BREAKING THE RULES

by LaShayne

The rules were simple: Friday evening was swap-time, when each wife went home with the husband whose name she drew. If she'd already done it on this rotation with the man whose name was on the slip, or if her own husband's name was on it, she drew another. Steve and Julie had started our little joy club, back in those days when so many of us upright citizens were discovering casual, careless, raunchy sex. They managed the roster of the six host couples, who were in turn responsible for each weekly drawing.

The previous week George and I had slept together, so according to the rules we sat next to each other at Julie and Steve's round kitchen table (we always began the rotations there). It was Show 'n' Tell, and each husband spoke, describing what he'd done with his most recent partner, and produced evidence when he could -- a piece of underwear, a length of rope, a small whip, or even a Polaroid. My jaw dropped when he put the tube of KY on the table. Simon and Garfunkel were on the record player, but "The Sounds of Silence" were drowned out by everyone's "aahs," hoots, and guffaws.

"Yep," said George, with a little grin when the noise fell. "Sue let me in the back door -- I entered through the exit."

I felt the fury rising in me. He'd promised, against the rules, to keep it a secret. I forced a smile for everyone's benefit. Dave was narrowing his eyes at me, the corners of his mouth were turning down: he knew better than anyone that anal sex just wasn't my thing, as hard as he tried to convince me, as often as he told me how much some of the other wives enjoyed it. I'd done it with George, for probably the third time, because I'd do anything with George. He was my favorite of the five other husbands, so responsive and generous, practically sending me through the ceiling before we even undressed, soon leaving me like a rag doll. In the seventies we women were on a voyage of discovery to our clits, and somehow this man had already conquered the territory. Until that night he and I were moving toward an affair, though that was breaking the rules too.

What he'd just done was open up my asshole to all the husbands, since the purpose of Show 'n' Tell was to trade ideas, break through our inhibitions, heat each other up. I was now effectively bound to taking whichever prick I drew up the poop chute, and all my effort went to containing my repugnance.

Roy was the last to speak, but I didn't hear a word about the games he'd played with Gloria. Anyway, I knew it would have something to do with her legendary boobs.

When Julie made another batch of martinis for mingling before the drawing, I slipped off to the bathroom with my pocketbook. Flicking my cigarette into the toilet, I saw a colorless face in the mirror: I blushed my cheeks and freshened my lipstick. Shaking, I pulled down my jeans and rested on the toilet.

As my urine flowed, the door opened -- in my distraction I'd forgotten to lock it. I felt my heart nearly stop, thinking it would be George or Dave. But to my immense relief it was Gloria, and she calmly locked the door behind her. We'd never been close friends, but her pleasant smile and soft eyes quickly raised my spirits. "You looked like you might need comforting."

I rested my chin on my hands and looked up at her. "Thanks. Did it show that much?"

"Well, I was watching," she said. "I don't think the men noticed -- they can be so thick-headed about what we go through for this."

"You're not kidding. I think there's going to be hell to pay from Dave -- he's going to ream me out for this one." I managed a smile. "So to speak."

Smiling back and leaning, she put a hand on my bare thigh. She shook her head slowly, spoke serenely. "Don't think about it now." Her other hand gently stroked my face. "You're such a sweet and pretty girl." She kissed me on the cheek. "What can I do to comfort you?"

"You're doing plenty."

"You deserve more." She hesitated, began to whisper. "I'd like to do something else for you. I hope it comforts you."

My expression, I'm sure, showed interest.

"And I'd really appreciate being able to do it." She kissed me again. "May I?"

I nodded.

Raising herself up, she began unbuttoning her sleeveless white blouse. She pulled it back, underneath her long blond hair, a few wavy locks of which fell in front of her shoulders. A white lace bra displayed the creamy contours of her cleavage, a lovely double roundness pushing outward. "Like what you see?" she murmured.

I was quiet: "Mm-hmm."

In bra and short skirt, she stood still, watching me watch her. Her nipples sharpened as I stared, and their intensifying pink seemed to burst through their lacy cover. When she pulled down the shoulder straps and let the cups fall, her stunning globes emerged, dropping a little, bouncing, but holding a glorious shape. She twisted the bra around to undo it. Slowly she leaned again, the red fullness of her nipples leading her boobs forward, until their smooth, plump, white resiliency filled my eyes. Her somewhat oversweet fragrance gave way to another odor -- light, breezy, but with the intensity and intricacy of vibrant flesh. "Like what you see?"

I'd seen her breasts a few times before, when we took the kids to the beach. I'd always thought they were nice, impressive, and even envied her for them; but never in my life had my emotions been so deeply connected to someone's physical beauty. I nodded.

I felt her hand at the back of my head, her fingers making loops in my hair, touching and massaging my scalp. Easily she pulled me to her, and my right cheek touched her wonderful softness. She pulled harder, covered my face with her boobs. Their warmth oozed into my nose, lips, eyes, ears, amplified by the hand on my head.

She eased her grip, pulled back slightly, directed a nipple to my mouth. My instinct was to take it, lick it, suck gently, suck in the care, comfort, and vitality it was emanating. I heard her gasp, felt her flesh quiver, and wanted more. My need pulled her nipple deep into my mouth -- her gasps grew sharper. I opened my lips wider, took in as much of this womanly endowment as I could; when I started to bite, her breathing became hoarse.

With both hands, she moved me to her other breast. I drew her in with abandon, her extreme sustenance spreading through my body, raising my sensitivity to everything. Along with her breathing and shaking I felt the noise and laughing from the living room, felt the strength of the bones in my legs, my hips, my feet, knew that I was a thing of beauty to her. She could have touched me anywhere and energized me a hundred times more -- with a fingertip to my crotch she hit just the spot that made all George's moves look like a kid playing with matches.

I grabbed her hand, stayed its rhythmical motion. She drew back and looked at me, concerned. Shaking my head, I managed, "I -- I don't know -- they'll be wondering what we're -- where we've -- "

She put an assuring finger to my lips and shook her head. "They're all so drunk -- Pete just kissed me, we clinked glasses, and he didn't even see me turn around. He's probably downed mine too, even the olive."

"It could be real trouble if they think we're -- if they catch us -- "

Her voice was low, unruffled, inviting. "You want me to touch you, don't you?"

After the slightest pause I nodded.

She lowered herself to her knees, brushed her boobs across my thighs, tilted her head, and kissed my bare skin. Alternating legs, she kissed her way inward, toward the base of my abdomen. Her hands on my back coaxed me forward on the toilet seat, right to the edge. For a moment her head perked up, she looked down at my muff, and I felt the lust in her eyes. Like a cat she pounced, licked my fur and the tender skin below it, and struck my clit with an eagerness and precision that completely disoriented me. I almost cried out.

Her face pushing deep into my crotch, her tongue sending concentrated charges into my pelvis and through all my nerves, she hooked her arms around my shins and thighs, pulled them inward. I squeezed her shoulders with my knees, and she reacted by deepening her licks.

I barely saw her arm reach around, after letting one of my legs go, under her chin, under me, and I felt it at the mouth of my cunt, stroking, circling. Then a finger in my wetness, in time with her tonguing, then one or two more. I had to rest my arms on my thighs and dip my head way down as my breath began heaving. When she freed her other arm, I glimpsed it going down and disappearing in her skirt, in frantic motion to her own pleasure place. Barely aware of it, I reached below her arched body, her head bobbing warmly into my belly, and each of my hands cupped a splendid boob. I felt all her movements in a single rhythm that blurred together the waves surging from my clit, my cunt, the skin of my ass cheeks, my electrified tits -- by that time I was lost, suddenly convulsing in breath, nerve, and muscle. Her tongue continued -- then slowed, her whole body stiffened as her hand made a last sharp thrust under her skirt. She raised her head, took in the deepest breath, exhaled what might have been a muffled bellow, then rested her head on my thighs. Though completely limp myself, I couldn't let go of her breasts.

A minute later we were at the mirror together. She borrowed my makeup, I brushed my hair, then we traded. I noticed the cigarette butt and a few pieces of toilet paper in the yellowed water, so I flushed. Turning the doorknob she said, "See, Sue? We just went to the bathroom together, like two high school girls, and fixed our faces -- we'll get a better dance partner now."

As we walked by the kitchen, I noticed the Jell-O salad mold with slips of paper, waiting for the next stage of the party. They'd all gone out to the terrace, drinks in hand, looking toward the purple and orange horizon. A few heads turned when we joined them, a lewd grin or two; Dave squeezed my elbow. Smiling, I looked around, feeling ready to manage whichever husband I ended up with tonight.

Copyright © 2002 by LaShayne. All rights reserved.

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