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Things boil over.

"

"Good thinking." We didn't speak for a while. She sat relaxed on the leather seat. Very relaxed. Her legs splayed, the pastel dusted silk nestled in the valley. The seat belt held up her left breast like a prize.

"I venture to guess he was satisfying."

"Oh yes. He sure was. Very satisfying." She clinched her legs and scooted her ass about in tight restriction, a little whinny-moan escaping from her nose. "It was nice, Jack. Very, very nice. He was better than my best fantasy of him."

"How so?"

"In too many ways to get into now. It's all on record. You will hear it all."

I drove home with speed and risky maneuvering like I was headed to the emergency room.

Jill was calm. Hiding an expectancy as great as mine, but exercising the control inherent in her afternoon of solo fucking with Steve Larsen in the first place. She wasn't hungry. "Steve had room service send up a fruit and cheese platter. We nibbled at leisure. A big red plum was particularly succulent."

God! If the disc held suggestions hotter than her slutty woman delivery of the big red succulent plum, I would be fried, burnt to a crisp by erotic overload.

"I will just slip into something more comfortable," she said, with a sluttish wink.

I did the computer set up. She came in wearing a peach colored silk kimono tied with a sash, and nothing underneath. I had a "daddy's chair" in the room, one of those grossly over sized recliners suitable for a randy woman to sit on a randy man's lap. Close enough to see the monitor. The mouse was wireless and worked on the chair arm.

She settled on my lap, her great round ass claiming my thighs with weight and much heat. She held my face in her hands and kissed me. Our first kiss after picking her up at the coffee shop. I was so caught up in hearing the recording I had over looked that. My wife knew the priorities. She kissed her husband. With love. With sexual messaging. I hugged her to me with a surge of strength that made her wince. I buried my face in her breast valley and licked the silken skin. I inhaled.

"You didn't shower."

"Not since you saw me at noon. I wanted to bring the smell of him home to you. For the record," she said, with meaning as pregnant as her smile.

I moaned. I had no control whatever over that moan. Larsen's scent grew stronger by her deliberate intent in bringing it home to me. If there is any thing more descriptive of wife and husband intimacy than that, I can't imagine what it would be. I inhaled deep draughts of his lingering smell. Cologne. Perfume. Sweat, his and hers. Maybe even arm pits, his and hers. The rich odor of distilled sex that wafted up from her crotch was all hers, I assumed, I hoped. Condoms had isolated his cum, but his cock had churned her pussy to a saucy meaty stew that still simmered like a pot on a stove, giving off rich spicy aromas. I breathed in the evidence of their togetherness. My cock got so big and hard in my pants she started like I had goosed her.

"Wow! Maybe you should unbind yourself before we start the show."

I stripped naked. She resettled on my lap. I hit the play button. Sounds of conversation as we drove to the hotel. "Anyway to fast forward?"

"Don't think so. The instruction sheets didn't say anything about it."

All that we spoke from the time I turned the recorder on and handed the purse to her was loud and clear. The drive to the hotel. Our good byes. Car door slam. Her heels tapping the concrete.

"And off you go," I said. "What are you feeling at this point."

"Excitement that can't be described. That I am doing it. Going to be with my new lover. He is waiting for me. I will fuck a new man. That was mostly my feelings. The excitement was so great I could hardly breathe."

A cacophony of voices in the lobby. Shuffle sounds in the elevator, floor stops pinging a bell. "I wondered if anyone in the elevator could look at me and guess. That I was a married woman going to the eighth floor to fuck a man not my husband. Service him like a prostitute."

I looked my wife in the eye.

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