textfiles/sex/EROTICA/C/catmandu.txt

 
                    OPEN MARRIAGE CHRONICLES
                   "THE HEAT FROM CATMANDOU" 
                            By Ellen
 
     After a year of our lifestyle, I'm still not sure whether
"open marriage" is the right term. When Bill first encouraged me
to date others, I found the idea appalling, but now I love this
arrangement. Bill hasn't shown any interest in involvement with
another woman, so this has been a one-sided affair. What Bill
gets out of these dates are the thrills of my telling about my
extramarital experiences. I agreed to whatever adventures Bill
might dream up as long as these were no threat to our marriage.
 
     So a month after our vacation at the Five Roses ranch, we
drove in separate cars to Catmandou, a live-entertainment club. I
was wearing four-inch heels and a red satiny oriental dress,
baring my back to just below the waist and slit to the thigh. I
found a table in a dimly lit corner. The place was decorated with
nostalgia gimmicks no one would want in their home but somehow
looked just right in the lounge. I gazed around the crowd and
listened to the three-piece band's soft music.
 
     Minutes later, Bill walked in, sat at the bar and ordered a
wine cooler. He acknowledged me with a smile, then turned away.
He glanced back now and then as several men eyed me, clearly with
sexual intentions.
 
     When I wear heels, some men under 6 feet avoid making passes
at me because of my 5'8" height. This was the problem this night
until a tall attractive man, his hair black as my own, noticed
Bill glancing toward me from the bar. Attired in a dark blue
blazer, white polo shirt, and white tropical slacks, he turned as
I smiled quietly at Bill, not the stranger; but the man lifted
his drink, sauntered over to my table, and grinned, "With
anyone?"
 
     I responded, "I am now, I suppose," smiling as I appraised
his blue eyes and lean physique. I aged him at 28. He was wearing
a white gold wedding ring like mine, but I pretended not to
notice, and so did he.
 
     He squinted at me through the dimness and, with a look of
surprise, remarked, "I haven't seen anyone with gray eyes in
years!"
 
     I smiled, "An inherited trait." I hear that a lot; there
aren't many of us. When gray-eyed people see each other, they
silently smile in acknowledgment, just as I've been told a young
person with prematurely gray hair returns a smile to another.
 
     He gave me his name, Phil, but his occupation gave me a
start; he was a new attorney with the law firm that set up Bill's
corporation and was now advising Bill's office manager, Steve,
who runs the business side of Bill's engineering practice. We
engaged in small talk, complimenting the other until he finally
asked me to dance.
 
     On the dance floor, he held me closely. Men from around the
room looked disappointed that they hadn't asked me first. The
touch of his cheek brushing mine, as Bill watched, excited me. By
the middle of the second song, he was gently pressing his groin
against mine. I was fighting to control my gasps as I felt his
firmness growing beneath his slacks. My face burned at his openly
sexual gesture, but soon in excitation, I was brushing my mound
against his hardness. I could feel my nipples tingling against
the satin of my dress. He whispered, "Do you have plans tonight?"
 
     "Don't you have to go home?" I queried, my voice trembling
as I remembered his wedding ring.
 
     "My wife's a pharmaceutical sales rep," he said softly.
"She's in Chicago until Tuesday at her company's headquarters
gathering." He'd remembered my own ring and had no reason to lie.
 
     I allowed him to press me closer. His skin radiated a heat
like my own. The female singer's long, slow melody of adulterous
longing seemed dedicated to our intertwined bodies. When it
ended, I realized Bill and I hadn't planned this very well. I
lied, "My husband's at a convention. I have no plans, Phil." We
bantered about a bit as I tried to think of what to do until
finally he came right out with it, "Can we spend the night at
your place?"  His swollen cock was now massaging my clitoris.
 
     I was breathing heavily, my eyes wild. My throat throbbed
fearfully, choked with increasing desire, as I breathed, "I'd
like to visit the ladies' room."
 
     He nodded, saying, "I'll meet you  back here in a couple of
minutes."
 
     When he walked through the crowd to the cashier's desk in
another room, I strode quickly to Bill, explaining the situation.
As usual, Bill was wonderful; he grinned, "Great. I'll drive over
to the office and sleep on the couch. If I come home about five
a.m., will that be enough time?" I agreed, and Bill returned to
his drink as I waited at the door for Phil.
 
     We drove in separate cars. The late evening streets were
still wet from a brief Florida thundershower. The Mercedes'
diesel engine throbbed like my chest. Although I'd slept with
other men, this would be my first true "date." The multi-colored
lights of neon signs, street lamps, and a line of cars streaming
west to the suburbs cast long brilliant reflections on the wet
highway. I glanced back now and then at Phil's red Fiero
following closely.
 
     Stopping at a traffic light a block from the lounge, I
stared at a Cadillac's bumper sticker ahead of me and smiled. The
bumper sticker read, "Lead Me Not Into Lust, For I Shall Find It
Myself."
 
     We emerged from separate cars into our garage. He murmured,
"My god, I just noticed the name on the mailbox! I know your
husband, by name anyway!"
 
     I laughed. "I told you my name at the lounge. You didn't ask
for my husband's. Don't be so up-tight, Phil!" Actually, I was
more tense than Phil, not from his association with the law firm
but from the desire that had grown with each mile I drove home.
Inside, Phil removed his coat, poured a drink from our bar and
searched out a diet soda from the refrigerator for me. He walked
upstairs to meet me in the bedroom.
 
     I'd turned on the stereo and flicked on a table lamp,
bathing the room in a dim red glow that seemed to accentuate my
inner heat. I turned, my hands on my hips and legs spread wide on
the carpet as I faced him. He stared, his manhood bulging beneath
his slacks, and breathed, "God, you're incredible!"
 
     My breasts heaved as he set the drinks on the nightstand and
took me in his arms. He unzipped my dress, puddling it onto the
floor, then unbuttoned his shirt. I trembled, barely able to
stand as he ground his hardness against my clitoris. I fell to
my knees and pulled away his slacks, his nine-inch instrument
bobbing against my lips as his fingers stroked my neck. I moaned
at his sensuous touch. I was mesmerized by the dark, purple-
veined cock that I was now stroking, my hand squeezing it back
and forth from its black mass of pubic hair to the broad, bulging
head. I oval-ed my lips over the rubbery head, sucking it slowly
as he groaned, "Oh god, Ellen, you're terrific, oh god, oh
god..." My tongue slid along his length as his hips writhed,
pushing it beyond the back of my throat. The smoothness glided
through me until I was delirious with passion. I became one with
his cock and the throaty music drifting from the stereo. I flamed
with desire, my eyes wildly rolling up at him as I whimpered with
each stroke into the fullness of my quivering lips.
 
     He leaned to cup my breasts, then kneeled behind me as his
strong hands kneaded the softness of my breasts.
 
     I fell against his hands until my arms braced against the
floor. I shuddered as his warm cock brushed my flaming vagina
from the rear. I muttered, my voice quaking, "I'm on fire, Phil.
I'm yours!" My hips gyrated, tremoring as his lengthy hardness
entered my lubricated channel. My vaginal walls stretched with
each thrilling inch to accommodate him. And then he had sheathed
the tool to its hilt as my mouth opened widely, my eyes rolling
with the adulterous passion that gripped my searing soul. His
long shaft radiated, steaming in the hot coals of my cunt.
 
     Wailing as he fucked me wildly, I swirled my hips to his
rhythm. I turned my head to watch as his hips bumped against my
buttocks, further inflaming my passion. Each entry throbbed
against my clitoris until, deep within, I could feel the
thunderous waters of an orgasmic flood rushing up to burst
through me. I began to cry, tears streaking down my cheeks. His
blue eyes glinted. He was biting his lip in excitation when I
felt his cock swelling. He was about to come with me. He groaned
passionately. Our eyes locked. As his cock expanded within me I
spread my legs further as if I could somehow allow my vagina to
hold even more. I was biting the softness of my lower lip as I
cried, "It's super, Phil! Super! I LOVE it!" I reached behind to
touch his chest as his cock fucked into my hot, wet depths, which
were now a vortex of mega-lust that gripped the broad cock-head
sliding through my love tunnel.
 
     He increased his tempo. The building orgasm was still
distant but now rushing up like a mad prehistoric beast screaming
for air from primeval depths of a misty cavern. The earth opened
before me. I was falling through a bottomless chasm of adulterous
pleasure with his every thrust, my mind enveloping an unknown
universe inhabited by only me and Phil. I shuddered. The beast
within was insane with pleasure. My whoring had now spanned eons,
all sense of time lost as I cried out frightfully. I was praying
for the oncoming super-orgasm but fearing I could no longer bear
the passionate explosion.
 
     And then, OH GOD!  It rolled over us like a landslide!  My
mind and body exploded with staggering force! Gigantic stars
crashed as I screamed in ecstasy, feeling his warm sperm
splattering through my channel. The planet was quaking beneath me
as I sobbed in release from the bondage of this adulterous love.
Crying, I collapsed, tremoring beneath the white heat of his
body.
 
     Later, in the afterglow, we drank wine, watching erotic
movies on our large-screen VCR from our bed until, finally, he
mounted me again, missionary position, fucking me slowly. I
screamed with a second, then third, then fourth orgasm, until he
came, shuddering atop me. Dazed, I muttered, "I love you," and
meaning it at that moment of gratitude. When he replied, "That's
nice," because Phil couldn't lie, I laughed and hit him softly
with my fist.
 
     He left at three a.m. I dialed Bill's office. When Bill was
in bed beside me a half hour later, I described Phil's fucking me
just as I'm telling you here, until Bill's manhood had risen and
was eagerly entering my vagina. At times like these, I almost
feel a control over him. I moaned, muttering my feelings of
passionately fucking Phil as Bill thrust into me. I could feel
his tool expand to awesome proportions, until finally, reliving
my adultery, I came again; Bill groaned, his sperm splattering
warmly into my vagina. We lay side by side facing each other as I
answered his questions about my feelings when fucking other men.
I admitted, "You lead me into these situations, but once I'm
united with another, I can think only of him and me. Sometimes I
forget I'm married." When his eyebrows arched, I smiled, "But I
still love you."
 
     Exhausted, I fell asleep. When I awoke with the sunrise,
Bill was still looking down at me, grinning in approval.
 
     A month later, my former career as a photographer's model
would develop into into another kind of picture...