the faint white traces in her panties that she’d been wet at some point earlier that day.
“It’s nice, kissing him?” I’d ask her. “I bet it gets you all hot inside.”
“And wet. That’s what you want to hear, right?”
Then her panties would be gone, and she’d lie there breathing deeply, her fingers massaging her pussy, tracing out the length of her labia, circling around her clit, making wet noises through the crystal-clear microphone.
“And you know what,” she might say if I was really lucky. “When we were pressing against each other, and sucking face like there was no tomorrow…I could feel his…thing….”
This from my wife, who ruled out dating Aaron Simpson, but apparently enjoyed feeling his hard cock pressing against her while they filmed romantic scenes.
“I bet you’re tempted to offer him a little personal time in your trailer,” I’d say.
She’d smile and say, “But I’m a good little wife, I would never do something like that.”
Or if she was in a friskier mood, she’d say something like, “If I got him to take that thing out of his pants, filming would be so delayed it would probably make the movie go bust.”
I trusted her, she had no reason to lie. If she had wanted to fuck Aaron Simpson, she knew well enough that she could, and that I’d be happy with it, hoping she’d tell me the details when she was ready.
I’d watch her pulling out her vibrator, trailing its tip around her wet pussy as though it were some guy’s dick trying to get in. I’d watch her slide it inside her, and imagine that she was allowing Aaron Simpson to take that final step, to become the only other man inside her since we started dating.
“You think he’s as big as your vibrator?” I’d ask her.
“Bigger. Much bigger.”
We enjoyed teasing each other.
Driving each other crazy until one of us came first—like it was some kind of competition.
You could say we adjusted to the pressures placed upon our marriage.
The next series of pressures, though, included the return of the movie production to local studio space—and the start of the last stage of principal photography: the sex.
Chapter Six
It was when production came back to Los Angeles and I knew they were getting to the final scenes—the sex scenes—that I started feeling the fear that Aaron Simpson was really about to sleep with my wife.
I say fear, but there was still that sexual excitement in me every time I thought about my wife going away from me to be naughty with someone else.
But here there would be about a week where Hayley would do little but lay around a bed with Aaron Simpson and the guy who played her husband.
Frustratingly for me, when she returned home she refused to allow me to touch her sexually, for fear that it would affect her one way or another before the incredibly intimate work she was about to perform.
“I’ll make it up to you,” she promised. “Once these scenes are in the can, we should go away together.”
And Hayley wouldn’t even be staying at home when the scenes were shot: the studio put her up in a luxury hotel close to the set, so that she and Aaron could be brought in at any random time of day or night to continue filming once a shot had been set up.
The first evening she went away, her agent Liona turned up on our doorstep. I assumed as soon as I saw her that she would be accompanying Hayley to the hotel, and would be perhaps chaperoning her as the rest of the movie was shot. But to my surprise, after Hayley finished up straightening her casual-but-not-too-casual charcoal gray dress, checking the waves of long red hair flowing down her back, and perfecting her make-up in the mirror by the front door, before a little air-kissing goodbye to yours truly, she was escorted to the limousine by the chauffeur alone, leaving Liona to hang back with me.
“You’re not going with her?” I asked as we waved farewell to my exquisite wife.
“It’s a closed
“It’s nice, kissing him?” I’d ask her. “I bet it gets you all hot inside.”
“And wet. That’s what you want to hear, right?”
Then her panties would be gone, and she’d lie there breathing deeply, her fingers massaging her pussy, tracing out the length of her labia, circling around her clit, making wet noises through the crystal-clear microphone.
“And you know what,” she might say if I was really lucky. “When we were pressing against each other, and sucking face like there was no tomorrow…I could feel his…thing….”
This from my wife, who ruled out dating Aaron Simpson, but apparently enjoyed feeling his hard cock pressing against her while they filmed romantic scenes.
“I bet you’re tempted to offer him a little personal time in your trailer,” I’d say.
She’d smile and say, “But I’m a good little wife, I would never do something like that.”
Or if she was in a friskier mood, she’d say something like, “If I got him to take that thing out of his pants, filming would be so delayed it would probably make the movie go bust.”
I trusted her, she had no reason to lie. If she had wanted to fuck Aaron Simpson, she knew well enough that she could, and that I’d be happy with it, hoping she’d tell me the details when she was ready.
I’d watch her pulling out her vibrator, trailing its tip around her wet pussy as though it were some guy’s dick trying to get in. I’d watch her slide it inside her, and imagine that she was allowing Aaron Simpson to take that final step, to become the only other man inside her since we started dating.
“You think he’s as big as your vibrator?” I’d ask her.
“Bigger. Much bigger.”
We enjoyed teasing each other.
Driving each other crazy until one of us came first—like it was some kind of competition.
You could say we adjusted to the pressures placed upon our marriage.
The next series of pressures, though, included the return of the movie production to local studio space—and the start of the last stage of principal photography: the sex.
Chapter Six
It was when production came back to Los Angeles and I knew they were getting to the final scenes—the sex scenes—that I started feeling the fear that Aaron Simpson was really about to sleep with my wife.
I say fear, but there was still that sexual excitement in me every time I thought about my wife going away from me to be naughty with someone else.
But here there would be about a week where Hayley would do little but lay around a bed with Aaron Simpson and the guy who played her husband.
Frustratingly for me, when she returned home she refused to allow me to touch her sexually, for fear that it would affect her one way or another before the incredibly intimate work she was about to perform.
“I’ll make it up to you,” she promised. “Once these scenes are in the can, we should go away together.”
And Hayley wouldn’t even be staying at home when the scenes were shot: the studio put her up in a luxury hotel close to the set, so that she and Aaron could be brought in at any random time of day or night to continue filming once a shot had been set up.
The first evening she went away, her agent Liona turned up on our doorstep. I assumed as soon as I saw her that she would be accompanying Hayley to the hotel, and would be perhaps chaperoning her as the rest of the movie was shot. But to my surprise, after Hayley finished up straightening her casual-but-not-too-casual charcoal gray dress, checking the waves of long red hair flowing down her back, and perfecting her make-up in the mirror by the front door, before a little air-kissing goodbye to yours truly, she was escorted to the limousine by the chauffeur alone, leaving Liona to hang back with me.
“You’re not going with her?” I asked as we waved farewell to my exquisite wife.
“It’s a closed
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