Role Reversal

I opened my front door to find that the expected smell of baking was completely absent. Before I had time to consider this anomaly, the sound of crunching feet on the drive caused me to turn to see Samantha, my wife of ten years and mother of my two kids, walking up the drive towards me. The fact that there was no aromatic sign of her usual Saturday afternoon activity told me that she had been absent from the house for some time. "Where have you been," I asked.

"Over at Howard and Elise's," she said.

All of my muscles involuntarily tensed. Howard and Elise were our oldest friends and our only real friends. They lived at the opposite end of the village. It was Howard and I who were friends first, playing rugby together, first at college and later in an amateur team. He and Elise bought a big old house in the village and we purchased one on a new exclusive development a couple of years later. Howard now managed a bank and he also had family money behind him. For some eight years we had socialised at least once a fortnight throughout the year and every week in summer. Our kids were now friends too - his twin boys at seven years old slotted neatly between my girl and boy. The reason for my unease was that I had just come from spending three very pleasant hours locked between Elise's hot thighs.

The affair had been going on for the previous six months but before that I was no stranger to infidelity. I was faithful for the first two years of our marriage, in fact I was into Samantha's knickers at every possible opportunity but then Callie was born and Sam seemed to metamorphose overnight from being mistress of my dreams into just a mother. So I took my pleasure elsewhere. I work in sales and have always spent an average of two nights away on the road so there was always plenty of opportunity. I was condemned by employment to spend lonesome nights away from home but I could see no good reason why I should actually be lonely. It was the ultimate male life - plenty of the other with no risk then returning to my loving wife, family and the pleasures of comfortable village life. Of course I loved Samantha too - sex with those other women had nothing to do with that.

In case you don't know there are always females available for the travelling man and I don't mean out and out hookers. The deal for the woman is attractive; they get a very good meal and evening out on the guy's expenses (booked down as entertainment). For all this they pay the tariff pleasurably on their back - I think it is called a symbiotic relationship. Most stay for breakfast but some have to hurry back to the arms of unsuspecting husbands. In gentlemanly manner, I escort these particular conquests out of the hotel to get them past security who are always on the watch for professional ladies who invariably leave as soon as they have turned a trick. In truth for a number of years I lived my sex life outside the home. I felt no burning desire for Samantha anymore and only engaged in carnality to avert suspicion - even it was a quick kiss and squeeze of her tits, probe with a couple of fingers for a minute or two then whip it in.

Samantha and I are very close in age with her being only eight months my junior. Howard is almost two years older than me but Elise is five years younger. At their wedding when I met Elise for the first, I knew straight away that she was not the faithful type - her eyes were far too bold. She was then and still is lean as a greyhound with firm, up thrusting, right in your eye tits. Elise maintains her figure by working out in a gym once week but poor old Howard has tended to pile on the pounds over the years.

I got other indications to Elise's possible promiscuous inclinations when we were out as a foursome. Men look at all females but where most women glance away, Elise always looks right back. After some of these incidents I have seen men following us around for ages but cannot claim to have ever seen Elise speaking to one.

Almost as soon as we joined our friends in the village, I knew that it was there for me if I wanted it.

Elise had lots of little tricks like putting her foot up on a chair near where I was sitting, giving me plenty of time to notice the narrow strip of satin covering her twat - and after every such action she would give me a long challenging stare. Often we two were left alone in the garden while the other two prepared some food (Howard and Sam always handled the catering requirements as a team no matter whose house we were at). This very sexy woman would always take advantage of our privacy by doing something intimate like removing her bikini top to look for some imagined blemish or simply throwing me the sun oil with the request that I should do her back. Of course I wanted it, there were times I dare not stand for fear of revealing my state of excitement, but she was my best pal's wife - it was not the done thing. It was also far too close to home.

Elise worked as a rep for a cosmetic firm. One night, 200 miles away from the village, I walked into the hotel bar and as usual looked round to see what might be available to warm my bed. Elise was sitting at the bar. Perhaps it was the fact that we were on neutral territory but within half an hour of me joining her we were in my bed and going at it like knives. I don't think that we stopped screwing all night - she was voracious.

The following Sunday, Samantha and I with the kids were at her large house for the usual barbecue but the weather had let us down. My wife had taken all four children to the swimming bath leaving Elise and I in the kitchen talking to Howard who was the path outside the window in a light drizzle, trying to fix the engine of his motor mower. Suddenly Elise ducked under the breakfast bar that we were leaning on while watching her husband work. The next thing I knew she was giving me a blow-job. So there was me saying "Yes Howie, No Howie" to my friend's questions while his wife sucked my cock with all the power of a vacuum cleaner. It was more than a little fortunate that the mower engine burst into life at the opportune moment to cover my cry as Elise began to swallow the reward for her efforts. It seemed the inhibition about home ground had gone completely.

The next week when I was the host we were even more daring but this time there was the benefit of some forward planning. Howard was busy with the barbecue; he considered himself the charcoal cooking aficionado and always took charge of this function. Samantha was safely occupied playing rounders with the kids and Elise had earlier set up the action by going to lie down on the spare bed with a pretended migraine. I announced loudly that I was going to take a shower, ran upstairs to the bathroom, stripped and, leaving the shower running, walked to join Elise with a bath towel wrapped round me. She hadn't waited. Meeting me on the landing she bustled me into the marital bedroom. I was too far gone to argue so I spread the towel on the bottom of the bed. Elise bunched her skirt around her waist and lay back on the towel with her legs spread - she was not wearing any pants but did put some on afterwards. It was of necessity short - but very, very sweet. Any guilt I had about this desecration I assuaged by arguing that on a bed was not the same as in it.

A short time later, eating drinking and chatting in the company of our respective spouses, I got a real kick out of the fact that Elise was sitting there with my cum inside her and neither of them knew. I had actually congratulated myself a bit too soon. As Howard and his wife got up to leave, Sam called out, "Oh dear Elise, you seem to have sat in something - there's a big wet patch on the back of your skirt." This fright must have brought us to our senses a bit because we took no more risks. After that we met every other Saturday and hired a room for the afternoon in village pub some miles away. We both had built in alibis because it was my regular golf afternoon and Elise had been going to her gym on Saturdays for years. It was caution that made me spend alternate Saturdays actually playing the game. This was because Samantha frequently accompanied me to evening functions in the club house and I couldn't risk someone coming up to ask, "What have you been doing with yourself Pete, old son - you haven't been around here for ages.

It was a sweet set up and there had not been even the slightest diminution in the passion that Elise and I shared. The affair could in theory go on for years but something was most definitely wrong and I had the uncomfortable feeling that it all might be coming to a rather untidy end. I did not like anything that broke the pattern and for Samantha to abandon her cherished baking then take herself to visit Howard was more than unusual. Most ominous was her failure to automatically give a reason for going.

I waited until we had eaten and were sitting with drinks in our hands before asking as casually as I could, "So what were you doing over there then?"

Samantha gave me a long cool look and said, "Well for most of the time I was in bed with Howard.

I kind of froze inside. This was not in the script. Samantha was the domestic goddess, earth mother concerned only with homemaking, nurture and PTA matters - I was the one who played around. This had got to be a wind up so I asked in a joking voice, "And what exactly what were you doing in bed with old Howard?"

"Fucking," she said bluntly.

"Why - for God's sake?"

Samantha took a long sip of her drink and then told me in a matter of fact voice," I had just started setting out my things for baking when Howard came to the door and he looked dreadfully upset. He asked me where you were and I told him that you were on the golf course as usual. Then he asked if I knew where Elise was and I said, 'I thought she went shopping and then to the gym on Saturdays.'

Then he said, "Well I'll tell you where they both are - they're screwing each others brains out at the Black Bull in Cobham." I didn't believe him. I'm not a fool Peter, I know that you have hardly been faithful to me over the years but I didn't think that you would do it with Elise - I mean isn't there a rather disgusting saying that ends with the word 'doorstep'? She's your best friends wife!"

Samantha paused to take another long pull at her glass and went on, "Howard said, 'I'll show you.' We got in his car, drove to Cobham and there sure enough were your car and hers in the car park. He explained that he had been suspicious for a while and had started monitoring her mileage on a Saturday. That told him that she was doing a twenty mile round trip which was not enough to get to town and back. So he drew a ten mile radius circle on the map and earlier today he started working round the villages that fell on or near the line. He hit the jackpot on only the second village. Howard says that he knew she was cheating but not who it was with and the fact that it turned out to be you is killing him. We went on to his house and going to bed was partly to console him but mainly because I was very angry and wanted to get my own back."

I could either defend myself or attack. There was no defence so I asked sarcastically, "And did you enjoy it?"

"Yes I did," she said defiantly but then added, "In a way. It was very pleasant and rather exciting doing is with a different body - but Howard is not a very good lover and his penis is even smaller than yours."

I thought that I had deflected the onslaught and smiled complacently but Samantha then asked quietly, "Is that why you screw other women Peter, because they are different, because they are not me?"

What could I say so I just shrugged. "Well I warn you, stay well away from Howard. He is still very angry, far worse than me and I think you know that I am not exactly pleased." This threat did not bother me because, although Howard it two inches taller and at least forty pounds heavier, I am far fitter and I reckoned I could take him. "He wants your head," Samantha said, but then she grinned maliciously and added, "- though it is not actually your head that he would like to cut off.

I suddenly picked up on what she had said a few sentences before. "What do you mean 'his penis is even smaller than mine - my dick isn't small," I said indignantly.

"Maybe but you can hardly call it big - all I know is that next time I am going to find a man with a cock that is bigger than either you or Howard."

"What do you mean 'Next time'?" I snarled.

"Simply that I enjoyed doing it with Howard despite his limitations and I am going to start going it a lot. I don't mean with Howard again but I do intend to sleep with lots of men. I enjoy being married to you and living here so I don't want that to change. That means that I won't be divorcing you although I'm sure I can find lots of grounds - what you do is up to you. I suddenly understand why you have behaved the way you have over the years and from now on I am going to start doing it too. I think it's called an open marriage."

I could not stand the thought and think that I muttered 'No' several times. I was in an untenable position. With no alternative but to give ground, I gritted my teeth and made the offer, "OK, I can see that you need to get revenge so go with a few men until you have evened the score but then please let us go back to how we were. I promise that I will never cheat on you again."

"That's fair," Samantha said as if considering the prospect. "You add up all the different women you have fucked since we were married and when I have screwed the same number of men I'll stop."

The horror of it caused me to sink myself. "That's impossible," I said. "I can't bear the thought of you doing it with so many - it's indecent."

"So now we know," she said.

I had to say something so I changed tack and tried to put her on the spot by asking scathingly, "And where exactly are you going to go to pick up all these men?"

"I don't have to go anywhere Peter. Have you thought how many men call at the house all the time, the milk man, the post man, meter readers, charity collectors, double glazing salesmen, the paper boy and even the bin men. That's just during the day and then I have the nights when you are not at home. My single limitation is that I only want to shag well hung men."

"What is this sudden preoccupation with big cocks?" I asked bemused.

"It's something that has been in my mind for years." she explained. The second guy that I ever did it with was very big. He was also very inexperienced and he hurt me rather a lot - so with all the others including you, I made sure that they only had equipment that I could cope with."

"Wait a minute, wait a fucking minute," I interrupted. "I thought you told me before the marriage that you had only had one lover before me - where have all these others come from? You've lied to me from the start."

"No girl likes to broadcast her previous experience especially to the man she is going to marry but I did not actually lie to you. I only did have one lover, by my definition that is a relationship lasting several months. I only did it once with the first two and I think there were four others I went with no more than half a dozen times each."

I could accept that because it was really a very modest tally. "So you only went with men who had modest sized pricks," I prompted to get her back on track. I have to say that it did not do my morale much good to realise on what criteria I had been chosen.

"Since we have been married I have read lots of articles in women's magazines and all of them propound the idea that size matters. I started to think that if that early boy with the big cock had happened when I was more used to sex or if he had been far better at doing it, then my life might have turned out very differently. It is very easy to see why a big cock feels better than a small one so I began to feel that I had missed out. I would have loved to find out but I was married to you. I knew you were cheating on me but I couldn't prove it. You left lots of clues but nothing that you could not explain away in isolation and accusing you would do no good because you were certain to deny it. The big thing was that I didn't want to be the first to be unfaithful in the unlikely event that I was wrong in my suspicions so I put up with the situation until today. Now that I know for certain, I'm going to have a ball."

For the next three weeks nothing happened. Sam and I continued to have sex and there was not a single reference back to that traumatic night. In fact it was surprising how much everything continued completely as normal, except of course that we had no contact with our erstwhile friends from the other end of the village. I had honestly started to believe that my wife's threat to start having affairs was no more than talk, spoken in at a time of justified anger. Then one Wednesday night I had gone to bed feeling more than a little bit randy, (if the truth were known, I had been thinking about Elise), so quite naturally I rolled towards Samantha. For the first time ever, she pushed me away saying, "Sorry, I've already been very well laid today and I haven't got the energy for any more."

"You've what?" I shouted.

"I've been to bed with a man - we spent a large part of the afternoon there."

"Who the hell with?"

"Calm down and I'll tell you," Samantha said both quietly and firmly. "This young man came to the door and asked if we had any trees that needed to be felled or trimmed. He was about twenty-five with long dark hair tied back in a pony tail and he was wearing tight jeans with a T-shirt. At first I didn't like the look of him but there are those overhanging branches at the bottom of the garden that you have been promising to see to since last year so I said that he could do them. When he started I put on my little sundress and took a deck chair out to watch how he did it. He had stripped to the waist and as he worked in the sun I couldn't help noticing how muscular and tanned he was - and how little rivulets of sweat kept trickling down his back. So when he was about half done I asked if he would like a glass of iced lemonade and of course he did. So then I asked if I should bring it to him or would he prefer to drink it in the conservatory with me. Well he gave me a long look and then chose the conservatory. Before we had finished our lemonade I took him up to bed - or rather he took me."

"To our bed?" I asked aghast.

"Of course not, what do you think I am - I doubt if even you would sink that low Peter. No, it happened in the guest bedroom."

We were lying side by side in the darkness, not quite touching. My body was rigid, in both senses of the word. I was aroused before she thrust this revelation on me but now my dick was a damn sight stiffer. Thinking that there would be more details forthcoming I waited but when my faithless wife remained silent, I swallowed to get some moisture into my parched mouth and asked, "How was it?"

"Magnificent!"

There was more silence as I struggled to come to terms with that momentous word but Samantha broke it by throwing in the information, "He's called Rory by the way."

There is one question that I think every man in my position needs to know. "Is his prick very much bigger than mine?" I had rolled towards her as I spoke and against the light of the window I saw her head nod emphatically but she did not actually speak. "I didn't catch that," I prompted.

"It's enormous," she said. "I knew it was going to be from the bulge in his jeans - that's the main reason I seduced him."

I just could not leave it alone. "And was it as good as you expected?"

"I haven't had so many orgasms for a very long time - if ever."

That rather devastatingly put me in my place. I changed tack. "You said that he only did half the work needed on the trees."