I met my husband Aaron while working my way through a remote mining community in outback Australia. Aaron was all the things Aussie men are famed to be; tall, wiry, bronzed, laid back, charming and humorous. If I were to complain, it would be that he, like most men, could be a little more romantic.
After a short but amorous courtship, we married. While I am more your girl next door than a supermodel, (a little too short at 5ft 8ins and a little broad in the hips at 35-24-37) I like to think that it was more than the scarcity of fair haired blue eyed women in the outback which drew Aaron's attentions.
For a while, we traveled the world together. We were young, very much in love and more than a little in lust. It seems a little childish now but I recall, for example, that while on our honeymoon (destination the Greek Islands) I convinced Aaron that we should join the mile high club. I'll never forget the look on the stewardess' face when Aaron and I emerged simultaneously from the same cubicle. Though, in hindsight, it sounds somewhat brazen Aaron and I spent the rest of the flight fighting off fits of laughter every time the merest eye contact with the poor girl put her off her stride.
Finally, time came to settle down and we returned to Aaron's beloved Australia. Our sex life was satisfying and suitably adventurous (let's just say that I have a little French maid's outfit that has seen its share of polishing). Despite any atheleticism in the boudoir, however, all attempts at baby-making were futile and eventually after much discussion we decided to live a childless life.
My girlfriends had a bunch of babies and I was encouraged to play the "favorite auntie". Aaron and I felt we could complete our lives in this way. I worked as a personal assistant in the city and Aaron flew in and out from his mining position in the outback — his roster was six weeks on and two weeks off.
Materially we had everything we needed, a beautiful house in a leafy suburb, luxurious holidays at five-star locations, new cars and an ever-increasing art collection. It seemed to everyone we were happy. But the truth was that I was lonely, very lonely during those six weeks and at night I was scared. I hated being by myself at night. Aaron had an expensive alarm system installed and tried to convince me that it would make me feel safe. I lamely feigned agreement but my fears still bubbled beneath the surface.
Only the intense passion of our reunions made Aaron’s regular absences tolerable. Even now I occasionally muse over our first such reunification and the exquisite pleasure engendered by the sensation of Aaron’s unrelenting tongue rasping upon my clit. “Oh god yes; eat meeee!” I’m half surprised that Aaron didn’t develop cauliflower ears, what with my thighs applying vice like pressure about his bobbing head during each climactic contraction.
As the years passed I resumed the search for my birth mother and any siblings I may have had. I was not having much luck and one day after yet another dead end, I picked up my purse and car keys and decided on some retail therapy at an art gallery I had been meaning to visit for some months.
As soon as I stepped into the gallery I could feel someone looking at me. A tall, dark-haired man, casually but stylishly dressed, was behind the desk and his eyes were firmly on me. "Do I know you?" I asked curiously. "Not yet," he replied with a twinkle in his eyes.
And that is how the affair with Jeremy began.
At first it was innocent enough, rendezvous for lunch, walks in the park, and a parting peck on the cheek. I soon felt that I could confide anything in Jeremy. I don't really recall how or why the topic arose but eventually I spoke of my fear of being alone when Aaron was away. Jeremy was very understanding. He suggested I try hypnotherapy and explained that he had studied the art while traveling in Tibet some years earlier. He couldn't guarantee anything but would be happy to use his "limited" knowledge of the therapy to assist should I desire that.I had no apprehensions; of course I trusted Jeremy and I felt I had nothing to lose.
Jeremy’s therapy worked a treat. The next time Aaron left I felt absolutely no fear. On this occasion, however, Aaron's absence appeared to trigger a further disintegration of my already fragile resistance to Jeremy’s courtship.
Two days after Aaron’s departure I could not resist telephoning Jeremy. I agreed to meet him at Picasso’s for lunch. His suggestion that I wear something sexy caused some momentary consternation, but, then again, I thought, “Where was the harm in it”.
I wore a tight-fitting, leopard-pattern mini-dress sufficiently low-cut across the bodice to reveal the top third of my breasts. Sleek, dark nylons graced my legs and I capped off the outfit with shiny black five inch heels.
At Jeremy’s request, we were seated in a corner booth. Almost immediately Jeremy placed his left arm around my shoulders and his right hand on my right knee. I froze but could summon no resistance. As a boyish waiter approached to take our order, Jeremy slipped his hand beyond the hem of my skirt. The penetration of his fingers was made easy by the fact that I had shaved that morning and had, in compliance with of the instruction to wear something sexy, decided against wearing any panties. “Madam, are you ready to order?” the waiter enquired, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment. "Yes!" I gushed. "Oh yes, yes, yes!" my eyes were now half closed. "Oh, I’ll have the mmmmm, the soup of the day and the, oohhhh my, the lamb".
By the time the poor boy asked whether I would like any wine with my meal, I sensed my hips thrusting below the table. "Mmmmmm perhaps I’ll have the Hunter Valley Shiraz, oh yes, the Shiraz, oh, yes, oh, yes please”. God, I was going to orgasm. I clenched my teeth and shuddered through the climax. Thereafter the events of the afternoon were reminiscent of my honeymoon flight. In a way, I pity that poor waiter.
On returning home that evening I resolved that my liaison with Jeremy was quite out of hand and must end. My resolve lasted all of seventy-two hours and ended with a text message inviting Jeremy to diner at my home.
I met Jeremy at the door I was wearing a pink strapless bustier, pink miniskirt and pink heels. Holding him by the hand, I led Jeremy to the dining room table. I swept one hand across it impatiently. The table cloth flopped to the floor. My pink lace thong soon followed. I hopped up on top of the table. Leaning back on my elbows, I carelessly kicked my pink high-heels across the room. Then I laid back legs spread wide, my calves dangling over the table, my pussy open and inviting. "You like?" I asked softly.
Jeremy licked his lips. "But, but, what about your husband?" he enquired coyly, as his pants slid down his legs. Jeremy was as hard as a diving board. I sat up and flung my arms around his neck, drawing him closer. "Don’t you worry about Aaron!” I answered vehemently. Soon my hands were busy, pulling down Jeremy's underwear and urgently polishing his rigid member. It was more than Jeremy could stand. He surged forward, groaning, allowing me to guide his hardness inside me. I gasped in delight as his cock slid home. "Fuck me, honey," I cried, wrapping my thighs around him. "Fuck me!"
We were both too hot to take it slow and began to piston rapidly, Jeremy standing in front of the table with his pants around his ankles, I in bustier and garter belt lying on top of it. I slid back and forth on the polished table as Jeremy thrust against my pelvis again and again, his every thrust accompanied by grunts of exertion and primal lust. I was tight, wet, wanting, and the experience, utterly divine.
Jeremy grasped me by the knees, delighting in the feel of my sleek pink nylons. "Hurry, sugar, hurry," I panted, urging him on. "I'm so close! You are so gooooood!" A light sheen of sweat glistened on his face. Suddenly, with the force of my oscillations across the table, one of my breasts popped out of the strapless bustier. The nipple pointed at the ceiling like a glazed raspberry.
Jeremy lifted both my legs to give him a deeper thrust. The movement broke his rhythm. "Don't stop," I scolded, throwing back my long, loose blonde hair. "Don't ever stop. Almost there, almost there...aw shit, it's so good". My climax was so loud that the entire suburb was undoubtedly aware of the excitement.
It wasn't long before Jeremy moved into the guest bedroom, where he lived for six weeks at a time, returning to his flat above the gallery for the two weeks that Aaron was at home. Nights of fear and loneliness were replaced by nights of warmth and pleasure; I slept safely in Jeremy's arms and moved back to my marital bedroom when Aaron returned home. I finally had it all.
Then one evening as Jeremy and I were finishing dinner, Aaron appeared in the doorway — he was home earlier than expected. "I'm sorry I couldn't phone, everything conspired against me today, it was a sudden change of plans, I only had an hour's notice I was to come home, then I thought I would give you a surprise." he said, looking at Jeremy and me curiously. "You certainly did that!" I said, trying to hide my shock. "But now that you are here, I have a surprise for you. I have been meaning to tell you all week, but it has been such an emotional rollercoaster ride for me, well, both of us really," I said, indicating to Jeremy with a wave of my shaking hand, "I have found my long lost brother."
Jeremy coughed and looked a little alarmed, then said, "No! No! Not brother! Half brother! I am your half brother." "Oh y-y-yes, s-s-s-sorry," I said stuttering with nervousness and fear at the enormity of the lie Jeremy and I were telling. "Aaron, I would like you to meet Jeremy my half brother. Jeremy, this is my husband Aaron..." and then I burst into tears! The lie was told and by the look on Aaron's face, it was believed. "Aaron, I was going to tell you but I only found Jeremy this week and it has been, well, confusing and exhilarating all at once!" I said between sobs.
Jeremy interrupted and suggested he make us all a cup of tea. "So much has happened," I went on, "I asked Jeremy to move into the guest room while we get to know each other. He is the only blood, well, half-blood relation I have now, since my birth mother's death. I want to see as much of him as possible."
I am sure Aaron half suspected that the truth resided elsewhere but was not, at that the moment, sufficiently confident in his reservations to create a scene. "I understand," said Aaron as he hugged me firmly in a familiar way. "It is a great idea that Jeremy lives here for awhile." Aaron’s tone caused me more than a little disquiet.
Jeremy brought the tea, "Yes," he said holding my hand, "Now that I have found Sis I never want to let her go. We both just want to make up for lost time." The look on Jeremy’s face betrayed alertness to the prospect that Aaron’s acceptance may lack bona fides.
After a tense few moments spent consuming tea and engaging in idle banter, Jeremy suggested that I leave to allow the lads to become acquainted. Aaron nodded his accord and I departed, escorted by a palpable unease. I surmise that Jeremy spiked the tea, for not long after I left the room a profound and enduring tranquility conquered my disquiet.
I don’t really know why Aaron chose to believe that Jeremy is my half brother. I know that, in all probability, Jeremy proceeded to hypnotise Aaron. I prefer, however, to think that Aaron’s acceptance was born of his love for, and trust in me. Whatever, the reason, Aaron’s faith was a godsend.
That was five years ago and my "half brother" Jeremy still lives with Aaron and me. We all share an interest in art and our collection has grown beautifully all purchased through Jeremy's gallery, of course. Although, many of Aaron's friends think it odd, Aaron and Jeremy are great friends. I move into the guest bedroom when Aaron flies out and back to the marital bed when he flies in. I live with both my lover and my husband. No more lonely nights. It is the perfect arrangement.