The Secret within Me Ch. 03

"What happened?" I asked.

"He obviously noticed my reaction, and was a little taken aback; he immediately stopped with the questions. He apologised for being insensitive, and said that it was obvious from my reaction that I was deeply in love with you. He said that he was very grateful that I had agreed to meet with him, and that I had accepted a date, my first ever extra-marital date, with him, and he toasted again. This time he toasted 'Yvonne and her lucky and generous husband'. The moment of awkwardness passed and we continued as before."

"Soon we had finished the bubbly, and he suggested that we head off to the restaurant. He had booked in the hotel restaurant, so it was a short walk to where our table was waiting. Once again, we were in a booth, and he helped me slide into the seat before taking his own position next to me. We looked over the menus in relative silence, although I did tell him that I was a little too nervous to do my dinner much justice."

"I ordered something light, and so did he. He also ordered a very expensive bottle of red wine, and the waiters fussed around us as we ate, drank and chatted. I learnt a little more about him, and he was very careful with the questions that he asked me. I guess he was being wary of upsetting me again."

"Anyway, before I knew it we had finished eating and were well into the bottle of Pauillac, which was delicious, and it was nearly 9:30. When I saw him topping up my glass again, I asked him if he was trying to get me tiddly, to take advantage of me. That's when things turned a bit different again!"

Yvonne paused at this point and quickly stood up to strip off her skirt and top, leaving her in just her little panties and stockings. It gave me a chance to reflect on the fact that so far, there had been nothing particularly erotic about the story she was telling me, and yet I was achingly hard. I was dressed in only my boxers and a tee shirt. When she climbed back into bed with me, I asked her what she meant by "different".

"Well, he said that he hoped that he didn't need to 'get me tiddly' in order for us to get closer. It was obvious that he expected the date to progress so to speak. I can't remember exactly what I said, but it was something about it being difficult to get very much closer in such a public place. That is when he invited me to his room 'for coffee'."

Jealousy surged ahead again briefly, fleetingly, but part of my brain was saying 'here we go. Now it gets interesting!', and lust reasserted itself. I couldn't resist reaching down and adjusting myself, feeling my prominent stiffness, before reaching over to cup her breast and feel her skin.

"And did you go 'for coffee'?" I tentatively asked.

"Not immediately. I sipped at my wine and hesitated, long enough for him to think there was a danger that I wouldn't. But he quickly spoke to me to fill the gap I had left. 'I hope you will come to my room Yvonne' he said, 'you are a very exciting, very beautiful woman, and I have wanted you since the first moment I saw you'." Yvonne's skin was smooth and dry and beautiful to touch and caress.

"I realised that we were approaching the denouement of our date, and that I would need to make some important decisions in the next few minutes."

I watched my hand slide smoothly across her waist as she continued. I was unable to look her in the eye as she reached what I expected to be the pinnacle of her story. As my hand slid over curve of her hip, across the lacy waistband of her panties on her flank, down the outside of her thigh, and slid from the intoxicating smoothness of her skin onto the comparative coarseness of her fine denier stockings, I held my breath as she continued.

"I was still pondering whether or not to go with him when he shocked me again."

My head snapped up in surprise and my eyes quizzed her.

"He said 'Yvonne is in two minds. She loves her husband and is wondering whether it is right for her to betray him'. He was talking about me in the third person, and at first I was confused. Then he continued. 'I would like you to leave Yvonne here. You need never compromise her love for her husband if she doesn't come with me to my room. Leave Yvonne here and be someone else when you come with me'".

Now it was my turn to become confused as she described this slightly schizophrenic conversation to me. She continued.

"I started to understand what David was saying. What he was proposing was a way for me to resolve my dilemma. It was beginning to make sense to me. 'Yvonne loves her husband. I don't want to threaten that in any way. Leave Yvonne here. Become Yvette for me. Become a new person. Be my Yvette instead of your husband's Yvonne'."

"As the logic of his proposal worked its way into my consciousness, and under his intensely earnest and questioning gaze, I found myself nodding at him, at first slowly, and then with increasing conviction as I started to believe that I could be Yvette."

Yvonne, my Yvonne, leant towards me on our marital bed and kissed me again, with passion. I kissed her back whilst thinking about what she had said. She broke away and went on.

"Eventually, he rose and walked around the table, and took my hand and helped me to my feet. It was easy for Yvette to walk with him to the elevator, and up to his room. I genuinely felt like I was leaving Yvonne behind. I, Yvonne, never went to David's room, but Yvette did."

We kissed again as I took all of this in. David had either been very clever and manipulative, or had confused my wife into compliance with his now admittedly decadent wishes. In either case, it was an inspired move. My wife, whether in the guise of herself as Yvonne, or as her alter-ego Yvette, was now accompanying him to his hotel room. My mind admired his cleverness at the same time as being excited by the possibilities now open to him.

And my cock was unmindful of the route taken, being selfishly delighted with the destination that this intriguing story was heading for. Now Yvonne reached down and wrapped her deliciously cool fingers around my distended organ after casually peeling down my shorts to gain access.

"I see that you are enjoying this so far" she whispered to me. "I assume that you would like me to continue with a description of events in his room?"

I could only nod my agreement. I wanted her to get on with it, to get to the nitty-gritty. But I also wanted her to drag it out, to keep me in suspense, because I was loving the tension.

"Well, when we got to his room he opened the door and invited me in, calling me Yvette. He never called me Yvonne again until just before we left for him to drive me home."

For the first time I realised that David had bought Yvonne home to me; he had dropped her off right outside our house. When I had heard her enter, and as I watched her lock the door behind her, he had probably been just outside watching her safely inside the door. The thought of him being so close, even without me knowing at the time, caused another surge of excitement to flow through me, and brought the adventure to a new level of intimacy for me.

As Yvonne continued to caress me, as she had done each of the last two nights since this crazy adventure had begun, she continued to describe the events as she remembered them.

"We didn't actually have coffee" she admitted, "as soon as the door closed behind us, he kissed me and I returned his kiss. It felt strange, kissing another man passionately like that. Strange and new, but exciting."

My mind was in turmoil again; jealous, wounded, betrayed, anxious, excited, and lustful. But there was no doubt about how my body was reacting. It moved towards her as if controlled by another being. I kissed her as he had kissed her, searching again for that taste, that lingering sense of him. This time, driven by the now erotic tale she was telling, I fancied that I could detect that which I sought as I almost breathed her in as we embraced.

By the time we separated, our remaining clothes had been stripped from us; I was entirely naked and Yvonne wore only her stockings. She took the lead and climbed onto me and I sighed as I felt my engorged cockhead slide into her welcoming warmth. She closed her eyes and remained silent as she started to slide first slowly down onto me, then up and down on my length, a look of intense concentration on her face. I imagined that she was remembering the events that followed that first kiss, and I silently pleaded with her to continue with her story and to share those thoughts with me.

As she continued to work herself selfishly towards a climax, I concentrated on what I was seeing, and on the sensations that I was feeling. She still looked lovely as she focussed on her pleasure; there is a beautiful glow on the face of a woman as she approaches her release. Bringing my heightened senses to bear on the delightful friction that surrounded my cock, I imagined that she felt more moist than normal, that she felt stretched to me, that she felt different somehow. However, it also crossed my mind that these differences could be purely imaginary, and down to my intense state of excitement and frustration, rather than because they were founded in reality. I still had no real idea as to whether or not he had fucked her.

She remained tight-lipped as she continued to ride me, but far from silent. She made guttural noises and cries, and scratched and gripped at my chest as she alternated between faster and slower rhythms to suit her passion. I was loathe to disturb her concentration or impede her progress towards a climax by asking or demanding the knowledge that I sought. I wanted to hear more about what had happened, but for now my wife was beyond my reach, driven by her own needs.

Eventually, she tensed, and then paused in her rhythmic motion, and I felt her pelvic muscles grip my urgent member as she squeezed out a powerful orgasm that built slowly at first, but then that washed over her in a crescendo of release, starting at her sex, but rolling out from her centre over her whole body. I could almost see the ripple of the shockwave of her climax as it spread over her, and her rigid form shook and relaxed, before she collapsed on top of me, physically and emotionally drained, her vagina still pulsing with aftershock, her cheek on my chest where I thought I could feel the drop of a tear from her release.

We lay like that for several minutes whilst her breathing returned to normal. As she calmed, she pecked and kissed at my chest, muttering sweet nothings, squashing herself against me as if frightened that I would leave her. My arms wrapped around her to reassure her, and I stroked her back and ran my fingers through her hair.

I think she wept a little. She certainly trembled. Whether she wept because of emotional release, or out of love, or gratitude, or guilt, or whether it was remorse at her own selfish self-gratification, I could not tell. I do know that I felt no sense of disappointment in her, no sense of outrage or hurt at her selfishness. I felt only tenderness and love for her.

I think she slept a little. Gradually, her trembling eased and her body quieted. We lay there for some time. I was still embedded in her, but less urgently so. We were as close, as intimate as it is possible for two people to be. As we lay there, her unconscious and languidly draped over me, me erect and alert, I knew that she needed time. I was afraid to say anything, or to do anything that would break this magical moment we had shared. I lay and thought. My mind alert and awake. Aware of every sensation that I was feeling.

I replayed what I knew so far in my head. I imagined my beautiful wife walking with David to his hotel room, riding the elevator together. I pictured her dressed as I had seen her earlier. I wondered if he had held her hand as they walked down the corridor together, or if he had put his arm around her in the elevator. Did he step back to let her leave the elevator first? And did he enjoy the view of her gorgeous rounded ass as she stepped in front of him to his room? Did he hear the swish of her stocking legs beneath her tight skirt, and the clip of her heels as she walked? When he kissed her inside the room, did her lips open to receive his tongue? Did her tongue reach out to his, to explore his strange and unfamiliar mouth?

I couldn't think these thoughts without re-awakening my own lust, and I started to move slowly, imperceptibly inside her. My hips began to roll gently, and my cock began to twitch a little, seeking that little soupcon of friction, that smidgeon of contact that my frustration demanded. In a little while, my movements became bolder, my thoughts more lascivious. I was soon imagining them falling on the bed in his room, undressing each other, getting 'closer', exploring each other, being increasingly intimate, fucking each other. And as my thoughts got increasingly depraved, my motions became increasingly bold, and I found myself humping into Yvonne, fucking her from beneath, uncaring now about disturbing our intimate tenderness. I was being as selfish as she had been. I needed to cum.

I think Yvonne awoke to me fucking her urgently. As consciousness returned to her, and she became aware of my urgency, she started to respond; physically and verbally.

She lifted her head and kissed me again, and then started to speak again.

"Oh baby! That's it. Fuck me. Fuck me like the whore I have been. Fuck me like he did."

It was the first indication that I had had that he had, indeed, fucked my wife. It spurred me on, and she felt my renewed excitement. She responded by rolling over, pulling me with her so that I was now on top of her.

"That's right baby. He fucked me hard. Like this. I wanted his big cock in me. I wanted him to have all of me. All of Yvette."

I was now stroking into her vigorously, my own eyes closed with concentration, a reprise of her own performance earlier on. What she had been imagining I cannot say, but I know the pictures that were in my own head. It was my wife, my Yvonne (I couldn't think of her as Yvette), with the stranger David between her legs as I was now, pumping his cock into her as I was doing. Fucking my wife.

"Oh yes baby. He was big and he was good. He fucked me good. He stretched me wide and he made me scream."

As if to emphasise her words, Yvonne started to hump back against me, lifting her hips to meet my increasingly urgent thrusts into her body.

"I came several times that first time he fucked me. I wanted it to keep happening. I wanted to be his. To do whatever he wanted me to do."

My own climax was fast approaching. The first time he fucked her? There were more? It was as if she was reading my mind.

"Could you taste him on me baby, when you kissed me? Could you taste his cocky taste on my lips? He didn't just fuck me, he fucked my mouth first. I wanted him to."

I couldn't hold back any longer, and I thrust into her one last time. Deeper. Longer. Harder. I actually felt the surge of my ejaculation as it raced up the length of my cock and burst into her. That first spurt. And the second. And then more.

She allowed me to pull out of her, almost all the way, and then I thrust in again, or she pulled me back into her, or both of those things, and I released more of my seed into her, whilst a darkness filled my mind, my brain shut down from its vivid imaginings, and my body started to relax with its long-awaited release.

I was breathing heavy, panting with exertion. She wrapped her arms around me, and it was her turn to comfort me. I didn't weep, but I shook. A tiredness swept over me, and as my senses shut down, following the lead given by my now blank mind, I drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the loving arms of my beautiful, adulterous wife.

...to be continued.

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