When I crawled into bed later that night, Theo was waiting with a blue marker and, in tiny script, he was writing my name on the opposite side of his cock. He accomplished his task, but the letters were so tiny that the overall effect was underwhelming. I kissed the tip of his nose, before turning the lights out. “That’s sweet, honey,” I told him. He turned away from me, his shoulder muscles tight with irritation, his cock covered in blue and red ink. My man looked so sad and defeated that I closed the space between us, pressing my breasts against his back. I laid a line of kisses across his broad shoulders. He pretended to ignore me until I slid my hand up his chest, lightly squeezing his nipples between my fingers, throwing my left leg over his. Reluctantly, he turned towards me, his lips turned down in a small pout. I placed a kiss just left of his lips, then crawled on top of his chest. I slid my tongue between his lips and slowly lowered myself on to his cock and apologized properly.
Theo finally got it right when I took matters into my own hands. Straddling his thighs, and using a purple marker, my choice this time, I carefully wrote “I S A B E L L E” with room to spare. When I was done, I took a moment to admire my handiwork, letting the ink dry, and then I wrapped my lips around the tip of Theo’s cock, suckling softly, and tasted a thin sliver of salty pre-come. I worked my way down the shaft, humming so my lips vibrated, until my lips were pressed against his groin. My throat muscles quivered in protest.
Theo groaned gleefully. “I have no idea why this turns me on so much,” he said.
I tried to reply, but I was occupied and had long ago learned not to talk with my mouth full. He slid his hands through my hair and began rocking his hips back and forth. I could imagine the smug expression on his face as he stood there, the muscles in his thighs flexing against my cheeks as he made me swallow my own name.
Sooner than later, I was ready to up the ante. Writing my name on Theo’s cock in different colours, across different areas, with different orientations was well and good, but there wasn’t a lot at stake. It was an exquisite secret that deserved an audience. Over coffee at a cafe near the campus where I taught, I stared across the table at Theo, running my sandalled foot up and down his calf. I wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to see him with another woman. I wanted to see if I could go through with it, surrender that part of myself for a night, see if he would come back to me, see what he would look like thinking of me while fucking her. It was a dangerous idea — such things rarely end well — but I couldn’t help myself.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
I took a sip of my coffee, frowning at the bitter taste, and then I shared my suspect thoughts. Theo coughed and blushed, a light red rising from his neck up through the dirty blond roots at his forehead. He turned his head to the side in that endearing way he does when he’s nervous and quickly looked around to make sure no one was listening.
“How do you come up with these ideas?”
I smiled, winked and took another sip of coffee.
For a few weeks, Theo dismissed my idea, but my investment in the notion increased with each passing day. I began to look at every woman who crossed my path in a new light. Theo always claimed that he didn’t have a type, but even a casual inspection of the photo album where he kept pictures of his exes demonstrated a theme. It was obvious that he liked his women short, with dark hair, blue eyes and just a touch of crazy. In restaurants, I would point out potential candidates and Theo would either blush, or roll his eyes. While we were having sex, I would offer suggestions from the eligible pool of our mutual acquaintances. When I was at the gym, hunched over the handrail of the elliptical trainer, trying not to pass out, I would stare down saucy minxes bending over yoga balls or stretching out on the mats, imagining what my husband’s long body would look like bent over theirs.
Once I had found my “It Girl”, I surprised Theo at work, slipping into his office and locking the door behind me. He grinned at me from behind his desk and loosened his tie. “I do love a working man,” I drawled as I inched around his desk. Theo tapped his desk, and closed the file he had been reading.
“It’s a matter of approach.”
“What is?”
“You know.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, crossing his fingers behind his head. I stood behind him, massaging his shoulders, flicking my tongue against his ear. “I’ve found her and now, it’s only a matter of approach.”
Theo opened his mouth, but I turned his chair around so he was facing me and pressed two fingers to his lips. “Shhh,” I said. I dropped my coat and, turning his chair as I walked, I hopped up on his desk, ignoring the papers and pens and the half-empty coffee mug. I slid my shoes off and perched my heels against his shoulders. “We should make the most of your lunch break.”
Theo arched an eyebrow, and slid my skirt up around my hips. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of my G-string and slid it down until it was around one ankle. He slid those same fingers inside my cunt and I gritted my teeth, wrapping my ankles around his neck and pulling him closer.
“Tell me I’m right,” I said.
“Right about?” Theo began licking my clit, twisting his fingers around in a languorous circle.
“Tell me I’m right that it’s fucking hot that your boss is thirty feet away and your wife is spread open on your desk.”
Theo groaned softly and stood, then quickly unbuttoned his slacks. I slid my legs around his waist, and he placed his hands on my shoulders, thrusting his cock inside me, hard and deep.
“Tell me I’m right,” I repeated.
Theo pulled me up and wrapped his arms around me. He clasped the back of my neck as he kissed me, fucking me fast and dirty. I clenched my cunt muscles and sank my teeth into his neck.
“You’re going to leave a mark,” he gasped.
I released my grip. “Tell me I’m right.”
Theo’s hips started rocking faster and then he was coming, his breathing slightly ragged. “You’re right,” he said, over and over.
I held him inside me, enjoying the moment, enjoying the heat of his body, and the shiver down my spine. “That’s all I’m saying.”
At home that evening, Theo sat down next to me on the couch, and began tapping his fingers against his thigh. “So who is she?”
Her name was Francesca, and we had grown up in the same Italian neighbourhood in Brooklyn. Back then, she wasn’t much to look at, and admittedly, neither was I, but now, she was something else — deep olive skin, icy blue eyes and jet-black hair that cascaded down her back. Her features were sharp and angular in places, round and inviting in others. She wasn’t perfect looking, her eyes set far apart, her lower lip slightly crooked, but she had a crafty smile, a loud laugh and ass for days. These were all things Theo would enjoy and I hoped she would be up for it — we were both recovering Catholic school girls after all. Francesca and I got together for drinks every couple of weeks, so it wasn’t extraordinary when I invited her to our place for dinner the following weekend.
I served veal saltimbocca, roasted green beans, a Caesar salad and a good Pinot Noir we had picked up in wine country last year. Francesca raved about my cooking, regaled us with a story about a disastrous blind date, and eventually noticed that neither Theo nor I were saying much. “What’s up with you two?” she asked.
Theo looked at me, his eyes wide. I set my fork down. “Rather than be coy, I’ll just come out with it. I’d love to watch my husband fuck you,” I said. “A one-time thing.”
Francesca coughed, and refilled her wine glass. “You always were crazy, Izzy.”
Theo reached for my hand, and I grasped his fingers, tightly. “Yes, but I’m not kidding.”
Francesca nodded, and traced the rim of her wine glass. “When?”