Watching Her With The Lawyers (8 page)

24

C
ynthia does not go in to work the next day. She will never go into that office again. Technically she will end up resigning, but it was a done deal anyway.

Last night we slept well, in each other’s arms, both of us warm and satisfied after taking a hot bath together. We barely spoke on the way home, both of us holding hands in the back of the taxi. And today we have barely said a word to one another, even though it is almost two in the afternoon.

Usually after our sessions the next day is hot and heavy, but there is a wonderful stillness in our shared mood today. I think at some level we aren’t prepared to talk about—or even THINK about—how intense, extreme, and over-the-top last night was, what it means for us going forward.

Of course, by that I don’t mean what it means for our MARRIAGE going forward. Cynthia and I have already crossed that hurdle, that point where we know our marriage is stronger than it’s ever been, that in some sick way each new man brings the two of us closer by reminding us that we are independent human beings that are CHOOSING to be with one another forever.

No, the only thing to consider is what it means for our lifestyle going forward, in purely practical terms. I mean, Cynthia just got taken by four men while I was tied up in a fucking chair last night! How much further can we go with this? How much further is there to go?

But I know there’s no going back. Either we stop completely or we somehow find a way to take this thing one step further. Which will it be?

Which will it be, my love, I think as I watch Cynthia come out of the bathroom and walk into the kitchen, where I am nursing a fresh cup of coffee and pretending to read a newspaper. She is wearing a black tanktop and green panties, and I smile as I see a spot of wetness on her crotch before she turns away from me, showing me the delicate ripples on her ass as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

She silently walks over to the table and sits down next to me, raising one leg up on the chair as she casually pulls at my newspaper. I glance down at her thighs and crotch, taking a quick breath when I see the thin curls of pubic hair peeking out from the sides of her panties. I take another breath, and even through the coffee I can smell her, my lover, my friend, my wife. My cock is already moving in my boxers, and I can see that Cynthia is holding back a smile and perhaps even a giggle as she brings her hand down under the table and slides her finger beneath the elastic that forms the V in her panties.

So which will it be, I think again as I watch my sweet, perfect wife pull that finger back out and bring it up to my nose. Are we going to stop or find a way to go further?

Yes, which will it be, I wonder as I take a deep whiff just as I feel Cynthia reach for my cock.

Which will it be?

∞