Rebecca had moved to stroking Dan now, too, Jack noticed.
Emma did not keep this up for long. After a few minutes, she let her hand fall, and instead fiddled with the stem of the wine glass with both hands. Jack wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, he obviously wanted her to continue her ministrations; on the other, he wasn’t sure how long he would last if she did.
Emma and Rebecca continued to chat for another five minutes about film adaptations in general, neither of them playing with their boy toy, and the break gave Jack’s erection time to subside. He was still turned on to be standing there in full view, but his shaft had softened somewhat.
Emma picked up her purse, and withdrew from it a small golden envelope, which she handed to Jack in silence. She sipped her wine and looked at him devilishly from under her lashes while he opened it and read what was on the single folded piece of paper:
“Stand in the kitchen doorway facing me. Remove your underwear. Stroke yourself until you are hard. I want to watch you playing with yourself. Do not come yet.”
He blinked, and then looked at her. Her smile widened.
Okay, then, he thought. At least it was out of view of the laptop camera. As instructed, he dropped his underwear in the doorway, and began to run his fingers along his penis. It did not take much stimulation to reach full hardness — simply reading the note, and then seeing his wife’s expression had done much of that. Emma leaned back in her chair, extending her bare legs forward, crossed at the ankles, and sipped her wine, watching him. The remains of her pizza were now pushed slightly away from her, discarded. But still she carried on her conversation with Rebecca about movies, looking over at the screen now and then, but always turning her attention back to Jack.
Jack found it difficult to hold her gaze. His eyes wandered as he stroked himself, and sometimes he closed them for a bit. He considered the evening. It was now about eight o’clock, and he’d spent much of the preceding two and a half hours in a state of considerable excitement. He’d had no idea that his bubbly little wife could be like this — so calm and controlled and in control. And not only that, but also so determined, planning out every aspect of their evening, dispassionately plotting passion. He really hoped she was getting what she wanted and needed out of this.
He was very glad he’d let himself be talked into this.
He played with his balls with his other hand, encircling with his fingers the top of the scrotum where it joined the perineum, squeezing and tugging lightly. He ran the tips of his fingers up the underside of his member, and lightly around the head, spreading the pre-come fluid, then sliding his hand up and down the shaft slowly. So slowly, resisting with effort the urge to speed up and bring everything to a conclusion.
“More wine, please,” Emma said, attracting his attention once more.
He reached for the trunks lying on the floor, but Emma shook her head. “Leave them.”
Okay, then. He stepped forward and picked up the bottle — that, at least, he could manage while still staying out of sight of the laptop camera. But Emma had last put her glass down on the other side of the table, out of reach. To top it up, he’d need to walk around behind her, with his solid erection in full view of Rebecca. Is that really what she wanted? Okay, then, he thought again, and had just steeled himself to take that step, when Emma apparently realised what he was waiting for, and moved the glass to within reach. He was, he realised as he topped it up, quite disappointed; he’d like to know what Rebecca’s response would have been to his proud erection.
Emma reached into her purse again, and withdrew another small, gold envelope, passing it to him. This one said:
“I want you to go down on me under the table while I am talking to Rebecca. Nice and gentle, as we talked about. I do not want to come yet. You can play with yourself at the same time, as long as you do not come.”
Once more, she was looking at him, waiting for his reaction to the note. An excited jerk from his penis betrayed him, drawing her gaze, and making her laugh. She shifted forward in her chair, so that she was more on the edge, and turned it to the side a little as she spread her legs, granting him access. Jack discarded the note, and crawled under the table as instructed. She was not wearing any underwear, and the flared hem of her dress gave her plenty of movement, presenting her freshly-shaved sex to him.
Even before he reached her, her scent enveloped him, drawing him in. As he placed his fingers on her to separate her labia, he could feel how wet she already was. He inhaled deeply and leaned in, lapping gently at her with his tongue as she’d directed him.
Emma continued her conversation with Rebecca, although they’d moved from movie adaptations of Austin novels onto musicals — Judy Garland and Doris Day were featuring heavily. Although she’d directed him to approach under the table, Emma didn’t keep his activities a secret. She frequently interspersed her dialogue with directions to him: “Slower, love, please”, or “Up a bit, bit more, yes, just there”, or simply, “Mmm, that’s nice, love. Keep doing that.”
Jack found the experience deeply erotic. He didn’t feel the need to play with himself. Because she’d said that she simply wanted to enjoy the experience, and not to achieve orgasm, the pressure was off, and he didn’t find himself getting frustrated or tense because of his lack of “success”; instead, he could relax, and devote himself — “concentrate” was the wrong verb — on her pleasure. He found it rewarding to know that this was fulfilling for her: in a day where she could be asking him for anything, this was what she’d chosen, and he was delighted to provide it. He realised that fulfilling her needs was fulfilling some of his, too.
Earlier in the day, Jack had focused on following Emma’s continual stream of directions, Now that she was mostly talking with Rebecca, he was more able to appreciate her shaven state. There were no problems with pubic hairs tickling his nose or catching in his throat. There were no tufts of hair from one side of her labia entwined with tufts on the other side, making it harder to part her lips without causing discomfort. He also realised that Emma must have had similar problems with his own unshaven state, before today.
Emma was still talking with Rebecca about movie musicals. She absently ran her fingers through his hair while he serviced her. Again, Jack found this juxtaposition of the causal, everyday setting and the “normalness” of this conversation, while he went down on her, to be highly erotic.
After a good twenty minutes of this, in which the conversation meandered and Emma frequently issued minor corrections or notes of approval on his actions, Emma stretched in the chair. “This has been lovely, babe,” she said to Rebecca, “but I think it’s time for dessert.”
Dessert? Jack didn’t recall anything about dessert. Emma had only mentioned the pizza.