It was his fortieth birthday, and I had decided that it was to be a memorable one. Paul and I had been married for five years. He was ten years older than me. So, I was twenty when I married him. Already at thirty, he had this salt and pepper hair that makes women look unkempt but makes men look sophisticated and dangerous. So he was, I was later to find out. Sophisticated in his tastes, from food or drink, nothing was too foreign, strange or disgusting for him not to try. With him, I developed a taste for exotic foods, frog legs, escargots, and monk fish liver. You name it, the more potent the flavor, the more he craved it; and with him, so did I.
His taste for liquor was just as eclectic as his food choices. Not just the single malt Scotch or small batch Bourbon that the cognoscenti rave about. He had Absinthe brought over from Slovakia, Raki from Turkey, and a particularly favored Grappa-like drink from some place in Spain.
I grew up in Omaha, Nebraska, as Middle America as apple pie and biscuits. That may have been what attracted me, at twenty, to this man, so much my senior. He entered my life like a tornado, sweeping everything before him. Soon, I found myself skiing double diamond terrain, shooting white water rapids, and diving in the open ocean; all things I had never even thought of doing. We got engaged at 120 ft of depth, in the great wall of Little Cayman. I was so surprised I almost dropped the ring, and that would have been a disaster, since the bottom of the ocean is about three thousand feet deep at that point! I have followed Paul ever since, and never regretted it for a second.
Now, after five years of marriage, I decided I shall give him a gift to remember. I changed a lot from the wide eyed ingénue from Omaha in these years, but one thing, until now, did not change. I never accepted his, shall I say temptations? In the matter of sex I remained the proper conservative American girl. Of course we had oral sex, but aside of that; the kinkiest thing we ever did was to do it in the kitchen. And I knew, and know, that he wanted more. He kept a large collection of erotica, in his library. Although locked, these books, tapes and art, have always been available to me even though I did not avail myself of them until recently. That’s when I realized how much I was withholding from him and, for the first time became afraid, afraid that he would find someone who would give him what I would not.
Fast forward to the present. I found a willing accomplice in Sakura, a Japanese beauty that frequented our country club. She was twenty five; we often played golf or skied with her. I do not believe Paul knew the effect he had on her, or if he knew, he never acted on it. Me, on the other hand, I knew. It was obvious to me that the oriental beauty was besotted with Paul. She was always respectful, always polite and proper, but I could not fail to detect her blushing, her breathing becoming faster when he approached her. If he talked to her, and touched her arm, she always would seek support from the back of a chair, table or other piece of furniture, her knees would weaken so.
I approached Sakura one evening, about three weeks before his birthday. Paul was traveling that day and, it being the middle of the week, the lounge at the club was relatively empty; some women played cards at a table, and a couple of older, retired guys played chess. Sakura had been playing tennis, and was looking around the bar for someone to share a drink with, so as soon as she saw me, she approached me, smiling.
“Hi, Sakura” I greeted her “Care to drink something?”
“Hi, Lola” She answered, “Of course.”
We sat at one of the couches, near the fireplace, far from the other people. We ordered Margaritas. We made small talk for a while, until the second Margarita. Then, as inhibitions began to loosen, thanks to Jose Cuervo, I made my move:
“Have you had sex with Paul?” I asked nonchalantly between sips.
“Of course not!” She answered angrily “What makes you think so?”
“Relax my dear” I said stroking her hand. “I know you like him. Don’t you?”
The tequila was having its desired effect. I had eaten a burger before coming to the club, but Sakura just had two Margaritas on an empty stomach. She answered truthfully.
“You can’t blame me for that. He is gorgeous” She paused for the briefest moment “But I’ve never…” “I know, I know” I said soothingly “But you would, if things were…different” It was not a question.
She did not deny it.
“I have an idea I need your help with” I continued.
* * *
On his birthday, I took Paul to his favorite seafood haunt. A swanky place, known for its seafood and steaks and one of the few places in town where you could still smoke a cigar after dinner, in their cigar room; this was the one place in town where you could go for dinner in a tuxedo and cocktail dress, and not call attention to yourself. He always looks so handsome in his tux. I wore a crimson silk number, with a tight bodice and a flaring skirt that showed off my legs and feet, enhanced by the Manolo Blahnik sandals.
He wanted to have steak for dinner, as he usually did here, but I told him I had made other arrangements for us, and he understood that sex was in the forecast, so he did not complain about the food choices.
If he had his way, and ate a porterhouse, he would fall in bed like a pole axed ox, so, no meat today.
We ate Mikimoto oysters on the half shell, steamed artichokes with a balsamic dip and grilled salmon and steamed Bok Choy with a soy ginger sauce. To drink, we had Perrier Jouet cuvee Belle Epoque. He also got me hooked on that one.
After dinner, he looked at the cigar room, an eyebrow slightly raised, interrogating. I smiled and said:
“At home.”
When we arrived home, the house was dark; I led him to the bedroom, lit only by a night light, and sat him in his favorite leather chair, facing the bed. He was about to question me but I touched his lips with my finger.
“Hush” I said.
I led his hand to the table at his right. In it a crystal bucket held ice cubes, and a large glass rang crisply as I touched it lightly with my crimson fingernails. I gave him his cigar, a Montecristo #2 that I had previously cut for him and lit a match for him to light it. In the light of the match, I saw amazement and wonder in his eyes.
I pushed him back into the chair, kissed him and said:
“Wait.”
Then I disappeared into the bathroom. I rapidly changed into a black bustier, that matched the black hose and garter belt I was wearing, but that, hidden under the skirt, he could not have noticed. I entered the bedroom, and as I approached the king sized, four poster bed, flicked a remote control that turned on three spotlights on the bed leaving the rest of the bedroom in relative darkness.
In the bed, silently, Sakura, dressed in a white lace bra from La Perla, matching white thong, garter belt and hose, turned towards me and extended her arms to meet mine. I heard his sharp intake of breath.
Sakura and I hugged, and I kissed her deeply on her lips. My tongue entered her, exploring, as she did the same with me. I felt my moisture, my need arise, and straddled her thigh, rubbing myself against her stockinged skin. She did likewise, and I could smell her arousal, similar, yet so different from my own. We rolled on the bed, touching, probing each other. I never had a lesbian experience before, but it came naturally to me; it felt as if I was making love to myself. My bustier came off as Sakura sought out my breasts, larger than hers, and kissed them, and bit on them. In my excitement, I could only hug her closer to me, while trying, furiously to hump her thigh.
I heard not a word from my husband, who, in the relative darkness of the room, could be seen only as a dark shape, sunk in his chair.
Sakura now pinched my nipples, until they were standing up, erect, sensitive. She took the right one on her mouth and sucked on it, viciously, then bit hard on it, until I squealed in pain. She moved behind me, taking my arms behind my back, and holding them crossed at the wrist. I knelt now on the bed, my knees wide open, facing the dark shape that was my husband. I could see the plume of blue cigar smoke, exhaled, and smell the strong aroma, before it was sucked out of the room by the silent ventilation system. She threw me on my side, still holding my hands, and ripped off my garter belt and hose. She used one of the stockings to bind my hands. I heard the tinkle of ice, on my husband’s chair.
She ripped off my panties left me nude, with my hands bound behind my back, knees wide open on the bed, ankles crossed, and my neatly trimmed pubic hair, another novelty for Paul, pointing to my wide open pussy. I felt the cool air in my moist lips. I could smell myself. Sakura was as excited as I. Her skin glistened in the spotlights with a patina of sweat. She threw me on my back and straddled my face. She pulled her white thong to a side and smothered me with her sopping wet pussy. I smelled her musk, and licked at her clit, my nose deeply inserted in her hot wet hole. She gushed more, under my attentions, and I noticed the flow of moisture dripping out of my own cunt. I felt embarrassed for a moment, to be doing this, wide open, in front of Paul, perfectly lit by the spotlights, my pussy gushing, and dripping on the dark red bed sheets. After only a short time, Sakura rode my nose to the first of many orgasms that evening.
She stopped to catch her breath, but only for a moment, for I was given no respite. She turned me, facing down on the bed, my panties inserted deep in my mouth, and tied in place with my garter belt. She tied my hands together to the headboard, and my ankles, separately to the posts at the foot of the bed. My ankles were tied with my stockings, my hands with a wide red silk ribbon.
I saw, on the mirror on the side wall Sakura approaching Paul, a riding crop in her hand. She offered it to him, silently; he waved her off. She moved to my right, and I could not see her anymore.
The swish of the crop, cutting through the air warned me, a fraction of a second before a line of fire planted itself on my ass. I tried to scream through my gag, but only a muted howl came out. And the crop fell, again and again, until my ass was on fire, and I had no strength to cry out anymore. The pillow under my face was wet with my tears, and the sheet under my pussy wet with my juices. Sakura untied me and I turned over.
Paul stood, in front of his chair, his erect penis sticking out of his pants; he approached the bed, only to be interrupted by Sakura, who gently pushed him back into his chair.
“Not yet,” She said “Soon.”
She knelt between his legs and took him in her mouth. She swallowed his length and, holding on to his butt, bobbed on his dick. I saw her cheeks, hollow with her suction as she blew him vigorously. It took but a minute for Paul to spill himself down Sakura’s throat. I saw her swallow, and then lick him clean. She replaced his dick in his pants, and came back to me.
I feared her, for I knew what was to come next. She tied my ankles to the posts at the foot of the bed, and my wrists to the ones on the headboard. She picked up the crop once more. I could see Paul’s dick, again tenting his pants.
This time it was my breasts that were the target of Sakura’s crop. As the leather cut into my tender boobies I thrashed as much as my bound hands and feet allowed. Yet my pussy continued to gush. When it was over, Paul was again standing, his dick again out of his pants which he proceeded to shed. Sakura motioned for him to wait, as she once again turned me over, and placed me on all fours. My hands tied beneath my face, and my feet again tied to the bedposts.
I felt cold air on my ass, as she separated my ass cheeks. I heard the floorboards creak as he came closer. I felt the cold gel dripping on my ass hole, and her gentle fingers spreading and entering, one finger, then a second one. I sank my head in the pillow. I heard his grunt of pleasure as she spread the jelly on his member. I tried to relax, to await the inevitable.
I felt the pressure at the opening I never gave him, until now, and tried to relax and push against him, to no avail. My sphincter closed tighter the more I tried to will it open. He pushed harder, encouraged by Sakura; I moaned and, as he forces his way past my resistance, screamed through my gag and into the pillow. Victorious, he entered my bowels; I felt like I was being ripped apart. He pulled out, and I felt his penis leaving my rectum. I felt the cold air inside, and he entered me again. It hurt terribly, but was easier too. He did it over and over again, until he screamed his release. His sperm filled my rear entrance leaving me with a glow, all over me, of success, of achievement.
Now, Sakura kissed my ass tenderly and, with her tongue, cleaned it. With her lips tightly around my still stretched asshole, she said a single word.
“Push.”
And I did, and she drank again all of his essence. Then she untied me, and I stood, nude, in front of Paul.
Sakura and I both said:
“Happy Birthday!”
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