A reminder: this is not a children's book. You kids stay in school. This is a short chapter, and so I've decided to post it all in clear text rather than making you download PDF. Although it is suggestive in is also bloodless, and personally I find sex less offensive than violence in the public view. I'll also include it in the PDF of the next chapter for those that are compiling a printable version. That might be a few days - end of the month already, and I have professional deadlines. Oh, how much I could accomplish if I didn't have to work! Anyway, this chapter is not a spoiler to previous chapters. New readers might find they enjoy the style, and pick up the full story from previous posts. Chapter 16 – Fulfilling FantasiesJessica March still loved her husband; or at least, she didn't not love him. It was an indifferent sort of love, she supposed, a love out of habit more than anything else. They'd been married for eighteen years, as many years as she'd lived unmarried. Thursday had been both her birthday and her anniversary, and on reflection spending that night handcuffed to a hotel bed by a total stranger had not been the wisest way to celebrate. It had certainly seemed like a good idea at the time. When she'd told her husband that she had a business meeting in Seattle that day, that she couldn't get out of it, that there was a dinner planned with the client's CEO, that she'd rather stay overnight and drive home the next morning, he'd been infuriatingly understanding. Said they could go out to dinner on Saturday instead, that would give him a couple of extra days to go shopping, ha ha. Just before she left on Thursday morning he gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek and told her not to worry, he'd order a pizza, stay home and watch TV. Have fun, he said, and she said I will.
When he first started losing interest in sex a couple of years ago, she suspected that he was having an affair. She couldn't imagine why. It certainly couldn't be that he wasn't getting enough at home, she was more than happy to accommodate him whenever he was in the mood, and if he wasn't she'd often go after him. He'd been in the mood less and less lately though, and when she went to get things going he'd started telling her that it was late or that he'd had a hard day. She'd do the things to him that she always had, then say it looked like he was having a hard night, too, and if he was too tired she'd climb on top and show him how good it could feel and before he knew it he'd be rolling her over and pounding her like a jackhammer. For a while his lack of initiative seemed to translate into an increase in stamina. She knew how to keep him hard – she'd had years of practice – and without that primal drive to conquer her he seemed to go on forever. She would peak three or four times before he finally managed to give her his own climax, which never failed to trigger her final screaming satisfaction. She was having the best sex of her life, and he was just happy be finished.
Then one night he hadn't even bothered to finish, rolling over after one of her preparatory orgasms saying hmm, that was nice, thanks honey and going to sleep. After that, she wasn't even able to get him ready every time.
She'd given up on the idea that he was cheating on her, because she always knew where he was. She'd tried surprising him at his office, he'd always seemed genuinely pleased to see her. Except for their sex life suddenly dropping off to a couple of times a month, he treated her the same as he always had – with a casual absentminded affection. She worried there might be something wrong with him physically, but his last check-up showed him to be in fine health. He wouldn't discuss his sex life with the doctor, of course; he wouldn't even admit anything was wrong. His equipment was still working after all, he woke up with morning wood as often as not and when they did do it the hydraulics all seemed to be in order. He told her that he could, he just didn't need to. It really didn't occur to him that she did need to, even though she told him so in so many words.
Without the reassuring possibility that he was cheating on her or the comforting potential that his circulatory system was failing, Jessica faced the frightening prospect that she was losing her appeal. She was getting old now, after all; she was already in her mid thirties. She'd been blessed with a small frame so gravity hadn't totally ravaged her yet, she thought, but when she looked critically at her naked breasts in the bathroom mirror they seemed lower to her overly critical eyes. She cupped her hands under them to hold them back in place, admired the way they looked up there and the way her small nipples stiffened and grew under her gaze and touch, and then she touched them more because although she was afraid she'd make them sag even more with all the rubbing and pulling, it felt so good.
She couldn't believe, even as old as she was, that men wouldn't be attracted to the raw sexuality that she reflected back at herself. She certainly was. She decided to test it by dressing in her tightest jeans and cutest top and taking a walk one night where she was sure to be seen. And she was. She could feel the heat of strangers' hungry eyes on her round little ass, and the dampness that heat brought between her legs. Suddenly she was scared, realizing how vulnerable she was out alone at night, anyone might grab her, drag her into some dark alley, and as she thought of what they might do to her, her underwear went from damp to soaked. Ashamed and frightened and sure passerbys must notice the musky scent she felt steaming from her, she returned quickly to her car, drove home and parked in the driveway to compose herself. Next time she'd have to pick a safer place, and wear a short skirt and something special under it, maybe she would even let Victoria's secret slip briefly to some unsuspecting young stud. Her jeans were visibly wet now, and she couldn't keep from putting one hand between her clenched thighs, the other one over her mouth to muffle any sounds that might bring the neighbors running or calling the cops.
She decided then that her husband must have discovered that he was gay.
When her breathing returned to normal, Jessica sneaked softly into the house. She didn't really have anything to feel guilty about, but somehow she felt it all the same. What would she say when he asked were she'd been? How would she explain the way she must smell, thepool of liquid she could feel still, so warm and slippery as she walked? She could say she'd been thinking about him, and in a way this was true. She could even truthfully tell him that she'd been fantasizing about him; she'd never had sex with anyone else, and so when she relived the sensation of penetration it was always his erect penis that her memory conjured. She wondered briefly if others would feel much different, tried to picture some, then decided that thinking about other men's genitals was not especially helpful at the moment.
As it turned out, she needn't have been concerned. Her husband was sitting in the living room watching television. She peered around the door frame and announced I'm home, he said hi and signaled her with a wave that he was involved in some TV movie and please don't interrupt. She said she was going upstairs to get a shower, and did.
As she soaped her obviously still attractive body, Jessica wondered whether a man could suddenly just become gay. Not that her husband would ever do anything about it, she thought. She couldn't imagine him ever even discussing it seriously, let alone going to meet some man somewhere for sex. Well, she couldn't imagine him discussing it anyway. She found it disturbingly easy to imagine him doing it, and the more she pictured it the more ways she saw them doing it and the sexier his imaginary partner became and suddenly she imagined that they noticed her watching and the stranger looked at her in an inviting way and then her husband yelled are you alright from the bottom of the stairs and she realized that he'd heard her over the shower and the TV. I'm fine, she said, and really she was.
Mrs. Jessica March had gone from a frequent and fairly satisfying if predictable sex life to a wildly varied if not actually fulfilling fantasy life. Whenever she did make love to her husband, she imagined that he was someone else, sometimes that she was someone else. She had never masturbated in his presence before, now she hoped he'd catch her at it and ask her what she was thinking and wondered whether he would be aroused or disturbed when she told him. It was frustrating to think that he was the only man she had ever or would ever have sex with, and the worst part was she didn't even have anyone to share this frustration with. It was terribly lonely.
Until she found the Internet.
She'd used the Internet before, of course. Her job would have been impossible without its research capabilities, she didn't know how anyone had managed back in the dark ages. She'd used MapQuest and Google Earth and who knows what else to find her way around, it was so much more interesting than just following the GPS. But the 'net had been just an impersonal tool until she discovered all the other frustrated, lonely people who used it to connect with each other. The odds of discovering someone in one's own little circle of acquaintances who shared one's secret most intimate desires were so astronomical one might just as well stand in the street with arms outstretched and wait for him to drop out of the sky. Even if he was out there, how did you go about bringing such persoanl subjects up? But on the Internet, hundreds of millions of people with every possible interest, fantasy, fetish or what have you hang out 24/7 waving big banners reading hey, here's what I'm interested in, want to chat? Jessica found that she did.
Jessica had no intention of actually meeting anyone, and said so in her profile. She stayed totally anonymous. Her profile picture was just a pair of her sexiest panties laid out on top of a dark blanket, they could have belonged to anyone. There was no credit card trail. She'd found that she didn't need a paid subscription, lots of guys – and not a few women – were happy to charge the credits to their own account for the pleasure of chatting with petitepussy125. She never chatted with anyone living within a hundred miles, never exchanged email addresses or shared revealing pics (although many of her network friends posted their own for her to admire), never discussed her real life so she never had to lie. She just liked chatting online with another human being, sharing the most erotic fantasies either could think of as though they were actually happening right then between them. They would urge each other on, typing what each would do to each. Jessica would insist that her online friends masturbate while they chatted, tell her when they were close, climax on her keyboard command. Whether they did or not who cared? She always assumed they did, and she generally joined them. She was still lonely, but at least she was not alone.
And then, a few days before her eighteenth wedding anniversary and thirty-sixth birthday, when she was feeling as lonely and neglected and depressed and horny as she could ever remember being at the same time, ur_master6969 had mentioned that he was traveling to Bellingham, Washington on business. He was going to be staying at the Best Western. His wife would not be along. If she could get away, petitepussy125 was welcome to come spend the night.
That is how she had come to spend Thursday night bound naked on a hotel bed with a strange man. She woke on Saturday morning in much the same circumstances with an even stranger one.
