Sharing My Hot Wife

CHAPTER ONE "Christ, maybe I should stick to being a grease monkey," he muttered to himself, brushing a strand of moist dark hair off his glistening forehead. Dark circles of sweat had formed on his tee-shirt, making him feel soggy and uncomfortable. This, combined with the dryness of the volumes surrounding him law books for the most part-made it hard for him to concentrate. There were other distractions, too. Through the half-open door that separated the small but cheerful kitchen from the adjoining sleeping alcove, he could see the naked body of his voluptuous nineteen year old blonde wife, who had just emerged from the shower. The angle of the door prevented him from seeing her clearly, but he caught tantalizing flashes of her lush young figure as she moved back and forth between the bed and the dresser. Leaning back in his chair, he lit a cigarette and absorbed himself in tracing with his eye the delicate curve that started at her shoulder blades, sloped downward to the small of her back, then swelled outward to become the roundest, firmest buttocks he had ever seen in his life. And he had seen plenty, too. Two years in the Marine Corps had taken him in and out of every brothel in Germany and Hawaii, and he figured there wasn't much of anything he hadn't done with a woman by the time he'd been discharged. He'd done enough, anyway, to be sure of what he wanted when he got out: an education so he could get ahead in life, and a wife with the class to go with him. Now he was going to law school on the G. I. Bill; and as for his wife, she was everything he'd dreamed of and more! The ambitious young student took a deep drag on his cigarette, still watching her through the half-open door as she wound her long ash-blonde hair, which hung almost to her waist, into a neat twist at the nape of her slender neck, turning her sensually naked body as she did so and giving him a clear view of her opulent, pink-tipped breasts. Sometimes he still couldn't believe his good fortune was real. In the small New England town where they had both grown up, they definitely lived on opposite sides of the tracks-he the son of a millworker, she the daughter of Mark Wentworth, a multi-millionaire industrialist who seemed to forget that he'd started with nothing himself, at least when his daughter's choice of a husband was at issue. They had married six months earlier over his bitter objections. To Barbara's disappointment, her father hadn't even come to their wedding. The door to the bedroom opened, and his young wife emerged clad in a pair of brightly printed shorts that set off her long legs to perfection and a skimpy halter top that exposed her deep cleavage. Ralph felt his p***s begin to awaken inside his tight Levi's at the sight of her. "Hey, baby," he said, impulsively reaching out and pulling her to him as she passed the chair, "have I told you lately you have a quality ass?" "You're supposed to be studying," his bride protested, trying to wriggle out of his muscular arms which encircled her buttocks as he buried his head in the yielding softness of her abdomen. "Everything about you is quality," he continued, ignoring her attempts to free herself. "From the top of your beautiful, sexy head to the tips of your beautiful, sexy toes. And one of these days, baby, I am gonna cover every luscious inch of you in more diamonds and furs than those jerks you should've married even know exist!" "Ralph, stop it!" Barbara objected, as he slipped one strong hand under the loosely tied halter and gripped the ripe, succulent mounds of her breasts. "The window's open! The neighbors might see!" "Who cares?" Ralph muttered, taking one of her pale, perfectly shaped n*****s into his mouth and sucking until it stood out from the surrounding areole in a stiff, pyramidal point. "I do!" his slim, attractive bride declared firmly, pushing him away and readjusting the flimsy halter. "Now get back to work!" "I guess you're right," the dark-haired youth replied, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice as he reluctantly loosened his grip. Always the same thing, he couldn't help thinking. Not tonight, Ralph, I have (a) my period (b) a headache, (c) I'm just not in the mood, (d) all of the above. Barbara busied herself with clearing the table, nervously trying to deny the tension in the air. Yet she, too, knew they had problems, and that they were largely her fault. She hated it when Ralph just attacked her that way. At least part of her hated it and felt compelled to resist. But somewhere in her consciousness she knew that she craved it too, in an obscure way she didn't understand. She had put on the sexy top precisely because she knew that the sight of her full, lush breasts never failed to excite him, but something always frightened her just when she got what she wanted. It wasn't only her husband's forthright sexuality, deep down, she knew it was a nameless terror at her own passion that kept her firmly in check. No matter how she tried, she couldn't allow herself to truly enjoy the pleasures of marriage. "It seems funny not to have Jeannie popping in every night," she said, trying to fill the humid silence with conversation. "Can't say I mind the difference particularly." "I do. She's so ... so different from anyone else I've ever met." "That's for sure," Ralph muttered sarcastically. "Oh, Ralph, why don't you like her? In all the time she lived next door you were always making snide remarks and picking fights, no matter how nice she tried to be." "I guess I just don't have any patience with all her crazy schemes. Seems like a big waste of time to me." "Well, not everybody wants to spend all their time buried in books," Barbara replied, a little huffily, resenting his slurs at her only friend in the city. She and Jeannie worked together at the college administration office, and it had been Jeannie who told the young couple that the apartment next to hers was vacant. The two girls had become very close during the months they lived next door. For Barbara it meant someone to talk to, a girl friend to share secrets with and keep her company, particularly on the nights Ralph worked as a mechanic at an all night garage. Although only nineteen, like Barbara herself, Jeannie had an air of worldliness and sophistication that the young bride, fresh from a quiet little town in New England, found fascinating. An art student, she supported herself by waitressing at the Dockside, a West Side bar, dimly lit, and in Barbara's eyes, terribly chic. She listened intently to Jeannie's tales of woe about her successive lovers, her financial problems, and her "head," which seemed to be an all-inclusive term for anything that was bothering her at the moment. "Oh, Barbara," she would moan, "I've just got to get my head together!" Then suddenly everything changed. Jeannie decided to move into a commune over on the Palisades, just across the Hudson from Manhattan. Except it wasn't a regular commune, at least not like the ones Barbara had read about in magazines. Called the Life Unlimited House, it was apparently some kind of a franchise organization run by a man named Rick Coretti. Jeannie couldn't sing his praises enough. "Barbara, he's a saint! That man is saving my life! Literally! He's just so understanding. And he knows so much about people's hang-ups and s****l defenses. And he's letting me do murals on the wall. He says it's good therapy, and I just know this is it! Everything I've been looking for!" Restlessly, Barbara wandered around the kitchen which, despite her efforts at homemaking, seemed particularly cheerless to her. "Jeannie says she's got a huge room all her own with a view of the river." "Good for her." "She says there's a lot of room in the house. Oh, Ralph, maybe we could live there, if it's really as nice as she says!" "Are you kidding?" "No, I'm not kidding at all. Jeannie says it's a big old house with lots of rooms and a garden and really nice, intelligent people. It would be so nice to live in a place like that!" "Instead of a dump like this, right?" Angered, Ralph threw his ball-point pen down on the table. "That's what you mean, isn't it?" He was sensitive on the subject of their living conditions, always aware, though Barbara tried never to mention it, that she was accustomed to a much more lavish environment. The house she had grown up in was practically a mansion. "No, that's not it at all!" Barbara corrected him. "It's just that they're really into exploring alternate life styles." "Alternate life styles, what kind of bull is that? The only alternatives those fakers are interested in is how to live off the fat of the land without doing any work!" "That's not true. Jeannie says Rick Coretti is a very responsible businessman who really enjoys helping people. They do yoga, and they have classes right in the house, and everybody works out their problems together. And they share expenses, so everybody has time to do the things they really want to do, instead of having to work all the time." "What kind of classes do they have?" Ralph asked. "I'm not really sure. I think it's yoga and sensitivity training and things like that." "Sensitivity training?" Ralph hooted. "You mean those expensive group gropes for people who aren't getting any? That sounds like it's right up Jeannie's alley!" Unlike his wife, Ralph found Jeannie a boring phony, perpetually disorganized and ready to turn her life over to anybody with a big c**k or a convincing line. "I think you're being very mean," his wife objected. "I read some articles about it, and a lot of people are really helped by those things. I'd even like to try it myself. ... only if you were with me, of course." "Oh no!" Ralph groaned. "Don't tell me she's got you going now, too?" "Well, according to Jeannie, a lot of people come just for the classes, and they're not very expensive. It might be interesting," she finished dejectedly, seeing the sour look on her husband's face. "Well, forget it," he said shortly. "We don't have money to throw away on a bunch of hippie swindlers." Barbara felt a wave of resentment go through her at his abrupt dismissal of her idea. "I think you're being very unfair," she said angrily, although she knew she should drop the subject. "You're always complaining that I'm unwilling to explore new things, and then as soon as I suggest something we could do together, you say no! Maybe sensitivity training would do you some good!" she snapped with an angry toss of her head. Ralph struggled to keep his temper. "In what way do you think it would do me some good?" he asked evenly. "Well, Jeannie says the classes are wonderful for people who are ... are having s****l problems," she blurted out, regretting her words as soon as she had spoken them. The young student glared angrily at his wife, who avoided his eyes. She knew she had struck a nerve, and now was frightened at what his reaction might be. They had frequently exchanged angry words recently, usually on something related to s*x;'and Barbara was afraid they were now on the verge of another quarrel. "I don't think our s****l problems are the kind the Life Unlimited House could help," he declared, making a point of turning his attention back to his books. But Barbara wouldn't let the subject drop. "And just what do you mean by that?" she demanded icily. "I mean that if you didn't react as though I were trying to rape you every time I touch you, things might be a lot more pleasant around here." Barbara's eyes opened wide in outrage. "Well!" she began in a tone of haughty injury. "Maybe if you were more of a gentleman, things would be more pleasant too. At least for me, if that matters."