Don't Tell (anyone)

Having secrets can be half the fun ... if everyone can keep them.

This is a work of fiction that contains explicit sex scenes and strong language.  It is intended for mature, adult readers aged 18 and older.  Issues such as STD's and other risks of sexual conduct are, for the most part, ignored, which means this story is fantasy in that it takes place in a world where such complications do not exist. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © 2024 by Ema Stonig. All rights reserved.  Published by Avenue Oh ™

Chapter 3: Don’t Tell (anyone)

(This is the final chapter. Here are links to Chapter 1 and Chapter 2.)

Experiencing a quiver of panic, Gina opens the hotel room curtains and surveys the parking lot seven stories down.  No sign of Tracy.

Gina retreats to the adjacent room, which feels warmer and smells musky of sex with Keith.  She grabs her phone from her bag and begins to text Tracy … but say what?  It’s going to make a difference if Tracy left pissed off or jealous than if this is, well, whatever it is.  Whatever it could be.

Pacing, Gina reasons if Tracy was mad, wouldn’t she have banged on the closed door and yelled for Gina to stop fucking her husband?  But reason often has nothing to do with sex.  If reason played the lead role, would Gina have invited Tracy to a hotel room and tied her wrists and told her to keep quiet and listen while Gina fucked Tracy’s husband?  And Gina had fucked Tracy’s husband.  Gotten fucked by him.  If she wasn’t anxious about where Tracy was right now, Gina might be able to enjoy the mild ache in her pussy from the sweet penetration of Keith’s cock.

Gina enters – R we okay?—and tries to decide if that’s the right thing to ask Tracy.  Has no idea.  But hits the send arrow.  And waits.

Waits…

Stares at her phone.  Waiting for—

A ping.  There it is.  Tracy.

Gina opens it.

Tracy: Oh, yeah.  And a sly smiley face emoji.

Gina sighs with relief.  Replies: Good.  Just checking.

Tracy: R U good?

Gina: Yes.  Very.

Tracy: Imagine Keith is 2.  Multiple smiley emojis.

Gina smiles.  Texts: Guess I don’t tie a very good knot.

Tracy: No.  You do.  The girl from the pool had a hard time untying me.

Gina blinks at that.  Texts: What?

Tracy: Tell you about it next time ICU.

Gina smiles, realizes: UR making that up.

A moment later, Tracy texts a selfie: It’s Tracy and the twenty-something girl at the pool.  Both smiling.  Tracy with her arm around the girl, and in Tracy’s hand is the black cord Gina had tied around her wrists.

Then Tracy texts: Next week?

Gina feels a renewed excitement—the idea of Tracy with the girl from the pool, what did she tell her?  Gina wants to know but doesn’t ask.  Not yet.  Instead, she replies: OK.

Tracy: I text you the dets.  Then adds: Don’t tell.

Gina responds: I won’t.

Gina finds it nearly impossible to put Keith and Tracy out of her thoughts.  Make that completely impossible.  Because yesterday was different from last week.

Last week was mostly talk.  An arrangement with Keith that Gina called off when Tracy showed up in that hotel bar—Tracy seeming very much like an intruding outsider.  But after yesterday, Tracy is very much a part of this—as if they are a threesome.

Gina feels herself getting wet thinking not just about Keith’s cock, but that Tracy allowed Gina to tie her up.  This stirring is unaffected by Gina’s boring domesticity, putting clothes in the washing machine while listening to her kids upstairs in the house.

Hallie, 13, is playing with one of the dogs, always making them try to do tricks they really aren’t interested in learning, but Hallie has patience that outlasts the dogs’ indifference to showmanship.

Nora is stomping from one room to the other.  She’s at that age—16—when urgency infects every choice, as if social media is on pins and needles waiting for her updates.

Meanwhile, Cooper, her youngest, 11, interrupts whatever he’s doing—likely an online game—to tell Hallie to stop harassing the dog.

At least once every half hour, one of them will call for mom with a demand for action barely camouflaged as a request, a question, or a complaint.  And Gina will respond appropriately … although if they ask tonight, Gina will try to ignore that she has a wet pussy when she does so.

She will conceal from the world that she is thinking about a man who her kids know, a man who fucked her yesterday, and that while he did that, the man’s wife was in the next room with her hands tied behind her back, because Gina tied them.  And how outlandish is all that?  How unthinkable.  How—the word that briefly comes to mind is—unforgiveable.  Or is it?

Who sets the sex rules for women?  For mothers?  Most importantly, who set those rules for her?  And who gave them that right?

The person Gina isn’t thinking about at the moment is Dean.  Her husband.  Who perhaps she should be thinking about the most.  Because if anyone has standing to complain about Gina fucking another man, wouldn’t Dean get top billing?

Dean is out of the house tonight.  His monthly poker game.  A friendly, low stakes get-together with a group of guys he’s known for a few years.  He’ll be home by 10:00 p.m. smelling of pizza, beer, and cigars someone paid way too much money for.

Until Dean walks in from the garage, though, Gina imagines she will think about Keith.  How he stood behind her as she leaned forward and got his big, hard cock inside her, and fucked and fucked and fucked…  The memory is so intense, she quivers and feels her knees weaken.  Bracing her hands against the washing machine, she closes her eyes.

If she was home by herself, she’d be unable to resist putting a hand down the front of her pants and making herself come.  She thinks about doing that anyway, about locking the laundry room door and putting one hand against the wall and the other on her pussy, a position similar to how she got fucked yesterday.

She could do that and text with Keith … let him know how turned on she is … and what she was doing about it.  How quickly could she pull that off?

But then a ball comes bouncing down the basement steps, and footsteps chase after it: two-legged and four-legged.  Hallie is racing the dog for the ball, a game the dog actually enjoys.  And Gina warns, “Careful on the stairs,” because that’s what moms do, and a trip to urgent care would really spoil the mood.

Hallie loses the dash for the ball, which the dog runs off with.  And Hallie, blowing wispy hair from her cheerful face, joins Gina in the laundry room and offers, “Need some help?”

Gina answers, “Always.”  And kisses her little sex-blocker on the top of her head.  Because that’s also what moms do.

Moms also don’t break up their families by fucking other men.  But that’s not what Gina thinks of herself as doing—although she is, at least the fucking another man part.  She is still riding enough of a post-fuck high that she can reason away the dangers she considered just last week, telling herself she won’t get caught at this new sex adventure.  That her secrets are safe.

Dean doesn’t know.  Her children don’t know.  No one knows.  Except Tracy and Keith.  And even they both don’t know all of it.  Only Gina knows all of it.  Which creates the helpful illusion she is in control.

All these self-assurances are so easy right now, because although it’s barely been 24 hours, she did what she did and well, nothing bad’s happened.  And life feels better.  More fun.  More alive.  When was the last time she smiled folding laundry?  The last time she was this excited about sex?

The next morning, once the kids are off to school, and Dean, still happy with himself for winning twenty bucks last night, leaves for work, Gina has the house to herself.  The dogs are fed and quiet.  And her pussy is still tempting her.

Gina closes the bedroom door and gets into the shower.  And thinks about Keith.  And Tracy.  She’s waiting for that promised text from Tracy about whatever her friend has in mind.  Which is her secret with Tracy.  And maybe before Tracy texts, Gina will sneak in a fuck with Keith.  Which will be her secret with Keith.

The water’s warm as Gina shaves her legs.  Neatening her pubic hair, she finds herself taking off a little more than usual, then a little more, her standard triangle already down to a thin line when she takes some more off, and when the creamy lather is washed away, the sight startles her, because she hadn’t realized she’d shaved that much.

Then she slides the smooth handle of the razor along the seam of her pussy, which her clit likes, and Gina thinks, okay, okay, you’ve waited long enough—as if apologizing to her pussy.

She dries partway off and glances at herself in the mirror.  While she is not usually one for visual stimulation, especially looking at herself, she is excited by the image of her small tight patch of hair, a sight she carries with her as she lies face down on the bed.

She wonders if Keith has been thinking about her.  Or has fucking women other than his wife become routine to him?  She hopes not.  She hopes he thinks about her, and his cock gets hard, and he thinks about fucking her again, and how they might make that happen.  Gina thinks about all that and makes herself come.

Ten minutes after she’s finished, she gets a text from Keith.  He’s already been at his office for an hour, his early schedule intended to avoid rush hour—good luck.  Next week, he’s got to travel to Seattle for work.  Can they hook-up before he leaves?

Gina checks the calendar.  She’s got work stuff most every day that she can’t get out of, and the kids command her full attention on weekends.  Keith asks if she still runs, suggesting he could park somewhere along her route.

The idea makes her smile.  The simplicity.  It’s just a fuck.  That’s it.  No conversation.  No lunch, dinner—not even drinks.  Strip and fuck.  And would she really even need to strip?  She pictures leaning against his car, her running shorts and panties yanked down while she moves her legs apart and tips forward, and Keith rolls up her sports bra to get his hands on her tits and slides his cock inside her.  Fucking on the side of the road somewhere.

But she doesn’t run anymore.  Doesn’t leave the house at night for much of anything unless it’s to get something at the grocery store.  And Hallie always wants to go with her to Whole Foods.

Keith texts that Tracy takes a yoga class one night a week and he thinks she fucks some guy in that class after they’re done.

Gina responds maybe that’s why yoga’s gotten so popular.

Multiple laugh emojis from Keith.

She asks when he’s coming back from Seattle.  He says he’ll be out there four or five days.  Which is starting to feel like a long time to wait, so they’ll try to find a way to get together before he goes.  But that doesn’t happen and once he’s in Seattle, his time there gets extended, and Gina begins to think maybe this is why affairs are so sweet, because the desire just builds and builds.

Meanwhile, she’s texted a few times with Tracy, who’s never revealed what went on with that blond from the pool who untied her the other week, and Gina’s beginning to wonder if everything really is okay with what they did, when Tracy texts one weekday morning, asking, Today a good day?

Gina responds: So far.

Tracy: Well it’s about to get a lot better.  And texts Gina a place and a time.

Gina arrives early.  It’s not quote noon when she slowly drives by the address Tracy texted her.

The grey two-level duplex in Allendale, not far from Shoal Creek, isn’t at all what Gina expected.  It’s one of Austin’s favored family neighborhoods, where the sight of bikes and playsets in grassy yards makes Gina think of her own kids and causes a twinge that isn’t exactly guilt, but maybe the seed of guilt looking to take hold.

She feels more like she did three weeks ago in that bar waiting for Keith than when she had Tracy’s wrists tied in one hotel room while she fucked Keith in another.  Maybe it was easier when she was in control.  Now that power is in Tracy’s court.  Like they’re lobbing it back and forth.

At the end of the tree-lined block, Gina idles at the stop sign.

There are no kids out playing, because it’s a school day.  But on the sidewalk, a young mom pushes a toddler in a pricey stroller and the glow on the woman’s face reminds Gina how she felt after Nora was born.  That first child had felt like such a blessing and changed her world.  And two more kids came after that, and with each birth that emotion swelled anew.

Then the world gradually changed in a different way.  The love for her children strengthened, but the weight of responsibility became heavier and was no longer just something out there on the horizon, but a daily, sometimes minute-by-minute pressure.  And the person she used to be was gone.

Not that Gina wants to be 20 again.  Well, maybe to have that energy.  That body.  Those pleasures.  When so much was new.  So many firsts.

Maybe that’s what it was a couple months ago when she and Keith had that conversation, the lure of flirting dangled in front of her so enticingly she hadn’t realized what was happening.  It was as if she’d closed down that part of her—wasn’t looking for sex with anyone except Dean, always content with that, at least telling herself she was content with that, until the temptation just got too damned sweet, and now where was she?

At the moment, anyway, she was stopped on a quiet street lined with oak trees that if she and Dean had looked here instead of where they lived now, this could be their neighborhood.  That sliding board back there could have been where their children had played and might play still when the idea of being a little kid again gave them a tug.

Oh, fuck…  Fuck, fuck, fuck…  Why is she thinking about that?  Being with Keith felt so good.  Someone else’s cock.

She pictures the way she’s been looking at herself in the bathroom mirror—the hair around her pussy trimmed down to almost nothing.  Which she’s hidden from Dean, because they haven’t had sex since she did that and the one time they were getting dressed together she turned so he couldn’t see.

Gina’s still at the stop sign when an Audi turns in front of her and stops alongside.  The tinted driver’s window comes down.  It’s Tracy.  Smiling, she points back down the street as Gina lowers her window.

“It’s that way,” Tracy says, and reminds Gina of the house number.

Gina half stammers, “I didn’t see anyone there,” and isn’t sure that’s accurate or not because she wasn’t paying attention.

“Traffic,” Tracy apologizes.  There’s a devilish look about her.  Red lipstick.  She’s had her hair blown out.  “You look hot,” she tells Gina.

Gina wears a white tank top that has spaghetti straps and a low neckline and built-in support that offers a good amount of cleavage.  The pants she has on are loose with baggy legs and an elastic waist that Gina’s been imagining someone—possibly more than one someone—getting her out of.

That would all depend on whatever Tracy has set up, because Tracy hasn’t provided details.  And Gina’s imagination has run from it involving the college girl at the hotel pool last week, to another couple, or just another guy, or might it be two guys?  Three?  The variants are exciting and also a little frightening, but in a good way.  Because Tracy isn’t crazy…  At least she didn’t use to be.  Still…

What Gina says next is without much thought.  It’s more reflex.  Or confession.  “I don’t want to fuck up my marriage.”

Tracy reminds her: “We had fun last week.”

Gina can’t deny that.  “And you’re okay,” she asks Tracy, “with what happened?  What I did?”

“Absolutely.”

Gina notices that the young mom pushing the stroller is watching them.

Tracy sees the woman now, too.  “That used to be us,” she says, although without any hint of nostalgia.  “Did you and Dean ever think about having more?”

“No.  You?”

“Thought about it.  And weren’t too careful for a few months … figured leave it to fate…  Happy the way it turned out, though,” Tracy concludes, then asks: “You?  Are you happy, Gina?”

“Yeah.  I am,” she realizes.  “And I really don’t want to fuck that up.”

“You won’t.  Your secret’s safe with me.  And Keith won’t tell.”

Gina takes a breath, asks: “Did you really get that girl at the pool to untie you the other week?”

Tracy laughs easily.  “No.  You’re a terrible knot tier.  I had myself loose while Keith was going down on you.”

Gina quivers from that memory as Tracy reaches to her passenger seat and shows Gina the rope Gina used to tie her up, which Tracy drapes over her hand, telling Gina, “I’m a much better knot tier than you.  And I would also use this.”  She has the ball gag Gina hadn’t used.  “Have you ever had one of these in your mouth?”

Gina’s breathing quickens, remembering those few seconds she did have that perforated ball in her mouth before the sight of it was so shocking she pulled it out.  But she doesn’t admit that.

She’s anxious about what Tracy has planned, but excited.  It could go wrong, couldn’t it?  Depending on who’s in that house.  Who.  How many?  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Gina realizes.  “Tormenting me.”

Tracy confesses, “I think of it more as playing.  I’m playing with you.  But if you don’t want to play…”  Tracy raises the shaded window to her Audi and drives slowly down the street.

Gina watches in the rearview mirror as Tracy turns into the driveway of the grey duplex, parks, gets out, and walks to the front door in a sage v-neck dress Gina imagines Tracy isn’t going to be in very long once she’s inside.

Two minutes later, Gina’s still at the stop sign as if bolted in place by indecision when her phone pings.

Tracy texts two words: He’s here.  Then, three more words: Want to watch? 

There are any number of obvious points at which Gina can stop this.  Thresholds like symbolic hurdles she needs to cross.

First, she needs to turn her car around and drive back to the grey duplex.  Which she does, proceeding slowly down a cul-de-sac, then returning to the intersection where the stroller mom eyes her and Gina half expects the woman to take a picture of her car or call the police, although she’s just imagining that, because there’s no reason the woman on the sidewalk would think Gina was doing more than trying to find a house for sale she saw on Zillow.

Gina wants to ask the young mother if she ever thinks about fucking anyone other than the father of her stroller-riding child.  And if the woman would be insulted by the question, Gina will tell her, “Just wait…”  Because one day the young mother might find herself thinking about who that other fuck could be … and an old friend might happen to strike up a conversation at a party … and she might find herself thinking that other person she was thinking about fucking could be standing right there.

At the grey duplex, Gina pulls into the narrow driveway behind Tracy’s Audi.  Turns off the engine, puts her keys in her bag, and she’s out of the car, head lowered, walking directly to the front door along the concrete walk, not wanting to linger where people can see her.

Last week at the hotel, she’d planned it, so it was just Tracy and Keith.  Gina set the boundaries.  Now, she feels a rush of blood to her face that’s a jangle of nerves and excitement and the sense she’s doing something she doesn’t want to get caught at.  There’s no one outside to see her, but Gina imagines them at their windows—thinking something is going on again at that grey house, as if it’s a notorious sex club.

And is it?

Gina stops at the front door, which is painted a deep cranberry red.  She doesn’t know whether to knock, ring the doorbell, or just walk in.  Or get back in her car…

She tries the doorknob, which turns.  She pushes the door firmly.  No bolt bars her entry, so she finds herself looking into a living room, lit only by indirect sunlight.  The room is orderly.  Plain, sturdy furnishings arranged in a manner that reminds Gina of a hotel suite.  She doesn’t see anyone inside.

She steps in and closes the door quietly behind her, as if not wanting to interrupt whatever might be happening.

The house is cool and smells clean and slightly of citrus—one of those plug-in air-fresheners maybe.

A straight shot of vinyl-plank steps to her left leads upstairs, where the sound of music is muffled—mostly bass, a fuck tempo like a headboard bumping the wall while two people fuck.

Gina starts upstairs, each riser taking her closer to where she assumes she’ll find Tracy, who’s only been inside ahead of her by seven, eight, ten minutes?  How much could Tracy be into already with whoever she’s with—the guy she texted was here.

Is it the man who lives in this house?  Does he live here with a wife?  Girlfriend?  Kids?

So far, Gina hasn’t seen any family photographs on the walls.  No displays of trophies.  No homemade artwork.

On the second-floor landing, a carpeted hallway crosses the center of the house.  All the doors are closed, and the only light is a thin reed of illumination peeking out beneath the door at the end of the hall, behind which electronic dance music plays—the volume not loud enough to carry the length of the house and make its way through the common wall into the mirror-image house next door.

Gina hears Tracy’s voice but can’t make out words, only her tone.  Low, sexy, tempting.  Playing—to use Tracy’s word from 15 minutes ago.  Whoever is in that room, Tracy’s playing with them.  

Gina waits.  Listens.  Her pulse is quick.  When the door at the end of the hall opens, Gina has the urge to hide.  Tracy is outlined in dim light, and Gina can’t see Tracy’s expression, but clearly hears her offer a sexy report to whoever else is in that bedroom. “She’s here,” Tracy says.

Gina doesn’t pick up any reply from who Tracy said that to, only hears the music more clearly now as Tracy leaves the door partway open and comes barefooted along the carpeted hall.  Tracy is still in her dress, smiling sexily as she reaches for Gina’s hand and leads her not to where the music plays, but into one of the other bedrooms.

It’s dark in the small room.  Blinds pulled down over a single window.  The room, like the rest of the house, seems unlived in.  A double bed, plain nightstand, lamp, and dresser, along with a few pieces of framed art on the walls—like a model home, Gina might realize if her mind wasn’t fuzzy with prospects of sex.

Tracy picks something off the dresser and whispers, “The only way he won’t ever know who you are is if you don’t say anything.  And the only way to make sure of that, is this.”  It’s the ball gag.  Gina doesn’t understand, but Tracy offers no further explanation, merely touches the warm rubber device to Gina’s lips and softly invites, “Open for me.”    

Gina whimpers, but obliges, and feels the soft perforated ball fill her mouth as Tracy puts it in place and secures the strap behind Gina’s head, careful with Gina’s hair, which she fluffs as if styling her.

Standing behind Gina, Tracy whispers, “He’s blindfolded, because I told him you’re shy.  So he’ll never see you.  But he’ll know you’re there.  Let his imagination go wild what you might look like – not that you don’t look damned hot.  I told him your name’s Gigi.”  She pronounces it French-style: Zhee-zhee.  “Can you be Gigi?”

Gina likes that idea and starts to ask, What if he takes his blindfold off? but the gag muffles her words and something about that is so sexy—so is the way Tracy whispers:

“Shhh,” then runs her fingers over the ball protruding from Gina’s mouth, and whispers, “Promise not to take this out.  Because if you don’t promise, I’ll have to tie you up.”

Gina—Gigi—nods.

“Good.  You ready then?” Tracy asks softly, and when Gina nods, Tracy leads her into the hall, toward the bedroom where the music thumps and some blindfolded man is waiting.

Through the partially opened door, looking into shadowy light, Gina sees a large bed and makes out the man’s naked feet, then his bare legs, each of his ankles tied to an opposite post of the foot of the bed.  His legs are spread, creating an inverted V shape that leads up to his balls which are drawn tight and his cock which is rock hard.

Gina gradually sees more of him.  His upper body is propped up by a mound of pillows, his arms positioned straight out from his shoulders, his wrists bound to the bedframe, a dark blindfold tied over his eyes.  The position is submissive, yet the man does not act as if being dominated.

Tracy announces their arrival, telling him, “I’ve got Gigi with me.”

He moans a pleased sounding, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.”

His voice causes Gina’s focus to come out of the haze of her excitement.  She gasps, tenses, and reflexively starts to back out of the room.  Because what the dim light has concealed is that the naked man tied to the bed is her husband.  It’s Dean.

But Gina can’t move, because Tracy has her arms around her, bear-hugging her from behind.

“Easy,” Tracy speaks quietly to Gina’s ear.  “Just go with it.  Go with it.  Look how hard his cock is.  Look how into this he is.”

Thoughts, impressions, reactions tumble through Gina’s head.  Excitement.  Betrayal.  Surprise.  Anger.  But none attach.  None of those feelings lasts, as if her mind has become a roulette wheel and the silver ball is spinning and spinning, undecided where it will land.

As the music pulses, Gina makes out details of Dean’s body that should be so familiar and yet are not.  She has never seen him in a position like this.  Never seen him blindfolded.  Never known this might be something he would like, although from the hard-as-stone state of his cock that is undeniable.  Or is he that hard for Tracy?  Or for Gigi who he doesn’t know and can’t see.  Would his cock still be so hard if he knew Gigi was actually his wife?

Her arms wrapped around Gina’s waist, Tracy says to Dean, “Gigi’s going to watch.  She’s going to watch me suck your cock.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, and shifts his hips as if trying to find Tracy’s mouth with his erection.

Then Tracy says, “But I think she should be naked, don’t you?  I mean it only seems fair.”

Gina is shaking her head no, or thinks she’s shaking her head no, intends to, but isn’t.  Instead, she feels herself melt in Tracy’s arms, as Tracy echoes her earlier invitation for Gina to go with it.

Tracy’s hands slide over Gina’s breasts, across her exposed cleavage, onto her throat, then out along her shoulders, fingers looping the thin straps of Gina’s top, which she slides down Gina’s arms, lowering her top to her waist, baring her breasts, telling Dean, “Gigi has great tits.  I’ve got them in my hands.”  Which she does.  “And beautiful nipples.  You should see how tight they are.”

Gina has never been fondled by another woman, and finds the sensation shocking but very, very pleasant.  She begins to feel perhaps she can, as Tracy has encouraged, go with this.  But then Tracy whispers for Gina to, “Be good,” and steps out from behind her, and glides toward the bed, reaching for Dean’s hard cock, and Gina hears herself groaning, and what she is on the verge of saying is, “No, no, no.”  But at the same time another part of her is urging, “Suck it, suck it, suck it,” which is what Tracy does.

When Tracy wraps her hand around the base of Dean’s stiff dick and holds it fully upright, and her mouth slips over his cockhead, it’s like an explosion in Gina’s head.  A reaction so strong she drops to her knees, which finds her at eye level with Tracy sucking her husband.

As Tracy does that, she watches Gina and smiles and rolls her tongue around Dean’s cockhead, telling him, “Don’t come, don’t come yet.”

He groans because he’d like to do just that.  And when Tracy eases off him with her mouth, he moves his hips again, cock thrusting.

Tracy gets off the bed and peels out of her dress.  Unhooks her white bra and pushes down matching panties.  Naked, her small nipples tight, she goes back to Dean, straddles his torso, then moves up toward his face.

Gina immediately realizes Tracy’s going to put her pussy on Dean’s mouth—that’s why he’s propped up in bed like that.  So he can lick her.

And he will definitely like that, Gina knows.  And so will Tracy.  Because Dean is good with his mouth.  He likes to do it.  He really likes to do it.

“Yes, yes,” Tracy hums, in position now for Dean’s tongue, which Gina can’t see but imagines sliding firmly along Tracy’s folds, parting her, finding her clit.  Right there on it, Gina knows from the way Tracy responds, how she shudders and grabs the headboard for support.

Dean can make it feel that good.

Tracy gasps, head tilted back.  She looks over her shoulder at Gina, telling her, “Take your clothes off.  If you want to keep watching, you have to take your clothes off.”

Gina breathes excitedly, her eyes pinned to the sight of another woman pressing her pussy to the face of her tied-up husband, getting licked by him.

“Take them off, Gigi.  Come on, take them off.”

Dean interrupts his licking and asks, “Is she doing it?”

“Off, Gigi,” Tracy gasps, and it’s all she can do to get those words out because she wants Dean’s tongue back on her.

The way he can find that spot and make it feel so good.  Sometimes Gina comes so fast when he goes down on her she can’t believe it.

Tracy utters a desperate, “Come-on, come-on, come-on.  Take them off.  Please.  Please-please-please.”  Because Dean has stopped licking her.  He might be the one tied up, but he’s in control now.  And he wants Gigi—whoever she is—naked.

It hits Gina like a wave how turned on she is.  Above all else, she is turned on.  She pushes down her pants.  Gets them off along with her shoes.  Takes down her panties.  Pulls her top back up over her tits, over her head—off.  And is moving toward the bed as Tracy sighs:

“She’s naked.  And she’s coming closer.  She wants to watch you do me.  Do it to me.”  She puts her pussy against Dean’s face and quivers when his tongue slides over her.  “Mm, like that.  Just like that.”

Tracy smiles at Gina, who kneels against the side of the bed and starts to lean over to suck her husband’s hard cock, momentarily forgetting the ball gag.  Gina thinks about untying the strap and taking the gag out, but then she might not be Gigi anymore.

So instead, she wraps her hand around Dean’s cock and begins to stroke him.

When he groans, Tracy warns, “Don’t let him come.  Not yet, don’t let him come yet.”  Then tells Dean, “Don’t come!”

He moves his hips so his cock fucks Gigi’s hand.  And licks Tracy.

Before Gina can calculate whether this will reveal who she is, she mounts her husband’s torso.  Positioning herself behind Tracy, her one hand in the center of Tracy’s smooth bare back, she reaches between her legs for Dean’s cock.  The head of his shaft is sticky as she lines him against her pussy and pushes her wetness down over his length, taking his cock inside her.  Fucking him while he licks Tracy.

The three of them move the bed as the music plays.  Tracy comes first, pounding the wall with the palm of her hand.

Gina is next, climaxing with Dean’s cock all the way inside her, fucking her husband who feels like a stranger, because there’s a lot about him she apparently doesn’t know.

Dean comes right after Gina.  Tied up and blindfolded, he peaks fucking Gina, who, at least for that afternoon, is Gigi.  A woman he never sees.

Gina’s head is a mess—like she’s just been fucked in a hurricane.  She’s barely able to focus as she gathers her clothes and retreats to the hall, where she frees herself of the ball gag, hurriedly dresses, and exits the house.  She drives away, leaving Tracy to untie Dean—assuming that’s what’s going to happen.  Maybe Tracy will get him hard again and fuck him.

At the end of the block, a different young mother pushes a different stroller.  Gina feels certain the woman is looking at her—although she isn’t—and that the woman wants to know what Gina has been up to on this quiet street.  Which Gina can’t possibly explain other than how good it felt.

At home that night, Dean gives no indication he had anything more than a normal workday.  Then again, Gina gives no clues as to having played Gigi just hours ago, fucking Dean while Tracy had him tied up and blindfolded.  The memory of Dean positioned like that lingers a bit uncertainly with Gina, and time will tell how it resonates, but at least for now their family routines—Gina’s, Dean’s, and their kids’—proceed happily undisturbed.

Hours ago, when Gina was on her way home, Tracy had called Gina—no text, but actual conversation.  And this time it was Tracy’s turn to ask Gina, “You good?”

Gina, her head still slightly adrift from a very sweet orgasm, had replied, “I think so.  Yeah.”

“A lot to process,” Tracy admitted.  “Don’t overthink it.”

“Okay…”  Gina wasn’t sure that was possible.

How they ended up like they’d been today Tracy explained, had started at that same neighborhood party when Keith had that conversation with Gina, which led to some texts, which led to Gina agreeing to meet him in that hotel bar.

At that party, Keith had told Tracy, “I think Gina could be interested,” meaning hooking-up with him.  Which had surprised Tracy, because she’d never thought of Gina as being into anything like that—that Gina would think of it as “cheating”.

Later at that same party, Tracy had engaged Gina’s husband in a flirtatious conversation, after which she’d told Keith she thought Dean might be into it, too.  Not an out-and-out swap or foursome like Tracy and Keith had done in San Diego, but something more intimate, more private.

It would depend on Gina, they decided.  If Gina hooked-up with Keith, Tracy would look to do the same with Gina’s Dean.  That Gina ended up being into it in a big way surprised Tracy again.  Because Gina hadn’t just met Keith in that hotel room but arranged for Tracy to be there and—very big and fun surprise—tied Tracy up and “made her” listen while Gina fucked Keith.

Days after that, Tracy, who’d been sexting with Dean, got together with him in the same duplex where Gina met them that afternoon.  The place was a long-term corporate rental Tracy’s company let new employees use while they looked for their own place.  Tracy had access to it between tenants, which made it a great fuck pad.

Tracy said she’d fucked Dean twice in that bedroom before today.  And before Gina could figure out how she felt about that, Tracy said the second time she’d fucked Dean, she’d asked him if he’d be into getting tied up.  Asking that because she thought Gina had looked fairly experienced with that ball gag and rope the other week.  Dean had been into the idea, but when Tracy asked if it was something he and Gina ever did, he’d said no.

Tracy had left it at that, but wondered, well, well, who else might Gina have been tying up then?  Although as it turned out, it was just something Gina thought about doing with Tracy.  Which Tracy found to be very hot and suggested to Gina, “Maybe we should have a girl’s afternoon one day.”

And Gina had replied, “Maybe…”

“You know I’ll never tell,” Tracy had assured Gina.  “Anyone.  I’ll never tell anyone about any of this.  Keith won’t tell either—about anything he knows.  And he doesn’t know about today.  He doesn’t know I fucked Dean, either.  We’re okay with secrets like that.”

Gina isn’t sure how much she believes any of that phone conversation with Tracy—although she wants to.  Because as unsettling as parts of today were, it was more exciting.  It feels like something she’s gotten away with.

She wonders if Dean feels the same way.  But she’s not going to ask.  Not yet anyway.

She gets a clue though, the following morning.

Dean wakes up hard.  In the pale early-morning light that whispers into their bedroom, the jutting outline in his boxers couldn’t be more obvious.  Gina watches as he does an easy stretch, the way he always does, before starting around the foot of the bed to the bathroom.

The hard-on doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Gina has come to understand.  Just a guy thing.  Hormonal stirrings from the sleep world.  The body re-setting itself.

“Hey,” Gina whispers.

He gives her a little wave as though not wanting to break the morning’s silence, because once the troops are awake, there won’t be much quiet until they’re all back in bed that night.   The thing about a house with three kids and two dogs is that moments which are completely still are like rare coins.

Gina extends an arm toward him, gestures him to come close to her side of the bed.

When he does, she reaches for the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down, frees his cock.

He smiles, expression asking her, What’s this?

She wraps her hand around his cock, strokes it, and realizes when she did that yesterday while he was blindfolded and she was Gigi, she’d used her other hand.  Not consciously planning that, but as if in furtherance of the charade.  She whispers, “Do you want to fuck me?”

According to the nightstand clock, they’ve got eleven minutes until the kids’ phones start prompting them awake.  Assuming the dogs don’t get to wandering around first, but the dogs are getting older and no longer beat the sun out of bed.

With Gina’s hand sliding over his cock, Dean pulls back the covers and feels under the long t-shirt Gina slept in.  He fingers her pussy and makes an appreciative Ohh shape with his mouth, feeling how wet she is—although he still hasn’t seen the result of her recent close shave.  Maybe he’s about to.

Gina lets go of his cock and pulls off her t-shirt, making room on her side of the bed she nods for him to use.  She gets him on his back and tugs down his boxers, and wonders if he’s thinking about yesterday when he was last on his back, tied down, with Tracy’s pussy on his mouth, and the memory of that rushes through Gina like a dam has broken.

She wants him to see how little hair she’s left around her pussy, but he’s looking at her face, and that feels really good.  So she goes ahead and straddles him, presses down against his hard cock, not taking him inside her yet, but rubbing over him.  Smiling at him.  Whispering, “You going to fuck me?”

He nods and slips a hand between their bodies to angle his cock upright, and now—now—he sees all that’s left of her pussy hair, and he sighs, “Oh, look at that,” as Gina’s pussy comes down around him and takes him inside.

She exhales, filled by him and starts to ride him.  Slowly up and down.  Slowly.  “Nice, hard dick,” she whispers—something she might often think while being fucked by him but doesn’t usually say.

He closes his eyes and clutches her thighs, and Gina thinks maybe he’s picturing getting fucked by Gigi yesterday—and she’s okay with that.  Or maybe he thinks about Tracy, who according to Tracy, he’s now fucked twice, and Gina thinks—although isn’t positive—she’s okay with that, too.

Then he opens his eyes and looks right at her again.  Right at her face.  Her eyes.  And very quietly tells Gina, “Fuck me.  Fuck me.  Fuck me.”

She nods.  Smiles.  Bites her lip.  Moves on him.  Feels the pleasure.  Then bites her lip harder when she starts to come, smothering the sounds she’d make if this was a hotel room.

Dean climaxes with her, his entire body straining in that wild burst of ecstasy that is like no other.

Gina moves until they’re both completely spent, then eases off his cock and collapses alongside him.  They both smile at what they’ve just done—sneaking in one of those fun quick first-thing-in-the-morning fucks.

“And with two minutes to spare,” Dean sighs, seeing the time on the clock.

Everything seems … just fine, Gina thinks.  Better than fine.  Maybe even … better than it was.  Or is that just her trying to justify being with Tracy and Keith?  Because that is lying.

Or is it just not telling?

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