It was the call I had been expecting – from the office. I was surprised they had managed to cope this long without me – and very relieved they hadn’t called twenty minutes earlier! By the time, I had finished the call, the boys had been brought back, hollering for something to eat, and Joan was back in the kitchen – back to being a normal wife and mom.
She went to bed early that night, and I guessed she was a little disturbed at the turn our lovemaking had taken that afternoon – as, indeed, was I. I sat, alone, thinking about the incredible excitement I had derived from the picture of the three moving men stripping my lovely wife in the back of their van, then taking turns at fucking her, each in his own special way. I was also incredibly turned on by the way Joan had joined me in my fantasy and, as I thought about it, my hand stroked the sensitive underside of my erect cock, through my trousers, then I had to release it, and I masturbated to orgasm, thinking of my wife gasping in ecstasy as another hard cock plunged between her willing thighs…
Chapter 2 – The Laundry Man
But, in the following days and weeks, I remained very confused about why I should feel like this, and more than a little guilty. For her part, Joan didn’t seem to want to go into that territory again, and, even though I was tempted, during our – more frequent, now – bouts of lovemaking, I managed to restrain myself.
Then, about three months later, we were shopping in the local mall, with the boys. It was a Saturday afternoon, and we were taking a break for an ice-cream for the boys, and coffee for us. Joan was queuing at the counter, with our tray, and we were sitting at a table. I noticed a tall dark guy, at another table, watching Joan, with a peculiar intensity in his gaze.
As though she felt his stare, Joan turned and met his eye. She smiled, and mouthed ‘Hi!’ at him, then her eyes flickered over to me, and I saw a pink tinge of colour on her cheekbones. The guy, too, looked a little embarrassed as he smiled back, and I thought his face was a bit familiar, though I couldn’t place him.
When Joan returned, she didn’t mention the encounter, but I noticed her eyes drifting over, more than once, to where the guy sat, on his own. Something told me that there was more to this than met the eye, but I didn’t say anything. Joan’s manner seemed a little forced, then she relaxed and, when I looked again, the guy had gone. During the course of the afternoon, this strange episode remained at the back of my mind, and I kept worrying at it, and trying to remember where I had seen the guy, before.
After the boys had gone to bed, Joan and I were having a little late supper, on our own. We weren’t saying a lot and I was thinking more and more about the incident in the afternoon. I decided to find out more.
“Who was the guy at the ice-cream parlour?” I asked, suddenly, as though he had just come to mind.
“Which guy?” came the automatic response. Like all women, Joan always answers a question with another question.