Beth's Dirty Bath

"I'm full..." my wife gasped, blinking into my face. "I mean, I've got spunk in me."

"I know," I groaned in response, then ducked in to kiss her mouth, her body accepting my cock.

Beth's hips started to work. She put her hands on my shoulders and looked down to where we were joined.

"You forgive me?" she groaned.

I heard the obscene squelch of another man's cum farting around my girth. "I don't know," I replied, staring down at the buttery gloop smeared over my cock. "I don't know what to think yet."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Beth groaned. "I've been so wicked to you. I've been unfaithful so many times..."

"Not now," I told her, hooking the backs of her knees with my arms. "Some other time, later on. For now, shut up and fuck."

It took a long time, but, finally, the rutting was over. I'd fucked my wife and had the satisfaction of hearing her yelp out her pleasure, an orgasm taking her away to where none of it mattered. Beth squealed and gasped and begged me to dump all I had into her body, but I kept on going at her, determined to make her love me all over again.

Then, when we were done, after I'd moaned in delight and sobbed I was there, when I'd squirted my lust into my wife, that's the time we lay there in a tangle of limbs, my cock slipping free of the ooze leaking out of her pussy.

Our breathing settled into more usual rhythms, hearts slowing so we could once again talk.

"Adrian," Beth murmured, "where does this leave us?"

*

It left us damaged, altered forever. Beth tried to talk it all through, but I refused to be drawn into what I saw as what would be a painful analysis. She swore to me she'd never do it again, promised me she'd changed and had it out of her system now she'd been caught.

And, like a fool, I believed her. My wife was so sure when she made her tearful vow on the eve of one of my trips.

I left the house with little concern, not knowing she'd be out dogging around almost as soon as I'd left.

I knew something had happened when I returned, with Beth suggesting we might try visiting a swingers' club.

I asked her, "Why would we, Beth? I thought you were over all that."

It was the look on her face which prompted me to ask, "What have you done? What have you been up to? Have you been with anyone else? Shit, have you done it again?"

And she didn't need to reply, I could tell straight away, the anger and jealousy rising inside me.

"Tell me about it," I told her, blood rushing in to stiffen my cock.

"Oh God, I'm so fucking sorry," Beth sobbed.

We were in the kitchen at the time. Beth had been pouring the wine when she'd mistimed her suggestion. I moved around the big hob-island and took hold of my wife, boosting her onto its surface after hauling her skirt to her hips.

"Adrian, what!" she asked in a yelp.

I tore the underwear off her, then growled, "Have you fucked anyone today?"

"Jesus, no! What are you doing?"

"So you haven't got anyone's cum inside you?" I asked.

"No, I told you," gasped Beth. "But what are you...?

"...Oh Jesus, oh fuck," my wife groaned when I held her thighs wide and slurped at her clit.

I lapped at her vulva for twenty seconds or more, then looked up into her face. "Tell me about what you did. Tell me about who you fucked."

Beth sucked my tongue when I moved up to kiss her. And, after that, as I lapped at her cunt, she babbled on about all the filthy things she'd done with some anonymous hunk she'd met while strutting around in a strange town in a mini skirt and high heels.

*

The weeks and months which followed were strange times for me. Some days were euphoric, where nothing mattered and I found our situation exciting. Then, at other times I hated my wife and myself for what we'd turned into. During the darker peiods I wondered where it had all gone so wrong, struggled to comprehend why Beth did what she did – what compulsion led her to allow herself to be used by those men, and why I felt like I did when I knew what she was up to.

We fought bitter fights, arguing and casting blame, my wife suggesting some kind of counselling or therapy group – which my pride wouldn't let me agree to.

And, as it went on, it turned out the only time I could maintain an erection with Beth was when she'd recount some tale of filth and depravity, a true story from her collection which left me seething with rage and frustration and a hefty dose of desire to reclaim her as mine.

I'd leave for some business, Beth left on her own to roam as she pleased, jealousy raging and stabbing until I returned to hear what she'd been up to.

Which is where we are the afternoon I open the patio doors.

He's wearing ear buds, the music and sound of the mower masking my approach. As I walk up to him, I see how fresh-faced he is.

Although I know he's coming up for nineteen, I still pause and think, Jesus, how old is he?

He must see me from the corner of his eye, his head turning as I stand there watching him work. His name's Gordon, a local boy on vacation from university, doing odd jobs for spare cash. He's dark-haired and slim, no spare flesh on him at all as he works in shorts and a tee-shirt.

Gordy lifts a hand to acknowledge my presence, then flips the lever to shut off the growl of the mower's engine.

"Mister Davis," he says with a polite nod, the earbuds dangling around his neck. "Is there something the matter?"

I swallow against the upsurge of jealousy, looking at the boy's furrowed brow, his brown eyes regarding me, expression somewhat concerned, like he's afraid he's done something wrong.

"Uh, no, Gordy. Nothing at all." I throw a glance back to the house and see Beth's outline moving around in the kitchen. It hits me in the moment – this kid and my wife...

"My wife," I say with a catch in my throat. "Well, Beth wondered if you might like, uhm..."

To have her suck your cock. She wondered if you'd like to see her tits and lick her pussy. Beth – my wife – wondered if you'd like to fuck her.

"...Well, she wondered if you might like a cold drink." Which is something I make up on the fly.

Gordy's bottom lip juts out as he considers this. Then he nods and says, "That would be appreciated, Mister Davis."

The sinking feeling drags at my stomach when I jerk my head towards the patio doors. "You, uhm, might like to come indoors?"

He looks and me and then shrugs. "All right," he says. "But shall I just finish off first? I've only got a bit more to do."

I hear myself say, "That's okay. Leave it for now. Perhaps you can finish it later?"

After my lovely wife has seduced you. Oh lord, Gordy, you don't know what's in store for you...

The boy shrugs again, nodding before he follows me into the house.

***

I can see he's disturbed by what Beth's wearing. His cheeks blush red when he clock's the slinky robe and her underwear. Gordy gapes for an instant before his manners kick in. Then he glances at me, most decidedly uncertain about what to say or do.

"Gordy," Beth purrs, canting her head to one side while giving him a look hot enough to melt iron. "Sweetie," she coos, laying it on thick, the belt on the robe looser than it should be.

The poor boy's Adam's apple bounces as he blinks and stammers hello.

"I asked him in for a cold drink," I put in, breaking the awkward silence.

Beth nods and pouts, her eyes on the boy as she says, "Good idea ... What would you like, Gordy? Can I get you a beer?"

I don't think Gordy cares much at all. The wheels are spinning inside his head as he mumbles acceptance, attention everywhere except upon my wife as he stumbles into a ladder-backed chair.

Gordy's eyes then follow Beth when she turns away to move to the fridge. I wonder what's on his mind as I watch him watching her. Is he thinking about her big tits, soft tummy and wide hips? Is he imagining her lips – to which Beth has applied a coat of coral-pink gloss – pursed around his dick?

That's what I think about as Beth pulls a can from the fridge. I'm imagining her moaning while sucking Gordy's cock, wondering if he'll be so aroused he'll squirt jizm all over her face.

I'm hard when those images come to mind, suddenly excited by the prospect of watching my mature wife seducing the callow youth, her prey blinking and helpless as she hands him the beer.

"You know," Beth adds, her voice all low and husky. It's a tone which should have Gordy's cock straining inside his shorts – that is if Beth's body hasn't already brought his dick to attention. "It's been warm, and you've been working so hard ... Well, I'll bet you're a bit sweaty, eh, Gordy? What about I run you a bath?"

She took my breath away by moving in so fast. Beth wasn't messing around; she was serious about this one.

Poor Gordy hasn't a clue. He gapes up at my wife, who's leaning in, her hand on the back of his chair, her cleavage a foot from his face.

I watch him gape at Beth's tits before he turns his focus on me. The boy catches my eyes and looks away.

"I ... I dunno, Mrs Davis," he mumbles.

If Gordy is reticent, my wife isn't taking no for an answer. She's straight onto it, cajoling and smiling as she steps back a pace, reaching out with one arm.

"Oh, come on, Gordy," purrs Beth, tilting her head and smiling down at her victim. "It's just a bath, you silly boy."

He hasn't any argument in the face of Beth's insistence. Gordy looks shell-shocked as she reaches down to pull him out of the chair by his arm.

"Mrs Davis," he says, the protest weak and feeble. "I ... I really don't think--"

"Nonsense," says Beth. "This way. Follow me, Gordy. Just down the hall and up the stairs – there's a good lad. Bring your beer if you want to," she adds, pausing to allow the boy time to grab at the can from the table.

"Are you sure?" I hear Gordy asking, a tremor in his voice as my wife leads him out of the kitchen.

Beth laughs as I stand near the patio doors, her response indistinct.

I go to the fridge and pull out a can for myself, popping the tab and swigging half the contents before I sit down in the chair recently vacated by Gordy.

Five minutes pass before I drain the last of the beer. After that I rise up to my feet and walk out into the hall. I climb the stairs and move along the landing, the sound of the tub filling with water reaching me as I get closer.

The bathroom is bigger than our en-suite, a free-standing tub side-up against one wall, an anachronism with claw-feet against the contemporary stainless steel fittings and heated towel rail.

When I get to the open door, I see the beer can sat on the closed toilet lid, with Beth on her knees as she tugs at Gordy's shorts, the boy already shirtless as the bathwater bubbles and foams under the heavy flow discharged from the tap.

The impression of Gordy's youth is enhanced when I see the pale rack of his ribs, his torso so slight in contrast to Beth's feminine figure. I see him looking my way, fear in his face when he registers my presence, his throat working as he gulps down on whatever it is he's feeling.

Beth is looking up as she yanks the shorts to his knees. She spots his sightline, glances over at me, and then tells him not to be worried.

"Just ignore him," she says. "Forget he's here. He doesn't matter at all, Gordy. I promise you, sweetie, you have nothing to worry about."

"But, Mrs Davis," the boy gasps, his hands grabbing at his underwear when Beth goes for his briefs.

"Oh, someone's excited," chirrups my wife, gleeful as she eyes the surprisingly long length springing upright and waggling about. "Don't worry," she coos, "you're allowed to be excited."

Beth leaves Gordy alone, standing up so she can test the depth and temperature of the water in the bath. She dips a hand in and stirs it all up, going for the taps, apparently satisfied.

"I told you," she scolds, "forget about him. Pretend he's not here." Beth moves to the boy, a hand cupping his chin. She stares into his face and tells him, in a no-nonsense fashion, "You don't have to worry. Don't look so scared. It's just us, Gordy. We can have a little fun. Wouldn't you like that?"

Gordy seems less than certain when he throws yet another concerned glance towards me.

"Get in the bath," says my wife, her tone brooking no argument. She's stern and very in control when she taps a forefinger under the boy's chin. "Now," Beth says, her words a command.

The boy looks at my wife, obviously uncertain and confused by what's going on.

"Mrs Davis?" he breathes, blinking, his mouth hanging open.

"It's just a bath, Gordy," sighs Beth, eyes rolling. "That's all. We need to get all you clean, don't we sweetheart? It's been hot outside. You're all sweaty. And I know you students don't bathe all that often."

Beth gently eases the boy towards the tub, her hand on his shoulder.

"There," she says on a sigh when he steps into the water. "That's right, good boy, you just sit in that lovely warm bath. Let me find the flannel so I can wash you."

Gordy boggles, eyes wide when Beth kneels and sinks a hand into the suds.

"Where is it?" she says with a smirk twisting her lips.

Her arm swirls around in the water, her hand apparently searching for the washcloth coming into contact with Gordy's erection as she flounders around.

"Whoops," Beth grins, "that wasn't it." Then she lets out a cry of triumph while Gordy blinks down into the water, his expression one of absolute disbelief at the situation he's found himself in. "Now," says my wife, squeezing the excess water out of the flannel. "Let's get you all nice and clean."

*

Beth leans in and starts by washing the boy's shoulder. She dips the cloth in the bath and wipes it over his skin, Gordy craning around to gape up at her face as Beth eases him back against the end of the tub.

"Just relax," says my wife, dipping the washcloth again. "Forget all about my husband," she adds, "he doesn't exist. He isn't going to do anything, Gordy. You don't have to be scared, you don't have to worry."

She kneels and lifts one of his arms, washing his armpit before moving on to his shoulders.

Gordy twists this-way-and-that, his head on a swivel as he follows Beth as she moves around behind him.

"There," murmurs Beth, washing his chest.

Her hand and the flannel move down over Gordy's abdomen, his cock-end protruding just above the line of the water.

"Isn't that nice?"

I move a few steps into the room while Gordy gasps out, "Yes, Mrs Davis."

Beth takes her time, cleaning the boy's torso, her hand moving close to his dick, but never quite managing to touch it. If she's eking out the moment for my benefit, it's working. I'm stiff as a bone watching my wife as she works her full-on seduction.

I watch Gordy's face, his eyes going wide, mouth an incredulous O when Beth lifts the cloth and holds it above his dick, her fingers wringing a heavy rain from the weave down over the big dome.

Then, as his throat and mine work at the same time, my wife wipes the length of the shaft, her fingers closing to envelop the girth of the thing with the flannel.

"You like that?" she murmurs, Gordy's gaze on where she's slowly caressing his length.

"Yes, Mrs Davis," he whines, gulping while continuing to watch Beth working his dick.

My wife shifts her position, easing the strain on her knees as she moves in closer to Gordy, his head almost nestled between her big breasts as she leans in behind him. She carries on dipping and washing, making sure his other armpit is clean before then using her free hand on his dick, her fist moving slowly as she teases the boy.

Beth plays a game: she completely ignores what her free hand is up to, pretending she's doing nothing other than mopping the boy's thighs yet stroking his dick all the while.

It goes on for a half-minute, me mesmerised by what I'm seeing. It's such a thrill to look at his face, so youthful and full of wonder while a mature woman rubs his shaft, Beth reassuring him with soft murmurs as the drips tinkle into the bathwater when she squeezes the flannel out above the dome once again.

In an abrupt move, Beth leans back and tells him to kneel. "Get up," she says, her tone a command. "Let's get into all those nooks and crannies. You'll be fresh as a daisy," Beth coos.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, a hand going down to cover his groin. A pointless exercise with that long jib waggling about.

"Don't be sorry," Beth whispers before she repeats, "You're allowed to be excited. It's fine."

She motions for Gordy to turn around, tutting annoyance when water splashes her robe.

"Oh, Gordy," she breathes, rising up to her feet. "We don't want to get this all wet, do we?"

I catch Gordy staring at Beth, his mouth hanging open as she smirks down at him, the robe slipping over her shoulders.

Desire for my wife swells inside me, my cock seeping pre-cum while she poses for a long moment, showing off the feminine shape of her body. She's ripe and voluptuous, rounded and curvy. There's a little spare flesh at her waist, but she's still got the figure, the size of her breasts and width to her hips allowing Beth to carry a few extra pounds with no problem at all.

Beth lets the boy gawp for a while, then gets back down on her knees, picking the washcloth up off the edge of the tub where she'd draped it. My wife uses the flannel on the boy's back, moving her hand down to get between his legs. She caresses the length from below for a few strokes, then gets the flannel into the crease of his skinny backside.

She giggles and tells Gordy to sit back down, which he does after a second or two of confusion, resting his back against the tub while Beth scoops water over his chest, her palm smoothing his body, her hand creeping towards his tumescence.

"There you are, all nice and clean," murmurs Beth as she takes hold of the shaft once again.

She mumbles some nonsense while slowly working the whole of his length, her thumb teasing the tip.

"You're quite a big lad," Beth tells the boy. "I'm impressed."

She gives the thing several more strokes, slow and teasing before she lets it go and, in the first direct reference to what she intends, my wife looks into Gordy's face, his slack stare going back at her. "We can some fun, can't we, Gordy? Would you like that? Having some fun with me? Does that sound good, sweetie?"

Gordy's response is to swallow heavily, nodding his head while his stare remains fixed on my wife's face.

Beth smiles and arches her eyebrows. "Good," she breathes, using the edge of the tub to lever herself to her feet.

I'm as rapt as the boy when Beth slides the straps of her bra over her shoulders, hands going back to unfasten the clasp. She lets the bra dangle for a moment, then drops it onto the floor, hands going up to sweep blonde hair from her face. After that she hooks her thumbs into the waist of her knickers, going knock-kneed as she gives a little shimmy and slips them down past her thighs. Beth's breasts sway as she leans to shove her underwear all the way to her feet, their heavy roundness a magnet for my eyes until my wife rises upright.

"What's the matter?" she asks Gordy, her mouth curved with amusement. "Never seen a naked woman before?"

The boy nods while gaping at Beth. His tongue slips over his lips as he continues to stare, and even though he maintains he's seen a bare lady in the past, I doubt any he's seen to date is as magnificent a sight as my wife in that moment.

Even though I'm familiar with Beth's body, I've probably becomes dulled to its appeal since those first heady days of our love. But as jaded as I might be, I'm caught up by the allure of blonde hair, coral lip-gloss, and amused green eyes. I've had my hands all over those curves on many occasions, but I'm transfixed by my wife's shape, her large breasts emphasising the cinch of her waist, the effect enhanced by the wide sweep of her pelvis.