Begin Part 2


      As I settled back and propped my feet up on the seat, Bonnie
was leaning over me.  "You're going to fall asleep,"  she insisted.
"Please don't fall asleep."  She actually seemed to mean it.

      I brushed her off.  "I'll be fine," I said in a fading voice
as I closed my eyes.

      She shook me.  "Michael, honey, wake up."  I murmured
incoherent sounds.  She shook me again.  "Michael, please don't do
this."  I had begun deep sleep breathing.  "Oh, God, I think he's
out of it," she cried.
 
      With my eyes open tiny slits, I could see her hovering over
me, becoming a little more visible in the near-darkness, as my eyes
accustomed themselves to it.  She was almost right.  I almost was
out of it.  Tired and with my head spinning, I wasn't sure that I
wouldn't drift off.  It seemed like only the energy I was deriving
from my runaway erotic imagination was keeping me awake.  As I
secretly watched her, I saw Pat's hands appear and grasp her
shoulders.  He began caressing them, rubbing them with his strong
hands.  She responded instantaneously to his touch, her head lifting
and an expression of deep physical pleasure sweeping across her
face.

      "Let him sleep it off for a while," I heard him say as his
hands continued to do their work.  I watched her expression,
contorted both with alcohol and pleasure.  She was amazing in that
respect.  Almost everything I'd read had said that alcohol dulled
the senses and made us feel less.  With Bonnie, it seemed to open
her up like a flower, connecting every nerve ending everywhere to
her sexual core.  That's why it was so hard to make it all the way
home without stopping after we had been out partying.  She wanted so
badly to be touched and loved that she didn't want to wait.  Pat
knew that. I had told him.  And I'd also told him that rubbing her
back and shoulders sent rushes of pleasure to the tips of her
fingers and the end of her toes and everywhere else in between.  Her
hands tensed and she gripped the back of the seat as the waves began
rushing over her.  I could see the rhythm of it, as her body swayed
forward and back, her eyes now tightly closed,  her face grimacing
and relaxing in sync with her hands, squeezing and releasing the
seat.

      My heart was racing, too, my own breath accelerating as I
secretly watched her.  Even after a few seconds, I knew she was
soaking wet.  I heard him suggest that she sit back a little so he
could reach her more comfortably, and she did it.  Her head and
upper body disappeared from view, but I could still see her hands,
squeezing, squeezing the seat.  I heard him ask something in a low
tone, and she murmured a soft reply.  It was going to be maddening.
I wanted to hear everything, and the radio was too loud for me to
pick up their intimate whispers!  I began to experience a sense of
frustration that threw another element into the mad mix of
sensations I was already experiencing.  I lay there, completely wide
awake, wanting to hear, wanting to see.  Wanting.

      I glanced up into the rear view mirror, but of course that was
no help.  Properly set, it showed me only a section of the ceiling
from my low angle.  All I could see were her hands, and in the next
few moments they disappeared one at a time.  There was nothing but
the darkness and the radio, the muffled sound of intermittent
whispered conversation, and the periodic rustle of clothing and body
movement.  Straining to hear every sound, I thought I heard her say
Gail, which was Pat's wife's name; I thought I heard her say no,
more than once; and I thought I heard her say I can't.  But I also
know I heard that knowing sexy giggle of hers and I know I heard Pat
say, "I don't tell anybody anything."   I began hearing muffled
wet-sounding smacks that sounded like kisses.  And I thought I heard
the sound of a zipper.  Oh, God.

      I was almost squirming, flooded with emotions.  I felt so
weak, I trembled, my stomach continued to flip as I was forced to
imagine what they were doing.  I knew I could have stopped it, but I
felt paralyzed, the way you are when you're dreaming.  I seemed to
have opened a door I had previously only stood outside.  I was
letting it happen, letting myself be drawn toward that doorway,
toward  what?  I felt the fears I always did, but from that newly
opened door came a new swift rush of erotic fascination.  I'm like a
moth circling a flame, I thought.  Oh, so dangerous, oh so hot, oh
so delicious!

      Soon the sounds from the back seat became louder, and it
wasn't only the sound of whispered conversation.  It was Bonnie,
becoming overwhelmed by the touching and beginning to give voice to
it.  Heavy breathing, the unmistakable sound of kisses, and low
muffled cries of  pleasure.   "Oh God Pat, oh God Pat," she
whimpered. "You really like that, don't you?" I heard Pat ask her.
Her response was a deep moan, suddenly muffled by what had to have
been a kiss.  Oh, I knew what was happening, I knew what was going
on.  I had heard it all so many times. Her cries and moans and
sighs.  She was just getting started.  It was just the beginning.

      She must have realized that, too, because suddenly her head
and shoulders appeared over the back of the seat again.  She nearly
caught me, because I had been lying on my back with my eyes wide
open, but fortunately looking toward the front windshield.  She
didn't appear to notice as she reached over and shook me.  "Honey,"
she whispered, "are you still asleep?" I rolled my head back toward
her and made my own low murmur.  Again I opened my eyes the tiniest
of slits to look at her.  She was looking at me with what seemed to
be an expression of resignation, an expression that said he's out of
it and there's nothing I can do about it.  But what I really noticed
was that her shoulders were bare.  I could see the top of her dress
in front of her about where it ought to be, but she must have been
holding it up in case I was awake.  And there was something else.
There were no bra straps, either.  Not over her shoulders, and not
hanging down on her upper arms.  He had my wife half undressed, had
removed her bra, and now I was sure where those low moans had come
from.  His hands on her bare skin, caressing, caressing across her
back and down beneath her arms and around to the front of her, oh
exploring with fingertips alive with sensation, feeling the urges
deep inside him, brushing, stroking, pinching oh so gently her hard
pink nipples, and her responding, helpless not to respond, beginning
to be swept away.  Oh, he was using everything I had told him, he
was doing everything she loved.  He was learning that everything I
had said about her was true.

      The thought, the realization sent a sudden rush through me
that made me dizzy and made my ears ring.  I was beginning to get a
disturbing thought, the thought that maybe I didn't just want to
know if she would do it, but that I actually wanted her to do it.
The sense of torment that had dominated my fantasies about my wife
up until tonight seemed to be overwhelmed at that moment by a flood
of perverse joy at the thought of what was happening.  It might
happen, I thought, it might happen.  Oh, a delicious anticipation
was beginning!  Oh, I was so aroused.

      She was still looking over at me when he sat up behind her.  I
watched him kiss the nape of her neck and rub her shoulders again.
Closer now, I could hear his low question, "Is he still out?"  She
didn't answer, but continued looking down at me.  He glanced at me
and looked convinced. But, looking right at me, he slid his hands
over her shoulders and down along her upper arms until they
disappeared from view.  A few seconds later, she gave a sudden
whispered gasp, her face contorted and her left arm reached back to
him, her hand touching his face, holding it against her exposed
neck.

      "Oh, Pat, this is crazy," she said in a husky whisper that
told me his touch was sending surges of pleasure through her.  "He's
right here!"

	"I don't think he's going to notice."

	"But he might.  What if he does?"

      "Then we'll be caught."  Leave it to Pat to be perfectly
blunt.  But he wasn't done.  "You know that's not going to happen,
don't you?  You know he won't wake up for a good while."  He was
leaning back, trying to pull her back with him.  "I don't know, I
don't know," she whispered in a voice both resigned and frightened.

      "Come on back here," he commanded, and with a last look as me,
she disappeared from view.  There was a lot of whispered
conversation then, long minutes of it that made me almost crazy with
frustration.  From their tones of voice and their emotional
expression, I could sense the intensity.  And I could tell that he
was continuing to caress her breasts and she was letting him.  I
wondered if she was trying to draw a line somewhere, a line that he
could respect and accept, and one that could allow her to bleed for
all the sexual pleasure it was worth.  I wondered, too, if she was
even capable of, or interested in, drawing such a line.  Sex had
never been a thinking exercise for Bonnie, and it had to be making
her frantic to be pulled in two opposite directions at the same
time, as it seemed she was.  Expected to say no, but wanting to say
yes.

      Her voice slowly began to get louder, and I heard her saying
"no, Pat, no"  and "no, we can't,"  firmly at first, then with more
and more desperation as she seemed to be getting the worst of their
struggle.  I was rigid with excitement as I listened to her
increasingly futile defense against his silent advances.  She was
whispering incessantly now, trying to get through to him.  "I'm your
best friend's wife" and "he's going to know" and  "oh, please,
please," but her words indicated they were being ignored. I could
hear the murmur of his voice as he responded to her words.  His tone
was reassuring but assertive.  He was after her, I knew he was fully
after her and he was going to persist.  He wasn't arguing or
justifying.  Just acting.

      I continued to be in a state of anticipatory excitement,
listening to them struggle, listening to my wife's resistance
weaken, then begin to crumble.  "Oh, you're so strong," she gasped
at one point.  I could imagine them in the back seat, his right arm
pinning her hands behind her while with his left he reached up her
skirt, trying to force it between her legs, and her squeezing them,
trying not to let him get there.  I knew it was time to stop it.
All my fears and jealousies and values were twisting and tormenting
me, screaming at me to rise up and defend what was mine.  But there
was another voice, inside that last door I had opened and where I
now stood at the threshold, and that voice was calling me to enter,
to open my eyes to a part of me urgent to be freed.  Let it wash
over you, it beckoned.  Come in and let it sweep you away to a new
world.  Oh, imagine her, your darling wife, naked to the waist, the
perspiration shining on her flesh as she gives in to her passions
oh, so slowly, inch by inch.  Imagine the strong male hand of
another man caressing her, reaching up her skirt, pushing it up
around her waist, revealing her long lovely legs, stroking them,
grasping them, urgent to force them apart.  Let yourself imagine
what's going to happen: the surrender, the betrayal, the sin.  But
don't be afraid, don't let your jealousy and possessiveness and fear
shut this door.  Let yourself feel the wonder of it, let yourself
enjoy it! It's going to be thrilling!  It's going to take your
breath away!  Give in to it, just like she's doing.  Just let it
happen.  Just let it.

      That perverse inner voice was fighting my own defenses to a
standstill, because I couldn't move to act.  For all my anguish, for
all my fears, for all my jealousy, there was that part of me that
wanted to listen, wanted to hear, and, God help me,  wanted to see!
I wanted to see her flesh, her naked breasts, her body pinned
against the corner of the back seat where we had been together so
many times, the top of her dress lying in her lap, her brassiere on
the floor at their feet.  I wanted to see her sexy legs exposed by a
strong man's hand reaching for the prize beneath her skirt.  Oh, I
really did want to!  Yes, yes! that seductive voice whispered.
That's it. Surrender to it.  Surrender.

      I knew what I was imagining was happening when I heard her cry
"no, Pat, no" one last frenzied time, and then she moaned and said
"you're gonna make me do it, aren't you?  You're not gonna let me
go.  You're gonna make me spread my legs for you!"   Her sex talk
was beginning, her voice deep and throaty.

      She spoke with such passion and at the same time with such an
air of hopeless resignation that they made goosebumps explode all
over me.  Oh, God. My wife, my wife!  She was giving in!  Oh, the
delicious despair I felt!  He was going to find out all about her.
Things that were still our secrets.  I heard a low whisper from Pat,
and Bonnie groaned in that same pained, husky voice that seemed to
come from deep inside her  "oh, God yes, yes I do,"  and then I
could hear the sounds of complete surrender.  She emitted a sob so
passionate and so penetrating that I felt chills all over me.  I
could hear her gasping for breath, whimpering, and I was sure he had
arrived at where he wanted to be.  I heard her fervent whisper, "I'm
sorry, Michael," and I shuddered from the words.

      Oh, then the waltz of ecstasy began, but muted because of me.
I knew how loud she could be, how her screams could fill the air.
But not this night.  She began to express herself in muffled moans
and screams and ardent whispers that sounded like hisses.  I felt
the car move with the motions of their bodies.  I heard the liquid
sound of long openmouthed kisses.  I heard the thump of what I
thought were probably shoes.  I heard the rustling sounds of
clothing.  And then an unexpected sight: her pantyhose, with her
panties still inside them, draped over the seatback nearly right
above me.  And then her dress and half-slip there beside them.  I
felt another intense rush, horror and exhilaration all mixed up
together.  He's got my wife!  He's got her naked!  Now it's really
going to begin!

      It was quiet for a few moments, except for more of the rustle
of clothing.  He must have been undressing.  And then I felt bodies
move in the dark and she gave a sigh and I could tell they were in
each others' arms. Again, the kissing began and I knew from her
reactions that he was touching and exploring every inch of her.  Her
breathing became heavier and I sensed that she was exploring, too.
"Oh, your muscles," I heard her whisper.

      And then she gave the cry that I had been waiting for, the cry
that shot electricity through me whenever I heard it, a long soaring
moan that meant he had reached her, that the two thin layers of her
undergarments that had stood between his fingers and her flesh were
gone.  Oh, I knew that sound, and now Pat was going to know it, too.
I was in a kind of frozen agony, wanting to twist in my torment.  It
wasn't just Pat who was going to know  everybody would know.  The
cacophonous voices of all my fears and all my jealousy and
possessiveness were shouting to me, saying you fool you fool, he's
going to tell, and his confidant will tell and soon everyone will
know about tonight and what happened and what it was like.  They'll
know that my wife was my best friend's sex toy, giving everything in
the back seat while I lay "passed out" in the front.  Stop it!  Stop
it, they shouted at me, but I couldn't stop it.  I lay there frozen,
in bondage to that other voice soothing me, bathing me with promises
that for whatever reason I wanted to believe.

      Oh, even with the radio playing I could hear everything.  They
just couldn't be quiet as their intimacies began.  First the
rhythmic sobs and moans of my wife's beginning ecstasy, then the
syrupy liquid sounds of his fingers dancing in and out of her, the
sudden silences of their kisses, the movement of their bodies, and
the whispers, yes her whispers that told me everything that was
happening.  Even with me so close, with the possibility of my
wakening so real, she could not be silent.  "You're gonna make me
come all over the place!" she cried, and she began coaxing him,
urging him on, saying things like "oh, yes, yes, there  right
there" and "finger me, finger me good."  Words she cried to me,
words of our own secret pleasures, now shared with another man.
What a sight it must have been, seeing my naked wife spread open for
him, his fingers disappearing inside her, her body writhing in
ecstasy, in total surrender, totally shameless in her capitulation
to adultery.

      Bonnie was a very orgasmic woman, and now living out one of
her favorite fantasy games, the orgasms began.  As I listened to
them, that perverse personality inside me pirouetted with glee,
sending bolts of deliciously stomach-turning pleasure through me.  I
was flooded with the most dirty thoughts about her, made more rich
by the fact that this time they were no fantasy.  So many times
after we had gone parking, pretending she had been a stranger's
pickup, we would make love and she would tell me, "I love being your
back seat slut," and now it was really happening.  She was really
being a  a slut.  It wasn't just games now.  My wife, it had to be
my wife who was like that.  Not just in fantasy, but for real.  My
wife who I now feared couldn't be true.  My wife who really could
find heaven in the arms of other men.  A thrill shot through me

      And she was in heaven.  Pat was doing whatever he wanted with
her. He was talking softly to her, asking her questions, making her
answer, learning her secrets, as the wet, sticky sounds of his
foreplay continued. She admitted how much she loved sex, how
orgasmic she was, how often she wanted it.  Things I had told him,
and things he could tell with her in his arms, but things he wanted
to make her confess out loud.  He was going to verify every one of
my stories.  She cried out "oh, I love it, I love it" over and over
as he masturbated her, "oh, Pat, you're driving me crazy!"  I became
ravenous then.   I wanted to see them, wanted to watch them do it,
wanted to see his fingers in her cunt and his cock in her hand and I
couldn't, I couldn't but I was certain as the powerful musky aroma
of her passions filled the warm, sealed car that there would be a
time, oh yes, there would be a time when I would see her yes I would
see my hot young wife put out.

      I was so twisted then, thinking every sexist word and phrase
that described her, stinging like slaps in the face, but oh such
succulent pain it was, witnessing her fall.  After tonight, if she
wasn't already, she would be my promiscuous whore, believing it was
so easy to get away with her adultery. She was making full use of
her chance, enjoying it all, making use of her own dirty talk.
"Your cock's so hard," I heard her say, and she also asked, "do you
want a taste?"  I knew what that meant, because she said that to me
and then she would pull my fingers out of her and draw them up to
our faces and we would lick them, kissing and sucking while the
aroma of her and the taste of her was in our mouths and on our lips
and on our cheeks and noses. He must have wanted a taste, because I
could hear them murmuring "mmmm" mixed with the sounds of sucking
mouths.

      "You are really something," he said in a quiet, passion-filled
voice.

      She gave that smug, knowing laugh of hers.  "You asked for
it." she replied. Then her voice cooed with intimate delight.  "You
want some more, don't you?"

      Oh, yes he did want more, and as I listened he worked his way
down her body with his hot kisses, stopping to suckle at her
breasts, then gradually squeezing himself onto the floor to embrace
her hips and feast on her.  She spread open wide for him because I
saw her right foot appear above the seat and then descend to rest on
the back.  It was his voice that was muffled then, buried in her
snatch, humming  "mmmm" and seemingly driving her almost insane.
She was moaning, crying, begging, sobbing with pleasure.  I could
hear her  twisting and squirming as he worked his technique on her,
and she was drowning in it.

      "I'm going nuts," she whispered with frantic desire.  "Your
tongue's on fire.  I'm gonna burn up.  I'm gonna come all over your
face," and then she must have grabbed his shirt or something to
muffle the sound, because she really did scream as his mouth brought
her to another orgasm.  I felt the goosebumps again, hearing her in
ecstasy.  The ironic pulsations of Bachman Turner Overdrive's
"Taking Care of Business" blasted from the radio, barely muting her
muffled screams.  I knew I would always link the two when I heard
that song again.  The pounding, pulsing rhythm as my best friend ate
my sweet wife's cunt until she came.

      They stirred then, as he pulled himself off the floor.  I
heard her voice, dreamy, happy, melodious as she said "I made your
face all soaking wet," and I heard the kisses begin as she rubbed
her own face in it, reveling in it.  "I could be a lesbian," she had
told me once.  "I just love the way we taste and smell."   But now
she was just murmuring with contentment, momentarily satisfied.  I
heard her catch her breath, and he must have begun touching her
again.  "I think I know what you want," she said after a few
seconds, "come here."

      Yes, then I heard them rustle as they got into position and
just for a second I saw the top of his head as he balanced himself
for his descent onto her and I heard their furtive whispering as she
guided him into her and my heart was pounding yes oh yes it's
happening and I heard the sharp exhale of breath as he slid deep
into the snug warm slit that was my wife.  Oh, she was syrup, she
was honey, thick and warm and beckoning you to burst within her, and
now he knew, just like I did what it was like to be inside her, what
it was like to hold her and feel her thrust upward to meet his own
downward plunge and feel her arms around him, her fingers clutching
his back, her whispered words in his ear.  And I listened to them,
mad with perverse excitement, listening as the car squeaked with
their motion, listening to her cries as she again took off toward
orgasm, listening to her urge him, "go deep, go deep," and "fuck me,
fuck me, Pat," and I was ready for it, ready for the when he would
have reached the top of the mountain and not been able to hold it
off any longer.  I could hear him straining, trying to hold back,
trying to satisfy her again, and he was doing it.  I could tell she
was getting lost in the joy of it again, gasping and crying "yes, oh
yes, oh YESYESYESYESYES oh fuck me baby fuck me good oh fuck me  oh
fuck  me  oh  oh  GOD, I love cock, love it inside me, love your
cock Pat, love you in my arms, oh I can't believe the way I feel."

      I thought this was the moment I had been waiting for, the
moment when my best friend shot his semen into my darling.  I was so
ready for it, I had walked through that last lurid doorway deep
inside me, and I waited hand in hand with that perverse entity
within me, gleefully expecting the final betrayal, the explosion of
semen that would make her adultery deliciously complete.  If I could
have had my way then, I would have been naked, too, lying there,
enjoying them, touching myself, stroking myself slowly as their
passion mounted, waiting, waiting, and then when their voices soared
in mutual ecstasy and I heard their climactic cries and I imagined
him squirting, squirting jets and jets and jets of his come way up
inside my sweet darling's box, flooding her, filling her up to ooze
back out of her, and I would join them, thinking about them,
listening to them panting like wild animals in heat, shameless lust
all over everything and I would send my own semen flying, flying
everywhere, as I writhed in my own anguished ecstasy.  Oh, my wife,
my wife a cheating, semen filled cunt.

End Part 2

