on TV, knowing I had to listen carefully to the reply because it might give me greater clarification about what was troubling her.

“Is that stalling confirming you’ve had sexual relations with my mother on at least one occasion?”

Bingo and I almost smiled.

My slickness as an attorney allowed me to instantly deliver an answer designed to further divert her momentarily to whether to confess.

“Wait up for a moment; have you given careful consideration to the cause and effect of anyone answering such a leading question?”

It partially worked.

“Don’t give me that bullshit that you use to baffle your clients, allowing you to expensively increase the time you’ll bill them for by slowly and carefully explaining your bafflements in terms they can comprehend.”

Christ, what had she been reading? She was supposed to cook the meals, clean the apartment, watch daytime TV and have coffee or lunch with her girlfriends rather than be boning up on legal admin procedures that are meant to be private.

Well, perhaps this was the moment to toss a verbal grenade.

“Has your mother-in-law been over-indulging in alcohol or illicit drugs?”

“What on earth are you suggesting? You know my mother doesn’t smoke or drink alcohol excessively and the only drugs she’s ever taken are medicines prescribed by her doctor. If you must know, I asked her why she’d spent four hours at her beauty parlour instead of the usual half-hour to get her hair tidied up and she said it was to please you.”

“Me?” I said, attempting to sound innocent and surprised. Well I was surprised to hear that comment.

“Yes.”

Christ, her mother-in-law is sharp as a tack and kept my mouth shut about that.

As if reading my mind, Catherine asked, “Are you thinking what I’d thought at that moment?”

“No.”

Catherine said, through almost clenched teeth, “On several occasions you’ve said my mother is as sharp as a tack, and please stop emphasizing that she’s my stepmother as to me it’s unnecessary and you know that.”

I nodded and hoped that was the end of her probe, but no, she said, “Tell me why my mother prettied herself up to please you.”

I said I had no idea and I was pleased that the question was loose enough to be answered obstructively.

My wife then asked, “Then I’ll re-phrase:  Why do YOU think my mother has suddenly increased HER desire to make herself more attractive to you?”

The sky almost fell in because at that point I knew and Catherine knew she had me be the balls.

I stood and asked could I make coffee before I told her all.

She nodded, smiling thinly.

Making coffee gave me time to plan my narrative in an attempt to minimize my encounter with Christine, my wife’s stepmom who is only eight years older than her stepdaughter.

When Catherine had her coffee mug to her lips, eyes fixed on me, I avoided her stare and began my monologue, telling nothing but the truth although leaving out some detail that would have antagonised her un duly.

“Last Sunday afternoon when you were away with your friends visiting Megan’s mother in hospital, Christine called, bringing us flowers from her garden.  She said your father had gone to his golf club to have a couple of beers with his long-time friend, Bill Butler.”

“Sunlight was streaming on to the sofa and I was relaxed and was thinking that you and I often engage in petting on Sunday afternoon and more often than not it would end up with us having full-on sex. Thinking about you urging me to suck your nipples, and you bunching them together, understandable those thoughts gave me an erection. Lazily I unzipped and hauled out my boner thinking I would play with it, imaging you were the playful person at work. It felt good, so good that I pulled my jeans off to be more comfortable.”

“I didn’t hear the car arrive. Christine obviously had spotted the lounge sliding doors were fully open and entered that way and caught me, right before her eyes, on my back, tugging at my erection with both hands.”

Catherine made a gurgling sound.

I glanced at her and caught the triumphant look as she said, “There, I knew something had occurred between you two. She jumped at you, your tore off her clothes and did not you both go at it like animals?”

Ignoring her clueless outburst, I continued my narrative.

“Christine stopped, eyes bulging with a hand over her mouth momentarily. Then she said, “Catherine told me you had a big one but I was left with no idea that it was that big; it’s huge. Where is she?”

“At the hospital visiting with a friend Megan Wright and the inexplicable comment from your mother was ‘Oh that Megan has a wonderful ass’.”

“Christine, looking a bit flushed with her gaze fixed on my dick, said ooh, could she  touch it?”

“As you can guess, I was embarrassed at being caught masturbating and I croaked yes instead of callously saying because she’s your mother, to fuck off.”

“Christine rushed over and grabbed it, yelled ‘Omigod’ and then tugged it twice and then plunged down and jammed it between her lips and…”

“Stop… stop there,” Catherine yelled. “I know what comes next… before you knew it you two were fucking.”

“Yes.”

Catherine yelled, “You betrayed me” and ran from the room emitting what appeared to be theatrical sobs, or was that imagined?

I sighed, knowing I was in deep crap. But I was hurt that my wife had, err, alleged I’d betrayed her and yet had ignored her stepmom’s apparent betrayal.

After watching more sport on TV, I went to the kitchen, poured a beer, and began preparing dinner, concentrating on doing my best to impress. After placing everything to the table, I called Catherine to dinner.

She appeared, looking her usual self, and said non-vindictively, “Hi you foul over-sexed man.”

I asked hopefully was I off the hook and to my surprise my wife said she supposed so and told me to kiss her and that a bit of tongue would be nice.

We kissed, with some tonguing and when I squeezed a tit, she pushed hard into me.

That reaction made me think and my mind produced an enterprising thought.

Later, when I rose to clear away the mains, I stood behind Catherine and juggled her tits, knowing that thought that action was one of the great things she liked about me.

Oh yes, and she responded magnificently: “I suppose my boy wants to poke me hard tonight?”

I said yeah brightly, squeezing her boobs hard and she placed her hands over mine. She likes her tits being squeeze when she’s thinking about sex.

I launched a high-risk offensive, hoping to score big-time.

Despite having no supporting evidence, I asked how many times had she and Christine combined to have sex?

My sexy young wife froze and then slowly her shoulders slumped.

She coloured and said, “Possibly eight, perhaps 10 times, and such occasions were mostly before I met you. My goodness Noel, you were brilliant to worm that out of me and you have turned the tables because I now feel I’m the one on the back foot.”

I grinned and victoriously slammed a hand down the gap in the front of her dress and got the fingers under her bra to grip warm flesh that appeared to be stiffening in my almost pulsating hand. She groaned and stood and I pushed her over the uncluttered far end of the table.

All was forgotten, including the meal for a while as we had make-up sex that was full-on – noisy and messy.

It was our way of apologizing to one another for straying. In my book that makes us almost a perfect couple.

However, I’m left with a problem. While I was preparing dinner, my phone buzzed. Christine had texted, inviting to meet her tomorrow for lunch at the city’s seedy Hotel Intrigue with a request to reply with a time that suited me and she’d book a private room.

Christ, what was a guy to do? I’d just managed to clambered out of the crap intact. I stood quietly, allowing my brilliant legal mind generate the best reply.

It came to me, brilliantly and smiling, I tapped out my reply:

II suggest 1 pm plus invite my wife. I know about you two.

The reply came within a minute:

Great. Allow 3 hrs. This promises to be a great occasion.xxx

I’m really happy about this. I mean, doesn’t everyone throwing social advice around say a guy needs to get along with his mother-in-law? I’m keen to do the right thing for my wife’s stepmother. Besides, why think three’s a crowd; it will only be lunch.

Err, he truth is, I hope we three will really socialise at Hotel Intrigue because it’s an opportunity for us to get back at Catherine’s father who did his best to prevent her from marrying me. The jerk had the gall to allege he’d been told I was morally undesirable. I wacked him instead of suing him and he proved he’s a poor loser because he didn’t attend our wedding.

 

The End


© Copyright 2017 Grigor McGregor. All rights reserved.

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