Through the Looking-Glass By Don Jetman - Prologue - This one's hard. Not because of mistakes or regrets. In fact, on the surface, it was what I always wanted. But, well, maybe I can just take you there and sort it out along the way... August was long and steamy. If only I could say the same about our sex life. We were miserable - over-worked and stressed in yet another new city, with never enough time to get the house in order and make it a home. We had done this all before, taking it day-by-day, looking ahead by week, then month segments, knowing that over the horizon, someday, we'd have a regular life again. And maybe even sex. Dave often enters our life at the most opportune times, so conveniently that I always wonder if L has reached out to him in desperation. I believe it was a Sunday afternoon when he called. His conversations were always deceptive - not in a malicious way, but laced just lightly enough with innuendo to make me wonder if I was imagining what I wanted to hear. Always polite, always clever and funny, he's the too-perfect friend I never had. It was always different with L. He said things that made her giggle and blush, things I couldn't hear when her ear was pressed against the phone until it was damp with sweat. I watched her body language as they talked. The stress seemed to drain from her, the hard edges smoothing. The magician in him could made her somehow more feminine, not in a way I could describe exactly, but he could, just, take her to a place where she became cat-like, her bare legs moving in languid, effortless sways and turns, her words melting from the familiar careful use of hard, brittle "t"s and "c"s, to phrases lifted in pitch at the end like a little girl, following by quiet purring when she'd rather I didn't hear. Whether it was L's idea or his wasn't clear, but we were invited to spend Labor Day weekend with him. Or, as long as we liked, according to L. "Could we stay the whole week?" she asked. Now, a week with Dave was one thing to L - lots of sex with him, and usually a little kinky stuff thrown in as a bonus. I knew she liked that. But the week to me meant giving L to him when he wanted her (and when she wanted him), me growing hornier by the day as the games went on, and possibly watching him paw her in front of his friends as he paraded her on his arm at one of his famous parties. Not that we hadn't been there before, but I wasn't sure if an entire week of masturbating while Dave fucked her every night was what I needed to chase my stress away. But L got her way. She always does. It was a long, slow blowjob with a furious finish that made me wonder if she had been practicing with someone else. She denied she had been practicing, but I would have bet both my left and right nuts she was thinking of Dave. That I didn't ask. - Chapter 1 - We went to dinner the first night, to a Moroccan restaurant filled with delicious smells and exotic music. A belly dancer made her rounds to table after table, a dark-eyed beauty who flirted like she meant it. I was stricken with a kind of erotic panic when she danced for us. Stunned by her tiny waist, firm breasts and a velvety rippling belly so close, so perfect, I found the flickering candle on our table made the hypnotic undulations of taught muscle under smooth, dark skin seem even more impossible. Within minutes I had been sucked into Dave's world, pulse pounding, hands shaking, completely taken by this woman, feeling I had lost control too soon. Dave and L woke me from my trance, finally bursting with laughter as the dancer placed a hand inside my shirt, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and made her way to the next table. It didn't take Dave long to guide the conversation into uncomfortable territory. He wanted to hear about L's month with Derek, a trial game we played with a health club owner in the past. It was a month of agreed-upon ownership of L by Derek, a Dom-submissive relationship between them, completely out of my control. As uncomfortable as I was during Derek's "ownership" of L, I really wasn't ready to rehash it again, especially in public. L didn't seem to mind, and even teased me now and then with little smiles that anyone else would have taken for loving affection, but smiles I recognized as gentle jabs at my admittedly hysterical behavior back then. As Dave drew more details out of her, all I could think about was how I hoped no one at a nearby table overheard. Dave soon caught on, and not-so-innocently led L down a few of the darker paths of the experience (darker for me, that is). He delighted in L's telling of how it ended, how she had twisted me into knots and dangled the shocking offer to share her bed permanently in front of Derek, only to see us both flustered and frustrated when she brought the game to an end, her way. I saw Dave's admiration of her in his eyes, and had to admit my own embarrassment didn't stop those same feelings from surfacing. It had been after that month that Dave boasted that he might accomplish in a week what Derek couldn't in a month, that he would send her back to me a changed woman. L spent that week with Dave, keeping a personal diary for the duration, and he made good on his promise. She ended the week having sex with multiple men as Dave watched, and she did indeed come back to me a changed woman, at first quietly proud of breaking new boundaries, but eventually slipping into a period of deep guilt and shame over what she had done. Six men. One night. Numbers she wrestled with for months, until sexual indifference replaced the shame for much too long. Dave never knew the long-term consequences of her visit (at least I wasn't aware that he did). But he risked opening old wounds. I wasn't having it, even if L wasn't forward enough to stop him. "I think we've played enough of that game for a while," I said finally. "We're still kind of in recovery-mode anyway." "Do you mean you're still recovering?" L asked me suddenly. "Because I'm fine. Would you like to watch me do it again?" It was one of those moments that fractures reality, a sudden disorientation that has you believing you might actually be dreaming. We sat there in dead silence as L picked at her plate, glancing up at me as though she was still waiting for an answer. I'm not sure Dave was confident that he still had control. Then, slowly, a little smile began to grow on her face. L looked up at me, still smiling for a few seconds, and told me, "I'm not going to have sex with six guys in front of you, so just relax." A young couple at the next table looked up for a second, then gave each other a knowing smile before ordering another round of drinks. I glanced back at them. The pretty, fresh-faced wife saw me, then smiled briefly into her lap. Later that night, as we slipped into bed in Dave's guest room, it was still a nagging thorn in my side. "Would you really spend another week with him, and let God knows how many more guys fuck you? All in one night?" I asked, hedging my bet she wouldn't reopen old wounds. "Are you kidding?" she told me. "A week by the pool with a man who buys me expensive dresses, wines and dines me like I'm his princess," she paused a second and smiled at me, "and can seduce me with intelligent conversation? Why wouldn't I want that?" "You know what I mean," I went on. "Owning you for the week, changing you into, well, something - um, somebody else. You act like the last time never happened. Like it was nothing. You were a mess." I didn't get the response I wanted. She laughed at me. For far too long. I let my exasperation show with a frustrated sigh. Were we going to fight our first night here? L put a bare leg over me, then rolled on top of me. Her laugh hadn't died completely, but her eyes were sympathetic. "C'mon, do you really believe he could change me into someone else, permanently? I know you're excited, but aren't you letting your imagination get the best of you? He's an amazing guy, but I think you're giving him super powers." I didn't find much consolation in that - had it not been for Dave, L might never have become a hotwife. But honestly, it wasn't all his doing. My initial fantasies, and L's innate potential had played a large part. Had he changed her more than I ever could have on my own? I wasn't sure I wanted the answer to that. "Besides," she whispered, "something very hard is telling me you like the thought of it." She was rotating her hips against me, pushing my erection into the soft pillow of her lower belly. That, and her quiet whispers of how many times Dave would have her before the week was over, made me forget his super powers. Well, mostly. Lovemaking turned to fucking after a minute, and we made enough noise to wake the dead. Dave may take her as many times as he wanted during our stay, but I'd damn well let him know that I was first this time. Right. Absolutely. L tensed suddenly and gasped. Dave stood by the bed, watching. What I thought was L's approaching orgasm was actually her shocked response when she noticed the dark figure looming over us. She was off me in a second, and we both lay there, naked, still breathing hard, startled by his presence. "As your host, I feel obligated to finish what you started, Don, " he told me. He stepped out of the shadows and opened his robe. He had a raging hard-on, just as mine was slowly losing its rage. I caught myself staring at it as I never had before - I had never really looked that closely at his cock. I had seen it many times in the past, sliding in and out of L, and at more of a distance as L held the purple head in her mouth. But now I realized I had always been careful to steer clear of any connection to the homoerotic. Now it was only a few feet from me, at the edge of the bed, and I couldn't stop staring. There was no desire to suck him, or even touch him, but here was the cock that L had taken inside her so often, the first cock she had taken after many years of faithful marriage. She had run her fingers over it so many times, taken it between her lips and her legs both as a lover, and as willing victim to a harsh master. She must know it so well by now, every inch of thick, veiny stalk and angry, reddened head. Why shouldn't I look, study it, capture the memory of its powerful urgency minutes before he fucks her? I left the bed, knowing it was my turn to retreat to the shadows. Dave took my place beside L, kissing her deeply as his hand moved between her legs. She was still breathing deeply, and what little light filtered into the room from the hallway revealed her flat belly rising and falling, her skin damp and shiny with sweat. It was sweat that she had given up to me only minutes before as she panted on top of me, teasing me with images exactly like this one as her orgasm, and mine, approached. I went to her side of the bed, opened a condom, gave it to her, and watched as she slowly, lovingly, rolled it over his cock. She looked so adoring, on her knees, attending to the rigid cock that rose from the new master of her bed, an adulterous handmaiden preparing the instrument that would unleash the animal in her, and her final bliss. There wasn't any lovemaking when he mounted her. They fucked - immediately and furiously. In minutes L was crying out, coming under him, her head thrashing from side to side in one of the most violent orgasms that I'd ever seen from her. He was rough with her, battering her harder as she came, and she loved it. It seemed to prolong her orgasm, and her cries of pleasure. The sounds of his grunting were all too familiar, and I knew that had the condom not been in place, the urgency of his thrusts meant that he would have filled her with everything he had. He had taken her violently, and she had accepted with the same violence. Then, just as quickly, it was done. We held each other after Dave returned to his own bed. With the nagging reminder of my erection still digging into her belly, L told me softly, "You can make love to me if you want." I wasn't sure how to answer. I'm not into pity-fucks, and L's offer wasn't one of lust. Why did she really want this? To feel closer to me after sex with another man? She admitted as much in the past, but had always simply climbed on top of me and shown me. She had never passively "allowed" me, with words like these. Or, was this insurance, her concern that my ego wouldn't last the week without some careful stroking? When I didn't answer, she tugged at me, pulling me on top of her. "Make love to me," she whispered again. This time her words were laced with the heat I recognized. She was still soaked between her legs, so wet that I wondered if the condom had broken. I was inside her before I knew it. "No... ," she told me gently, "... get a condom." "What? Why?" I was already inside her, thrusting, lost in the sensation. My God, she was so wet! "Because he wants you to. He made me promise while we're here." She didn't give any more explanation than that. She just looked up at me with expectant eyes that told me I could have her too, under the same conditions. Well, I was here to play too, so I put the condom on and slipped back inside her. Besides, I knew I'd never get any sleep until I got off, and the conditions were a hundred times better than sneaking away in the night to jerk off. L lay there under me, quietly, while I pushed into her. She warned at my second stroke to go slowly, that she was a little sore, but other than that seemed content to lie there and watch me. There was no reciprocation, no heavy breathing, just a contented smile on her face as she ran her hands over my chest and shoulders. "You like to watch him fuck me, don't you?" she whispered as I sweated over her. "Watch him fuck me with his big, hard cock? His cock feels so good, Don. Sooo good. I want him in me, Don. I want you to see him in me, to see him make me come. He makes me come sooo hard, Don. You like that, don't you? Watching me come with him? Watching him come inside me?" As heated as her words were, she continued to lie there calmly, yet seductively, allowing me to have her, urging me on with images of her and her lover fucking. I was beyond any concern of pity-fucking. I was beyond any bruised ego, even as my wife passively allowed me to have her after rutting with her lover. She was still smiling as I came, that same contented smile that, under these conditions, often meant something else entirely. Afterwards, I lay beside her in the dark, replaying the events of that night, digesting them, committing images and words to memory, weighing their effects on me, and ultimately on L as well. Dave had taken her, literally right out from under me. I watched L accept his cock willingly, greedily, seconds after I had been inside her. I wondered about the contrast she felt within those seconds. Was the physical difference between Dave and I - my cock, then his almost immediately - one she could detect blindfolded? What were her thoughts? Were the changes in her arousal subtle or overwhelming in those seconds between husband and lover? What would it be like to know - to really know - her every thought and emotion? As I drifted off to sleep, my frustration wasn't that my wife's lover had interrupted us while we fucked and had taken my place inside her, but that I would never completely know her deepest secrets as she surrendered her orgasm under him.