Rules of Play

The couple in the corner of the dining room had booked into the seaside hotel the day previously. Not for a holiday but to get away from it all, and escape from the routine of married life. They had recently gone through a bad patch and had reached a turning point. Jim had been seeing another woman and Gemma had soon discovered his unfaithfulness. The bottom line was that they had grown away from each other and things had become a bit stale. Now they were at a crossroads.

The sea air helped to make them feel relaxed to the point where talking was preferable to shouting and tearing each other apart. Money wasn't the problem though they were by no means rich -- sex was the cause of their rift. Gemma was still smarting and angry but she had accepted her lack of interest in sex played a large part in the reasons Jim strayed.

"Maybe if we'd been a bit more adventurous," Gemma said.

"I was willing -- you lacked the inclination!" Jim responded.

"Okay, don't have a dig at me," his wife sighed. "I've often seen you eyeing up other women -- fantasising probably."

"Not always -- sometimes I just wished that you would dress like they did, you know, sexy clothes."

"Yeah, sure, and have you moan and accuse me of flirting -- get mad when men stared at me and smiled."

"No I wouldn't have." Jim thought for a minute. "Why don't you try it -- tonight?"

"What?"

"Give it a whirl -- it'll make you feel better. If you dare that is -- you're too bloody prim and proper!"

"Don't turn this into a row Jim. And how will you react if men ogle me and try to chat me up?"

"Well let's play dangerous and damn well find out; do something adventurous for a fucking change!"

The conversation went on for a long time, right until they walked out of the dining room and along the promenade. They arrived in the centre of the resort.

"The shops are here -- put your money where your mouth is and buy something sexy for tonight."

Gemma was in good humour, not least because she felt a little thrill.

"Eh? You expect me to pay? Go and stuff yourself. You want me to dress to suit your taste -- then you cough up the dosh!"

It was decided that Gemma would hit the shops while Jim went off and relaxed by the sea soaking up the sun. After all it wouldn't be a surprise or a thrill if he saw exactly what she was buying.

Walking along with her purchases, feeling excited and eager to find Jim she spotted him sat on the sea wall, people watching -- or rather watching the girls in their short skirts and low-cut tops, even smiling at some as they walked by. Gemma felt her heart sink, though in her mind she felt determined and vowed that she would shake the man up. Maybe, if she proved brave enough, she could teach him a lesson. It was his idea for her to be more exciting, sexy and unpredictable, like the women he lusted over and chased -- then so be it!

That evening the arrangement was that they would eat in the hotel's restaurant then visit a couple of bars and public houses. Neither of them were heavy or seasoned drinkers and would normally have spent the evening sitting in hotel bar nursing one drink after taking an evening stroll, but tonight called for a change of habit.

Jim said he'd wait downstairs and have a small whiskey while Gemma got ready. A group of men, probably there on some sort of course or attending a conference, he thought, sounded a bit rowdy and raucous. A couple of other hotel guests sat in the lounge chatting. Jim stared out of the window contemplating, not really expecting his staid and steady wife to make much of an impression. He knew he would have to feign amazement and pretend she had the 'wow' factor, tell her how fantastic she looked. Gemma was his wife of five years -- he knew all about her for God's sake -- how could she surprise him?

The room had become very quiet suddenly. Jim wondered if he'd gone deaf. Looking around he first noticed that the men who had stopped their loud talking all had their eyes fixed toward the door. Even the barman had slowed down to smile in the same direction. A very glamorous looking lady had entered the lounge. Her long shapely legs, well rounded lower limbs, muscles made taut by the high heels on her feet stepped daintily forward. Her full thighs pushed the loose woven material of her tight 'little black number' dress almost a couple of inches skyward making the men strain their eyes convinced they'd be able to glimpse her stocking tops. Breasts that defied physics by managing to stay covered by a very low neckline caused the gentle dancing movement of her upper torso.

This wasn't Gemma. Jim knew his wife, what she wore what she looked like, what she was capable of looking like when she was scrubbed up -- this wasn't her. The sleek woman smiled at the group of men as she glided past. Jim almost expected to hear "Hello boys -- happy to see me?" like in some Mae West Hollywood film. When the woman came to sit across from Jim he drew in air and swore under his breath.

"I can see your legs -- above your stockings!" he whispered nervously.

"Of course you can," the sex bomb said laughing, "They go all the way up to my backside -- they always have done. What's the matter, can you not stand to see me acting like the women you usually lust over? You complained that I should have been more adventurous. So what did that mean, in your eyes? Dress in sexy clothes only between our own four walls; sit quite still and be sure not to attract attention from other men? You sound like one of those half-wits from the Internet who logs onto an erotic story site but when they read stories about outrageous sexy women they get all outraged in their underpants and demand that she ought to be whipped and burned -- a disgusting slut. Then they get angry with the author. Wonder why they go on those sites in the first place? Maybe they don't like being reminded that they are wimps or how many times they have been cuckolded themselves"

"What?" spluttered Jim, "How the hell do you know about that stuff? You read filthy porn stories on the net?"

"Ah!" laughed Gemma, "You see! If I read them you are outraged and call it filth -- if you or your buddies have to justify why you read them, then it's erotic literature! Like those outraged half-wits on the net you have double standards. Incidentally, I wonder how those 'burn the bitch' bozo's on the net go on in real life when they meet real women?"

"I can't believe you read porn stories on the net!" Jim reiterated.

"Does that unsettle you my dear husband?" asked Gemma with a wicked smirk, "You have always considered me unadventurous and therefore looked toward other women for thrills; why have you assumed that, well... if I ever have been adventurous, that you would be around to see me do it? Haven't the women you've chased with your dick, fornicated behind the backs of their men? Talk about being in denial and living a fairy-tale existence! And as for me reading porn stories -- bet you wonder if I masturbate over them!"

Jim's mind was all over the place but he tried hard to gather his thoughts and counter-attack.

"Why do women like you spend years putting on airs and graces -- pretending to be disgusted if their man shows any interest in sex, other than adopting the missionary position for ten minutes every other Saturday night -- wait until their relationship is floundering and the man starts to look elsewhere -- then announce, 'Hey, why are you doing that when I can be a sexy slut too?'

I once read a story about a guy whose wife gave him the best sex ever only when she pretended that she believed it was someone else. She was capable of giving real good head but in spite of being married for years her husband had never experienced the delight! Not one reader commenting picked up on the fact she must have denied her husband the best sex she was capable of giving. Good writing though because that's the fucking logic you women adopt! You wouldn't do with your husband what you would do with a lover"

Gemma sneered, ignoring most of the points raised, "Ten minutes on a Saturday night? Yeah, that's about right for most -- though usually with us sex begins when you crawl into bed after the late night sport around eleven forty-five. Allowing time for shuffling about and foreplay the gymnastics begin around five minutes to midnight and still manages to be over before the new day starts! Ten minutes? Sometimes you are snoring by then!"

"Sarcastic bitch!" Jim snapped, rather louder than he had intended. "But you women ought to realise that you don't have the right to condemn a husband to lead a life of celibacy. If a woman doesn't want sex she shouldn't snivel in her knickers when she finds out her husband gets it elsewhere. The joke is when the guy leaves her for a younger model the frigid dowdy wife suddenly loses weight and makes herself glamorous. If she'd have done that earlier her husband might not have fucked off!"

"The same thing applies in reverse - shithead," retorted Gemma, "If a husband can't be assed to make an effort, keeps touching his wife in the same place, in the same old boring way, expecting her to get turned on then jumps on her for a few minutes before 'cumming,' farting and then rolling over...well...he's only himself to blame if she looks elsewhere."

"Yeah!" snapped Jim, jumping in quickly to make a point, "And gets it from a guy who probably does exactly the same thing with his wife!"

"Sure!" said Gemma, "I'm not arguing with that -- that's my point -- if men like to stray with women who make more of an effort to be sexy -- then women like to stray with men who try to be a little bit more romantic and creative! Why, in this day and age should there be different rules for women?"

"Romance my fucking arse -- that's a woman's excuse to make her feel better for being a slut -- 'Oh, he was romantic and my head was in the clouds, he seduced me -- led me astray! Bollocks! It's about fucking sex!"

Jim was on his high horse.

"Shit!" said his wife slowly, contemplating and staring at her wine glass. "You know what? We've finished up actually agreeing with each other."

"How do you mean?" Jim asked.

"We have both made a good case for thinking that sex will always be more exciting with someone new," explained Gemma.

Jim, now calm and thoughtful, reasoned, "Well, that is, if the couple let the spark die out, become complacent."

"Lose that spontaneity," added Gemma, "Is that what turned you on with your other women -- the unknown?" she asked.

"There hasn't been that many!" Jim said in self-defence. "But yeah, it's like the thrill of the chase, I suppose."

"I understand that," admitted Gemma, "Different hands, touching in different places, in a different way."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience!" accused Jim, suddenly changing his mood.

"Like I said in the beginning," his wife answered, "What made you think you would be there to witness me being adventurous -- same rules apply to women remember. Think about what you've already said -- did you think I wouldn't be capable of behaving just like those other sexy housewives you spent time chasing? Because almost all those women who glam themselves up to go those bars and clubs you frequent are simply just some other guys wife -- just regular housewives who wake up the morning after to face all those chores and maybe do the school run and go shopping."

"This is just an act isn't it," laughed Jim, "You'd run a mile if it came to the crunch."

"We've both made the same accusation against each other," said Gemma, "Time to find out!"

With that she whipped up her wine glass, rose from her seat, and swanned off toward the bar -- and the group of men.

"Where the hell are you going?" hissed Jim, as he jumped up to follow.

For the second time that evening the men lost interest in their conversation and ogled Gemma's dancing breasts and meaty thighs.

"Shit!" whispered the one in the striped tie, making Gemma blush, but giggle too.

"Hello boys!" she smiled as she joined the group.

"Hell -- she actually did say it!" came the loud cynically mocking voice of her husband as he caught up with her. "Sorry guys but my wife seems to think she's Mae West tonight."

"No!" she's much sexier than Mae West," said one of the men. "Do you mind telling us what your name actually is?" he asked.

"Gemma," said the sexy woman, noting that the man seemed to be talking to her tits.

"How appropriate," said striped tie, "Truly you are like a precious stone -- a real jewel -- we must call you Gem I think -- what do you say men?"

"Pass the sick bag -- I'm going to vomit!" whispered Jim into the ear of his smiling wife.

She in turn whispered to him, "Do you use cheap chat-up lines like these gob-shites?"

Jim didn't answer leaving Gemma thinking he may on occasion have done just that.

"Gentlemen," began Gemma, "We've just been having a discussion, an argument really in fact -- and I wonder what your opinion is - do you think, that when it comes to sex, and infidelity, that its fair that there are different rules as to what is acceptable for the behaviour of women?"

The men, taken by surprise, entered into a debate.

"You've picked a bad time to ask," joked one man quietly to Gemma, "Our brains don't work too well when our bellies are full of drink; not to mention the added distraction from having your amazing body disrupt our concentration."

Gemma glanced away slightly embarrassed but her eyes finished up dwelling on the crotches of two of the men who it seemed instead of following the argument had been more interested in watching her.

"Are we to take it," enquired the late middle aged one, "That you, good lady, have been caught out in an indelicate situation?"

"No she fucking has not!" snapped Jim.

"Sorry mate," said another man, "Our friend here who sounds like he's walked straight out of a Charles Dickens novel is blunt because of the gin -- he's harmless really." The others laughed raucously at their ridiculed friend. "We do wonder why you've raised the question though."

Gemma butted in, "My husband said I ought to be more exciting, sexy and seductive -- but when it comes down to it he's the one who would chicken out if I even implied I was about to misbehave. It started an argument about men, lovers and wives. I said that men expect their wives to be adventurous but when we are we are accused of being sluts. A man can go out and shag and he's admired by his pals -- a wife has a fling and the man's pals queue up to lynch her or burn her at the stake, calling a slut."

"Wow! She doesn't take prisoners this one does she?"

"We wouldn't think that lady."

Gemma threw a challenging glance in the direction of her husband.

"Jim here would throw a fit if I literally acted adventurous and sexy toward you guys."

"Is that right Jim?" asked striped tie. "If we flirted and say, danced and enjoyed the company of Gem here would you flip?"

"Not when I know she's doing it to annoy and rile me!"

"So why don't we find out?"

The atmosphere had suddenly changed.

"What can happen here in a public hotel bar? Sure, let my wife have some fun -- it's all going to seem forced and artificial though."

"Okay," said the challenger, "Given that you know it's contrived and false -- then you shouldn't let it bother you."

There was now a tension in the air and the men now looked at Gemma wondering how far they dare to go, what liberties they might get away with. They clearly relished the thought of being able to touch and hold her -- press against that full well shaped body, those dancing breasts. A small wad of notes was passed over to the listening bartender with a request to put on some slightly more upbeat music.

Gemma was now tingling in her belly, excited at the prospect of being passed around between these men, who she knew were already sporting erections.

"Allow us to introduce ourselves," said the Charles Dickens soundalike.

"I guess three of you are called Larry, Curly and Mo," scoffed Jim, then turning to the one who proposed the challenge, "So who are you pal, a Brad Pitt wannabe?"

"Don't push it mate," growled the man with narrow close set eyes, "You two crashed in on our evening remember -- not we on yours."

"Right! This was supposed to be light --hearted and fun. We will end it here -- you lasted all of three seconds pal!" the speaker addressed Jim. "Your wife was correct in assuming you would easily flip."

Jim was shamed and reluctant to let his wife celebrate such an early victory. She would constantly throw his past discretions back in his face and remind him of how he couldn't take it when the tables were turned -- even though it was all pretend. Well she wasn't likely to fuck in front of him was she?

"Sorry. Hey, it was just my sarcastic sense of humour, no sweat!"

"As I was saying," Charles continued, "From left to right are Des, Guy and Wally. Carry on calling me Charles -- 'cause that's my name!"

With a flourishing gesture of his arms he turned to the other small group of men who had moved along the bar.

"These other gentlemen are here merely because they crave our company and marvel at our superior intellects!"

The men laughed, "We'll amuse ourselves and watch the proceedings!"

Jim noticed how they too were clearly feeling lustful by the way they mentally undressed Gemma.

The men filled Gemma's glass when empty and danced, hugged and joked with her. It was harmless fun. The rock 'n roll numbers caused Gem's dress to ride up over her stockings; an event that came the nearest to anything approaching lewd and wild behaviour. Apart from, that is, her amazing wobbling breasts that seemed always on the verge of popping out of their restraints. How the men ogled her tits!

The time ticked by, the other guests departed from the lounge. Jim had been in conversation with several men in turn but now had joined the separate group propping up the bar drinking and sorting out the problems of the world. The barman tactfully mentioned that the party shouldn't get out of hand in case the noise upset other guests. A couple of banknotes were placed into his hands with an apology and a request for moodier music.

Gemma had enjoyed the attention. She had more than enjoyed seeing the men stare longingly at her tits, hoping her nipples would pop into view. Des had even whispered that hope into her ear causing her to giggle. She pretended not to notice when her dress rode up, happy to let the men see the tops of her legs.

Now the music was slow and smoochy and hands drew the woman close to a hot body -- she felt hardness against her stomach -- an erect cock. Startled she looked round for Jim but he was too busy putting the world to rights - he hadn't noticed; he was facing away.

Gemma let her body relax and swayed gently to the rhythm, rubbing up the stiff appendage. She felt very aroused and excited. When a hand slipped across to feel her left tit she gave a little start but allowed it to tickle and squeeze. The man stole a brief kiss -- then she was passed on.

"I saw what he did!" whispered Guy. "He got to feel those lovely tits!"

How could she deny him the same pleasure? The men circled Gemma and the music was old-fashioned dance band stuff, a rumba was next. The men waddled their bellies and closer they came, on all sides, pushing their bellies against her legs and arse. Their movements changed and now the dance didn't bear any resemblance to a rumba as crotches were thrust forward and tipsy men, affected by alcohol, stimulated hard cocks by pushing them against the sexy woman whom they had only dreamed about touching barely an hour ago. They would have dared to grope her tits had it not been for the harsh tones of the hotel manager who commanded that the barman hit the stop button of the music system.

The group of men with Jim decided to take a hint and retired to bed.