I love sex. I love looking at sexy women. I married a sexy woman. I look at pictures of sexy women. Somewhere along the line, I don't know when, all those sexy women on the internet made me forget about the real thing I have at home. I think it was basically bad timing; shift work takes its toll. It can make you a little bit crazy. This is a story about how my young wife taught me a lesson, and about how I came to realize the value of the real thing. I'm a fool, but I can be taught.
I didn't really think anything of it when Margie told me she was taking the digital camera and all the equipment to work. She told me that she wanted to show the wireless infrared feature to one of the bosses, who was thinking of buying one. She even told me I could watch. It would show up on our web page at about noon, during her lunch hour. You see, this is a really nice digital camera that allows you to download medium resolution movies in real time through an infrared device that plugs into a USB port. It's like an ordinary webcam except that it uses a data compression scheme to produce a really high-quality image in real time over a high speed connection. Just put the camera on "video", pick a menu item, and voila! Living color on your computer screen. You can even stream the compressed output onto the net to any number of people, which is how Margie was sharing it with me.
I've been working 3-midnight at the local utility plant, so I'm used to being alone at home that time of day. In fact, I'm usually on the computer at about that time, looking at and downloading X-rated pictures. I kept telling myself that it was just part of my normal hormones, part of the normal male quest for some "strange", but it was so easy to find these sites that I developed a wooden, mindless habit of beating off every day while looking at the computer screen. I don't think I even enjoyed it that much; it was just another habit. At the same time, my healthy sex drive started to dry up and I started to neglect my beautiful, sexy little wife. I assumed she didn't know about my private activity, when in fact (I realize now) she was getting more and more frustrated and a little pissed off.
Anyway, there I sat watching an empty window on my computer when it crackled to life. "...and then it shows up on your screen. See?" It was Margie, leaning over a keyboard. The camera must have been in about the position of the screen, because I could see her face looking intently at something just above the lens of the camera. I could also see beyond her to a grey-haired man, about 50. I vaguely remembered seeing him at the Christmas party -- thin, athletic, and professional looking. One of the upper mid-level bosses, I guess, just high enough to merit an office of his own, and maybe to share the use of the support staff to perform his filing and other mundane tasks. The support staff included Margie.
"That's fantastic!" he said. "I'll take one."
But he wasn't looking at the screen. He had leaned slightly back, and was looking whimsically at Margie's ass, bent over in front of him. "I saw that." she smirked. "You forget. The camera sees behind me."
He seemed genuinely abashed. "Oh. Sorry."
"It's OK." She paused a moment, considering. Then she added in a sweet voice, "I've seen the way you look at me. Can I be honest with you?"
Margie took a deep breath. "I kinda like it. Sometimes it gets me a bit excited. And when I'm in the right mood, I start to get a little worked up. Feeling your eyes on me... it makes me want to show you more." There was a moment of silence while this sank in. "Like now." There was a long moment of silence as this hung in the air. Then, with a catch in her voice, she added, "Would you like to see a little more, Mr. Grindy? Right now?"
Margie had moved away from the computer and was out of the camera's view, which remained pointed directly at Mr. Grindy. Mr. Grindy looked off camera, swallowed, and said, "Yes... Yes, of course. And call me Bill."
"Let me show you one other thing first, Bill. Take the mouse and go to the 'File' menu. Now, pick 'Capture'. Make up a file name. As long as the little red dot on the menu bar is on, whatever you record will be stored in an mpeg file. Now take the camera."
There was some fumbling and jerking around, and then the camera found Margie. The camera autofocused on her.
"Take the camera away from your face and look at the computer screen. You can point the camera by watching there. Isn't that more natural?" The camera jerked amateurishly while Bill found his grip, and then became steady. Margie was leaning against one of his filing cabinets on the other side of Bill's desk. She was wearing a tight, ribbed white top and tight black pants that fit her like a miracle below the waist. The ribbing of the top hugged her skin and outlined the contours of her grapefruit-sized breasts, which stood out from her exceptionally thin waist. She ate healthily and kept herself in shape.
Margie continued. In a kind voice, almost as if talking to a child, she said, "I can tell when you're watching me, you know. When I walk by, or when I file. Did anyone ever tell you, you have a very nice smile?" She brought her hands up to her head and bunched her long tresses on top of her head in a pose, smiling gently herself. I realized what a startlingly beautiful woman my wife was. She was as beautiful as any woman on a magazine cover. And about as far away, right now. She continued, "You know, some women are attracted to older men."
Margie's pose brought her large breasts forward and up. She twisted, left to right to left, so that they could be appreciated in three dimensions. At the same time, I observed that Bill had found the zoom button, and had zoomed in on the breasts. He must have felt safe, since Margie could no longer see the computer screen from her location. I could see the outline of her bra under the top. I could see the location and size of her swelling nipples.
"I think I'll check to make sure these files are in order," she said, sounding playful. She turned to face the opposite direction, opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, and bent over at the waist. This gave a delightful view of Margie's ass in her tight black pants. I realized that this scene had played out before, as part of Margie's normal duties. That Bill had seen it before, that Margie knew he had seen it, and that neither had ever mentioned it before. Margie was now offering Bill the opportunity to enjoy this treat anytime he wanted, on video.
This went on for a minute or two, with Margie going around the office posing in various office-duty poses, smoothing herself with her palms and making various bent-over poses, a bit self-consciously. She never looked at the camera, playing a part in a movie. Still without looking at the camera, she said, "I know you look at me when I do this. I like it when you do."
As this whole scene had started to play out, I was shocked and angry. What was my woman doing, letting another man think lustful thoughts about her, strutting around for his personal amusement? What did she mean she enjoyed it? That old dude? Did that mean that she thought about going further?
But then, sitting there in front of the computer, I realized that I was looking at something I had thrown away. By failing to appreciate Margie myself, I had effectively given her over to the rest of the world to appreciate. Now, looking through another man's "eyes", I could see all the things that had originally turned me on about her. And actually quite a bit more. I actually started to get pretty turned on myself. My heart was pounding and my face was flushed, but it wasn't anger anymore. I started getting lustful for my little wife in a way that X-rated pictures of anonymous women could never do. I became so caught up in the instant that I even stopped thinking about this 50-year-old dude. I hoped that she would maybe go just a bit further.
Margie straightened, and looked back at the camera. "I'm going to shut the door." she said, and did so. She turned around and came back over to the desk, scooting her butt up onto the corner. She toyed with the bottom edge of her top. "It's warm in here. Would you mind if I take off my top?" She waited for an answer, but she didn't really need to ask. Bill must have nodded.
Margie brought her hands to her waist and hooked the fingers of both hands under the edge of the white-ribbed top. Then she slowly brought the fabric up across the hardened plane of her stomach, stretched it to bring it over the swell of her breasts, and released it there so that she could work on pulling off the sleeves. Bill and I could see that she was wearing her lacy red bra, one that I had forgotten she owned. It was cut low enough that it showed her breasts to good effect. They gently swelled above the top of the fabric, and formed an inviting valley of smooth skin between that plunged into darkness. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing in the now silent room. After a moment's pause, collecting courage, she pulled the top over her head and casually tossed it to the side.
Margie was visibly aroused, and managed to say, somewhat hoarsely, "No touching. OK? You like to look, and I like to show you, but I haven't forgotten that I'm married." And she winked at the camera. I gulped. Despite the liberties that she was taking with this man, a stranger to me, there was still an intimacy between us. He didn't know that I was watching it all. That was a special little secret for Margie and me alone. Margie sat for a long moment while Bill only watched. Then she lightly hefted her breasts, frowning, "Do you like these? Would you like to see how they look without the bra?"
Again, the answer from Bill was inaudible.
"Would you undo me?" she asked, turning to face the other way. The camera landed jarringly on the desk and focused on a stack of papers for a moment. Then it came up again, to show Margie, with the broad expanse of her back filling the camera, as she shucked her bra and then brought her hands up, arms crossed, to cover her breasts. My goodness, even her back was gorgeous! By the trace of definition in the back, it was obvious that she worked out.
Then Margie gracefully turned to face the camera, still covering her breasts with her hands. She smiled, and said in a teasing voice, "I don't know if a married woman should be showing her breasts to another man. Maybe I should just keep them covered. It feels good to touch them though. I'm going to touch them now. Is that OK?" All the while she was slowly manipulating her breasts with her hands, gently rotating and squeezing them in front of the camera. Never completely uncovering them. She brushed her unseen nipples with her palms. She sometimes lifted her hands away, but never showed her full breast to the camera. Never let her nipples show. You could tell the exact weight and size of them. You could see how they rose and fell and bobbled. It was incredibly stimulating. How I wished that those hands were mine!
Removing her bra must have been the big step for her, because she began to regain her composure. She smiled at Bill and coaxed, "Say something. Tell me what you want."
Bill coughed, and whispered, "I want to see them. Show them to me. I mean, please. Please show them to me. I'll die if you don't let me see them."
Margie only smiled. She started to rotate her palms against the breasts so they rubbed over her nipples and hummed "Mmmm. Maybe I should show them to you. My nipples are getting so hard!" She rotated her hands in larger and larger circles until at last the complete breast was visible. She squeezed them, hefted them, pushed them together. At the same time, she bent forward toward Bill. I imagined that she must be mere inches from his face. Her nipples thrust upward, stiff and hard.
"Take a good look, Bill. I wish that you could suck on them. In my mind I can feel you sucking on them right now. I wish you could run your hands over them and play with them. Just thinking about it makes me all wet. Would you like to see how wet you make me, Bill? Do you want me to take off my pants? Do you want to see a married woman's panties? All moist? Moist because of you, Bill?"
These weren't serious questions, because she had already unzipped the pants, and was sinuously peeling the pants down as she spoke. She pulled the pants apart at the zipper, showing her low-cut red satin panties, lacy. Then she began to peel, turning this way and that so Bill could appreciate all the views of this sensuous act. For a moment the pants caught on her panties and a few wisps of pubic hair peeked out from the top; then they snapped back. The pants continued to writhe down, first over the swell of her butt, and then down in front. The lips of her vagina were clearly outlined in red satin, which appeared very moist. The camera zoomed in on the vagina lips. Wonder of a camera, it automatically went into macro mode, so that I could almost smell Margie's rich aroma.
She swung her hips back and forth as if dancing. She undulated. The camera zoomed back to show my topless wife finally kicking off her pants, squaring her legs, hands on hips, wiggling her breasts, and smiling at the camera. "Do you see what you do to me, Bill? Do you see how awful and wet and horny I get when you look at me the way you do? Do you know what I'm thinking about when I get like this, Bill? Show it to me. Show me what I want to see. Don't make me come get it. We're not supposed to touch. I'm a married woman. I can't just be feeling up some guy's dick in his office. You have to do it for me, Bill."
Once again, the camera was placed on the desk. But this time, Bill, turned it around to face himself. Clever Margie. By letting Bill know that he was recording, she insured that he would be careful to record everything. He pushed his chair back from the desk, so that I could see him in profile sitting in his chair. I could see my almost naked wife only two feet away from him. She knelt as he undid his belt, as he unzipped his pants, and, no strip teaser, pulled pants and boxer shorts to the ground in a single movement. Margie knelt on the floor before him and sat back on her haunches where she could inspect his hardness at eye level. She leaned forward so close that he could surely feel her warm breath on it. "Oh, it's beautiful." she groaned. "I wish that I could touch it. I'll bet it feels good to rub up and down. Could you do that for me, Bill? Could you rub it up and down and pretend it's me doing it? Pretend it's my boobs rubbing against your big old hard cock?" And with this, she squeezed her own boobs.
Bill was transported. He began to stroke slowly up and down. Margie smiled through half-lidded eyes, satisfied with this progress. In time with Bill's movements, she rubbed her hands up and down between and over her breasts. She milked them in time to Bill's own milking, only inches away.
Her mouth hung open, and she sounded drugged. "I have something else to show you, Bill. You liked it when I leaned over your desk earlier, remember? I want to lean over your desk again." She swept away a pile of papers, moved the keyboard out of the way, and positioned herself between Bill and his desk, facing the desk.
"I need to take my panties off. You'd better get the camera. You only need one hand to hold it." Bill took the camera, and focused on the pantied behind of my wife. Meanwhile she stood straight, hands at her sides, and bent at the waist. This left her lying with her belly on the desk facing away from Bill and the camera, with her arms lying uselessly along her side and her hands relaxed on either side of her buns. In this position, she could touch the waistband of the panties behind her back, inches from the camera, and I suppose, inches from Bill's face. Bill was doing his best to capture the complete picture with the camera, lifting it and holding it to either side.
"I'm going to pull them down, now. Are you ready?" And Margie hooked her thumbs under the waistband and peeled slowly downward in this degrading and exposed position, sliding the smooth silk over her flawless white globes centimeter by centimeter. First the crack became visible, captured so flawlessly by this remarkable camera that you could almost feel the downy fuzz. Then the wide "V" of the crack. Then the anus, pink, wrinkled and clean. Margie is a woman with slender legs set far enough apart on her hips that you can see between them even when her knees are touching. So when the panties descended low enough, Bill and I had a clear view of Margie's twin lips, moist and warm-looking, shadowed in the dark cave between her legs and the top of her panties.
She held that pose for a few moments under Bill's inspecting eye, with her panties clutching her upper thigh as far as her wrists could bend around the edge of the desk. "I don't think I can get them any farther," she teased. "You'll have to help." And she wiggled her hips, slowly waving her buttocks from side to side.
Bill's hand came onto the screen. The one with which he had been stroking himself. It gently smoothed first one and then the other of the two upturned cheeks. The cheeks that filled the screen. Then it rubbed up and down the crack. Margie's animal voice husked, "I can't see. You're not touching me are you? We agreed that we wouldn't touch."
Bill whispered, "No. I'm not touching you. We agreed." The bastard.
"Keep going!" I silently urged him, caught up in the moment. "For God's sake, keep going!"
"OK. Then it's alright." Margie croaked. She had begun rotating her hips down and up, involuntarily pushing against Bill's warm hand. Bill slowly pulled the panties down one-handedly, as if unveiling a great work of art. When they were low enough, he ran his hand between Margie's legs, up and down the inside of her thighs, eliciting a gasp, and then a whimper. He swept the panties to the ground and the woman quickly kicked them off and stepped outward with each leg, widening the gap, making her hungry pussy available for whatever this man wanted. I saw Bill's hand brush the very top inside of Margie's thighs, back and forth a couple of times, then saw it rub Margie's engorged lips, touching lightly along the edge with the fingertips, and then saw his thumb disappear between those lips. A gasp and a cry escaped Margie's lips. "Oh my God!" she groaned. "Oh my God!" She started panting hoarsely. Bill began gently squeezing his hand and pushing, two seconds to a stroke, applying light contact to the clitoris with his knuckles rhythmically as he slid slightly in and out of the vaginal opening with his thumb.
This only went on for a few seconds, and then there was something like a scuffle and Margie jumped away. "Oh my God, I can't stand it. That's so gooood, Bill. But I'm a married woman. We agreed! And I think..." she gasped a moment, "...I think you were about to touch me." Margie continued panting. "We'd better just look at each other. Let me show you what I do when I get like this." Margie went over to the bag that she had used to bring the camera equipment, rummaged around in it frantically, and trotted back with a white plastic object. She pulled a wooden office chair with arms up to face Bill, flopped down in a slouch, and lifted one leg over an arm of the chair. Her pussy was wide and moist and totally exposed. Her breasts rocked, and parted. I recognized the object as a dildo Margie owned.
This dildo was a strange thing. It was long and rather thin, made to resemble a stretched out penis with balls and all, but much thinner than most real ones, and smooth, like porcelain. I had always imagined it was some sort of learner's model for young girls who hadn't quite stretched out to a woman's dimensions. I thought Margie kept it in her nightstand as sort of a souvenir of her childhood. I didn't dream that she actually still used it. What a dope I am.