Simon

 

"Oh, that's so nice," my wife of eleven years told me, "you really do want to show me how respectful of me you can be..."

Her words registered but, somehow, didn't register. Not so surprising really, given I was seated on the floor with my back against the sofa, her legs to either side of my naked body as she sat fully-clothed above me and breathed the words into my ear as her soft hand manipulated the engorged penis those barely registering words seemed to inspire from me for some reason. We hadn't had sex for more than a month now and, where once I would have demanded it as no more than her wifely duty, I couldn't seem to summon up either the energy or her former wariness of my quick temper that had been enough in the past for her to oblige me.

What with the business that had gone down the toilet and my inability to find a job to replace it at the ripe old-age of forty-seven, energy and anger had become just two more items to add to the list of things I couldn't seem to summon up.

A lack that seemed to have empowered my previously obliging wife, even as it had entirely - and understandably - the opposite effect upon me.

It was getting out of hand, I told myself - even as it was in hand, so to speak - and I would need to nip it in the bud soon and return things to normal, but.......

"Oooooh!"

"Yes, that's my lovely respectful boy," her breath in my ear pushing me closer to a completion I was enjoying but would rather have made inside my wife's pussy.

"You do want to be respectful, don't you?" she asked when I made no reply, caught between the somewhat, demeaning, pleasure she was providing and the more conventional way in which I wanted her to provide it.

"Y-Yes," I responded, too close to voice my concerns.

The manipulation of my needy cock slowed, if not to a standstill then to a pace unlikely to bring about the desired result and, giving in rather than fighting the response I knew she wanted from escaping my lips:

"Y-Yes... I want to be respectful."

"Of course you do," she breathed, returning the pace to her hand, unable to prevent the small note of - well, not so small really - triumph that infused her tone and even her far gone husband couldn't miss; suddenly changing her approach and releasing her grip to use fingernails instead to stroke the length of my shaft.

A change of approach and pace that, far from lowering it, sent my excitement skywards as I gasped with pleasure, telling myself for the umpteenth time that I would deal with the situation and the lack of penetrative sex between us soon.

"All that play-acting with me," she breathed into his ear. "Pretending to be the big masterful man when all the time you wanted to be my nice respectful husband."

I knew I had to call a halt to the line she had placed our sex-life upon - well, mine anyway; she didn't seem the least interested in having sex with me and seemed content to just get me off and talk in my ear.

But this was not the time.

"And respectful husbands obey their wives... Don't they?"

The pattern had emerged over the weeks since she first started getting me off this way and, true to what had become form, kicked in again when I made no reply, the cessation of her fingertips scraping at my foreskin as I hesitated fetching yet another frustrated groan from my lips that could only have highlighted her sense of growing power.

"Your wife asked you a question, Simon," she said, voice a little louder and slightly away from the ear, and indication of distance of a more serious kind should I not...

Concede.

"Don't you want to be completely respectful to your wife?"

"Yes," I breathed, a reed exposed to a force far too strong for it to do anything else but be moved in a direction of another's choosing.

Her manipulation of my manhood resumed:

"Yes," she cooed. "Of course you do. You want to be the best little husband you can be for your wonderful wife with the house and job that keeps you, don't you?"

Sensing she was again ready to curtail my pleasure I cave in yet again, promising myself we would be having a serious discussion about this very soon.

"Y-Yes."

Hand tempo increased.

"Because stay at home husbands with strong wives who go out to work should always obey those wives without complaint, shouldn't they?"

"Yes..."

I was too far gone now to do anything but acquiesce."

"And you want to obey your wife because she takes care of you and keeps you safe."

"Estelle..." I began, even close to extremis making one last attempt to let her know this game had gone on long enough.

And it had.

Convulsing, as her strong legs kept me in place on the floor below her, I came with a force and power that should have told me this was anything but a game.

But that would come later.

When I stopped spouting and my semen could be seen in a trail across the parquet flooring, she rose and, flinging one of those strong pantyhosed legs over my head, still dressed in her clothes for the office, moved towards the stairs.

The question of her own satisfaction - again - not about to be addressed.

Not with me, anyway.

"I'm going to take a nice shower and have an early night," she told me matter-of-factly as I lay sprawled upon the floor where she had left me, stunned by the amount of ejaculate she had coaxed from me.

Not to mention the less than manly way in which I had given it up.

"Make sure not to wake me when you come up," she said over her shoulder, I've a day of heavy meetings ahead of me tomorrow."

As her strong but shapely legs disappeared from sight up the stairs, I assured myself tomorrow's meetings would not be the only "heavy" things on her agenda.

A long overdue conversation needed to be had.

 

Estelle

 

"Any progress, Estelle?" Vonda asked me during a break in my report to her on the quarterly-sales figures - all good. As usual, the two of us took coffee with our meeting and, had it not been for that particular gleam of excitement in the black woman's eyes no sales figures, no matter how impressive, could spark it would simply seemed like just another workplace meeting between boss and trusted employee.

Unlike me, with my northern coloration and pale complexion, Vonda was coal black. She had taken over the Temp-Agency business - this after her father had passed away and left her the business her late white step-mother had left to him in turn - and immediately spotted my potential - both in and out of bed. Not so difficult really, given the attraction between us on first meeting, I must confess, had been electric - despite her somewhat off-the-wall looks.

Understand, though, that this was certainly the first time I had experienced desire of such a kind for another woman.

And a woman, still a couple of years from her thirties, some nine years younger than my thirty-seven.

To say I was amazed at the strength of my feelings for this girl, both emotionally and sexually, would be to understate that which was already an understatement. Thin and gawky, legs shapely but on the undernourished side, she had, just the same large breasts that were so firm a bra was barely required. All this below a face, straightened hair kept page-boy short in the way of mine, that was both angular and, without being mean, made less beautiful by large lips and a heavy overbite that - and no racism is intended here - gave her a somewhat... simian look.

None of the above drawbacks diminishing my attraction to and for the girl when we, to cut to the chase, first hooked up at a business conference we had attended together.

To this day I'm not sure if there truly had been a mix up between office and hotel that saw us sharing a double but I do know that it changed my life.

Vonda woke me with a kiss at midnight as I lay, in bed and naked and, surprisingly, not at all shocked or taken aback that she would do such a thing. All that day the atmosphere between us had been charged and both of us knew it was nothing to do with tedious speeches and business jargon we had been forced to sit through. When she removed the covers from me I was waiting

Without any preamble I can remember, we immediately started making out with each other.

Unlike me she was still partly dressed and as we kissed I started correcting the imbalance by unbuttoned the white cotton shirt that contrasted so exotically with her coal black skin and the facial shortcomings that shouldn't have - but did for some reason - add an extra and, perhaps, perverse dimension to my lust for her.

When her full and firm breasts bounced free my throat clogged with desire and my breathing seemed to stop.

Breathing that did not come any easier when she thrust her hips towards me to reveal the wild and untamed young bush that concealed her pussy before crawling into bed on top of me and grinding herself against me.

Soon, as I lay in breathless wonderment, sexual excitement and arousal I had never to that point experienced - and certainly not with my self-indulgent husband who had yet to even place his head near my cunt let alone use his tongue to pleasure it - she kissed her way down in a southerly direction; stopping only to pay special attention to my own erect nipples and to take a lick of my navel.

Hairless, the way Simon preferred me to be and - if I'm honest - I now preferred to be myself - she allowed her lips to rest gently upon my labia before smothering it with gentle, loving and sensitive, kisses I could never imagine my husband providing if I remained married to him another eleven years and then another eleven more. It was, he had always maintained - no doubt from watching too many films of the Mafioso variety containing American-Italians who also felt the same way - an unmanly act no self-respecting man indulges in.

How he would have reacted had I taken the same stance in respect of the blow-jobs he always pestered me for we will never know.

Or, then again, perhaps we will.

Anyhow, as my black employer lathed my sodden labia, I was in a heaven I knew at once, that was totally beyond the capacity of Simon to envisage.

Let alone deliver.

Suddenly, deciding a more forceful approach was required, Vonda had spread my legs and wrapped her arms around my thighs and - there is no another word better to describe it - thrust her tongue past the folds of my captivated labia and into my pussy itself.

Swirling her tongue around inside before thrusting at me again, we spent a length of time I can only guess before she returned her attentions to my labia and then began lick her way up until her mouth was in a position to suck down on my clit, continuing to lock her lips on my bud as she flicked her tongue over it.

I was in ecstasy.

Sex with Simon had never been like this.

And, I was convinced now, was never ever likely to be.

Before long my legs started to shake and I screamed out in the throes of the most powerful orgasm I had ever experienced.

And all at the tongue and lips of my less than beautiful black female boss.

We had sex until... well, daylight, I suppose, and I remember there were no boring speeches or meetings listened to or attended on that particular day. In fact, we spent the whole of it in bed, both our pussies throbbing from the orgasms we each supplied the other. Orgasms I enjoyed giving as much as she appeared to delight in receiving.

By the time we made it downstairs for dinner that evening we were, and I exaggerate not one jot, in love.

And, not waiting for desserts, we raced up to our room straight after the main meal for a sweet course not to be found on a menu anywhere - no matter how comprehensive.

 

We both had to head back to London the day after and it was while we were showering together that Vonda, for the first time, showed some insecurity that served to remind me of the gap - though not a massive one - in our ages.

"Estelle, I..."

She was soaping my back and, for the first time, sounded just like the young girl she actually was, manner uncertain, for once.

"What is it, Vonda?"

"About... About last night?"

"Hmmm," was all I could respond with, this despite my instant awareness she was looking for some kind of validation.

"It wasn't... You know?..."

I turned around to face her, our soaped up bodies breast-to-breast, my eyes questioning.

"It wasn't just sex, was it?"

"It didn't hurt," I said, straight-faced, quickly following up with a smile of reassurance as I saw her insecurity was the source of no small anxiety to her.

"Then...?" she began, hopefully, I remember thinking, "You...? You have feelings for me?"

My answer, in case you are wondering, had not been supplied with words.

That had been just over a month ago, now I sat in her office not just as her employee but her lover.

"Last night I had him naked on the floor as I sat in my clothes on the sofa," I told her in response to the inquiry in regard of 'progress'.

Her eyes in that, primeval looking, face widened and I knew she was picturing Simon naked as he reclined below me.

"He's still in decent shape for a fortysomething," I told her, knowing it wasn't just women who instigated the flow of her juices and that my husband had taken her fancy when they had met at a company function - even if she certainly had not taken his.

Her interest surprised me but, for reasons I could only guess at but would become apparent later, amused more than bothered; hence my question to her when he had gone off, none too graciously, to fetch us both drinks:

"Should I be worried?" I had asked her when he had left and she told me how handsome she found him.

It had been her reply that had led to the course of action I had embarked upon and was in the process of seeing through.

"No. Only one person has my heart."

Her toothy smile was as evil as it was mischievous as she allowed her compliment - a sincere one, she assured me - to sink in before:

"But I would never come between a wife and the husband who could prove so... useful...

Before I could question her on just how useful my out of work husband could be to me, she saved me the bother:

"...To both her and her lover."