Open Marriage Open House

OPEN MARRIAGE OPEN HOUSE

The Amorous Agent, Vol. 1

by Polly Vann

Copyright 2014 Polly Vann

Published by Polly Vann at Smashwords

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ONE

There’s a truth in the teeth of sex. The soft
creak of the mattress in the darkened room, the familiarity in the
warmth and weight of Charles’s body, the habitual rhythm of his
well-known cock ... Eloria found it peaceful in a way, like comfort
food.

Some nights, these encounters with her
husband of a dozen years filled her belly full and sent her to
sleep bathed in a simple warm glow. On others, though, they spun
fantasies together, cooing into one another’s ears as they made
love. These nights took her someplace else altogether, where,
naked, exposed, and close to the edge, a person she could scarcely
imagine being came to the fore. She bared her teeth and fastened
them to Charles’s shoulder.

“You are so fucking sexy,” Charles breathed,
continuing his delicious rhythm. “You just turn me inside-out.”

“Tell me,” Eloria whispered, lips moving
against Charles’s skin.

“Your curves,” Charles responded, “your
fucking curves. Your full hips and thighs. Your skin, sweet like
honey. your soft hair against my shoulder, your soft cries in my
ear.”

“Mmmm ...”

“Your belly, your thighs, they make such a
luscious cradle for me to slip into ... and your pussy ... god,
your pussy ...”

Him calling out her soaking sex focused her
there, feeling his cock thrusting in and out against the pulsing
silkiness deep between her legs.

“It’s a shame,” he whispered huskily, slowing
his rhythm a touch, “a crying shame, that I’m the only one who gets
to feel this.”

“Oh?” she coaxed. The theme they’d been
exploring together of late in their bed was back. Though she knew
exactly where his sexy talk would go, she couldn’t wait, because it
excited her like nothing else. She was even a bit frightened about
Charles discovering the degree to which these fantasies turned her
on.

“I feel a little guilty about keeping you to
myself,” he continued. “I want to share you ... share you with
other men.”

At the words, Eloria felt her pussy seize,
and a gasp escaped her lips. Charles resumed the delicious rhythm,
fucking against her newly tightened sex.

“You like that thought?” he asked.

“Yes!” she answered, a little more
enthusiastically than she’d intended. But Charles didn’t flinch;
instead, he kept up the strong rhythm with renewed
determination.

“A new cock in your pussy?”

“Yes!”

“Say it ... say,
different cock
...”

“A different cock ...” The words felt sweet
on her lips, and her pussy fluttered against Charles’s growing
dick. “A different cock ...”

“Yeah ... here’s what I’d like you to have,”
said Charles, his thrusts growing more insistent. “
Two
lovers.” The words were new; though he often wove fantasies of her
having a single lover, he hadn’t gone here before. “
Two
new
cocks. One older than you, one younger.”

“Oh ... that’s so sexy,” she responded
instantly. “So sexy ...”

“The older man, he can read women; he knows
exactly how to tease and play, how to treat a woman’s mind, a
woman’s body. He’d make love to you, slowly, expertly ...”

“Oh god,” she yelped, ecstasy washing over
her face as the fantasy worked its magic, redoubling the pleasure
between her legs ... in part, because she had a face in mind— a
face known to Charles — to go with this part of the fantasy.

“Gotta be a little quieter,” Charles
whispered with a grin. “Gabriel’s asleep in the next room. I’ll
whisper in your ear; you whisper in mine.”

Eloria nodded silently and ground her teeth
against Charles shoulder as he continued. “And a young lover, maybe
a college boy; a hard, smooth young man, so hungry for sex. He’d be
desperate for you ... you could make him cum so fast ...”

The words fucked her as deftly as Charles’s
cock. She loved this man dearly, and hadn’t been with another in
their years of marriage ... but when he whispered about sharing her
with delicious new lovers, it was like nothing else. She
wanted
this. Badly.

“Young cocks, you see ... they’re
starved
. They want to cum so badly. A young man, he couldn’t
last against you. He couldn’t last many strokes ...”

“Oh god, that’s so sexy,” she gasped,
straining to keep quiet. “Oh god, so close ...”

“I want you to have them.” Charles’s strokes
became desperate. “I want you to have them both. Two men. Two new
cocks ...”

“New cocks ...” Eloria was lost to the
sensation, lost to the fantasy. In that moment, given the chance,
she would take them, open her soft legs to them, both of them,
without question. During the workday, as a mom, as a wife, as a
real estate agent, these possibilities were miles away. But with
orgasm beginning to flutter and pull deep in her belly, she would
take man after man, cock after cock, without hesitation.

“Two new cocks, on the same day. I want you
to fuck them,
fuck
them both, and then come home and fuck
me.”

That sent her over. As she froze in pleasure
and her pussy began to spasm, Charles whispered:

“Three cocks ... in one day ...”

Her spasming redoubled at his words, and he
answered her pleasure by filling her with jets of warm cum. Even
during his orgasm, he managed to push away and open his eyes to
look at her face, locked in minute-long ecstasy. He loved her,
deeply, and the thought of another man — other
men
— having
her, didn’t, right now, faze him in the least. He would do
anything
to see that look on her face, to make her cum that
hard.

As the pleasure subsided, the lovers fell
together as husband and wife, cuddling contentedly deep in their
sheets.

“You did a lousy job of being quiet,” he
goaded. “But I don’t think Gabriel heard.”

She giggled in response. “You ... you make it
hard!”

He smiled and pulled her tight.

TWO

Jack gave the sincere white-toothed grin with
which always he greeted Eloria’s arrival, standing from the small
cafe table he’d taken at Beehive Coffee. She dropped her bag and
folded herself against his hard runner’s torso, into one of the
little-too-long hugs she craved before and after their
meetings.

“Don’t you look lovely,” came his voice, like
honey in her ear, complementing her simple outfit of a V-neck
blouse and knee-length skirt. The conservative dress, selected to
please the high-end clients she was meeting later in the afternoon,
was a departure from the jeans and slightly revealing top she
typically pulled over her curvy form for her meetings with
Jack.

“Mmmm ...” she replied. “It’s been too
long!”

“What, two weeks?”

She answered with a sparkling eye as she
sat.

“What’re you having?” he asked, his white
hair a shining contrast to his tan skin and black, form-fitting
tee.

“Cappuccino. Wet.”

“I knew that,” he grinned. “Be right
back.”

She watched the roll of his understated jeans
as he walked, squirming a bit in her chair as he turned the corner,
and enjoyed a hint of a smile.

Her coffee meetings with Jack always
recharged her batteries. A father of two kids in Gabriel’s school,
they had met working a school spirit-tee sale three years ago, and
had been having coffee semi-regularly for nearly a year.

She’d never cared much for his wife, Sally,
but then again, Jack didn’t seem to, either. Cold and aloof, she
was a stark contrast to Jack’s open and vivacious everyman’s
spirit. While it was clear Shelly came from significant family
money, you’d never know the kind of wealth Jack had married into
simply by looking at him.

Jack and Sally had met nearly three decades
ago, when their youth and passion were as tinder and spark. He
dearly loved her then, and did still, really; but whereas wealth
had for him opened access to the arts, philosophy, travel, and
philanthropy, to Sally, it meant a descent into self-focus, plastic
surgery and an endless parade of ‘healing’ and ‘wellness’
workshops. Today, their marriage was convenient and businesslike,
possessing nowhere near the warmth of Eloria and Charles’s.

“S’up,” came a youthful voice. Eloria looked
up to see a tall, thin frame draped in a young man’s ill-fitting
clothes bending low to retrieve the cups and flatware from the
tables. He smiled at her from a face punctuated by a sandy shock of
hair and a scruffy chin.

“Hello, Ryan,” she greeted the barista.

“Shit, Miss Eloria,” he elucidated, “If I
didn’t know better, I’d suggest you were up to no good!”

“And whatever do you mean by that?” she
countered, smiling.

“Well ... every couple weeks, I see you in
here with Mister Farro,” he said, referring to Jack. “And you two
sit, you know, mighty close. I don’t know ... isn’t here a Mister
Solis?”

“Ivery. It’s Mister Ivery,” she said with a
firm smile, not breaking eye contact with the young barista. “I
didn’t take his name when we married ... back when you were, oh ...
eight, maybe?”

“So tell me ... Is Mister Ivery, you know,
cool with you and Mister Farro?”

“What about me and Mister Forrow? Are you
assuming there’s ... something there?”

He stood, open-mouthed, bus tray held to his
hip. The smile stayed on his scruffy face, and his eyes darted to
the ceiling and back.

“Let’s just say that when you’ve been married
as long as I have, Ryan, there are subtleties. We should probably
leave it at that.” She clenched her shoulders forward against her
low-cut blouse, and leaned forward ever so slightly. Ryan stayed
rooted in place.

“Hey, Ryan,” said Jack, returning with his
pair of cappuccinos. “Mahmoud said he was looking for you.” Jack
sat with his back to Ryan, facing Eloria.

Keeping her hands on her knees, Eloria tipped
forward a little further to tease Jack, a gesture not lost on the
young barista behind him. “And just how have you been? How’s
Sally?” she asked the older man, aware of his attention, and also
that of the younger man stretching upward to keep his eyes on her.
“Ryan,” she reminded, “Mahmoud!” More afraid of the steely eyed
Beehive owner than of missing the opportunity to flirt with Eloria,
Ryan scampered away.

“Sally? Fine. Fine, I suppose,” said Jack, no
more aware of Ryan’s departure than he’d really been of his
presence. “She’s busy
workshopping
in the house, whatever
that is. I come home to find our place full of crying women more
than I’d strictly like. How’s Charles?”

Charles and Jack had met a handful of times,
and cordially enjoyed one another’s company at parent gatherings
and the like; but the couples didn’t spend time as friends, mainly
because of Sally’s particular nature. Charles was fully aware of
Eloria’s coffees with Jack, and, in fact, encouraged them.

“He’s well,” she responded. “He says hello.”
She stirred the grainy sugar cube into the coffee with a small
spoon.

“And he doesn’t mind us meeting like
this?”

“No, not at all,” she said, truthfully. “In
fact, he benefits from it, you might say,” she added with a
blush.

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Oh?”

“Yeah ... let’s say, you have .... well,
something of an effect on me.”

Jack took a quiet sip of his cappuccino. “And
how about my little giftie, from the last time we met?”

She withdrew the spoon from the coffee,
placed it on the tabletop, and slid it with a finger toward Jack,
until it fell from the table to his feet. “Oops ...” she
smiled.

After a pause, Jack slid his chair back and
reached to retrieve the spoon. He allowed himself a quick tour of
her smooth, full legs on the way down, and, on the way up, enjoyed
a flash of red silk as she unwound, briefly spread, and then
re-crossed her legs.

His wolf’s eyes, creased with smile lines,
appeared from beneath the tabletop.

He sat erect. “You’re wearing them.”

“Mmm hmmm ...” she blushed. “I don’t know how
I feel about you buying me things, especially things like these.”
Eloria closed her legs on the rose-petal-soft panties he’d
discreetly slipped her last time they met. Jack had often brought
small gifts to their meetings — thoughtful books, lush-smelling
soaps — but this gift was new in its ... intimacy.