At first, Lydia was furious at her husband Mike for inviting his co-worker James to their cabin. Technically, the cabin belonged to both Lydia and Mike, because they were married, but the cabin had been passed down from Lydia's parents, and as a child she would join her family for summer vacations in the cabin. These were her favorite childhood memories--of long days swimming in the lake, and barbecues, and playing board games on the screen porch by the hiss of a Coleman lantern.
Her dad was a school teacher and an avid fisherman, so for Lydia, the cabin was not just a funky little rustic house built in the 70s beside a lake in upstate Minnesota, but rather a second childhood home. Perhaps, she realized, that was one of the things that attracted her to Mike. When they met, they were both teachers -in-training. Lydia was doing her assistant teaching at the same elementary school where Mike had come to work with the at-risk boys. At first, she thought her attraction to him was their connection to education, his dedication to helping youth. After seven years of marriage, she came to realize that the connection they shared to education was there--but it was a more intellectual bond. They both agreed on the same values and principles, but after that, the similarities were fewer. In fact, although Mike and Lydia had had a happy first couple years as newlyweds and new teachers, they'd settled into routines. Both the excitement and newness of marriage and teaching had worn off. They were both still dedicated teachers, and committed to each other. But the glamour and charge of waking every day to make a difference was gone: both teaching and married, Lydia had concluded, was a daily grind. It was hard work, and with every small advance in the classroom, each year a new batch of kids--the same issues and challenges. It was a wheel of repetition, reset each fall, back to square one. For this reason, her summers meant everything to her. For a few months, she could leave school behind. She could step back, almost in time, to when she was young and carefree. She could put fall out of her mind for a while, and just swim and relax, read the books she wanted to read--trashy summer pulp, and not text books. She wondered, secretly, if she'd jumped into her marriage with Mike because she liked him as an individual, or as a type: a man with a steady job, good benefits, and summers free to let her return to her cabin.
Mike had ruined her plan. He'd invited James.
Lydia and Mike both new James. He taught 5th grade and coached. Mike and James had always gotten along, and played on the same softball team. Lydia had never liked James' wife, and never really got close to either. But now James was divorced (no surprise). The divorce became the excuse Mike used to invite James to join them at the cabin. "Come on, honey," he said to Lydia. "James is going through a rough spot. We can't leave him alone all summer."
Lydia knew the real reason. Sure, maybe James was going through a "rough spot" but it wasn't pity that Mike was feeling for James. Simply, he wanted a buddy up at the cabin to drink beers with and shoot the beer cans off the stump with Dad's old .22 rifle. Basically, Mike wanted a distraction from the marriage that had fallen into a flatness of the day-to-day. The same-old, same-old. Of course he wanted James to come along. They'd be able to hang out and let Lydia do her thing. After seven years, they'd pretty much heard each other's stories. They knew the same "water cooler" talk at work. They loved each other--no question--but they found little to talk about.
It wasn't that they had a bad marriage; Mike would say that things were "fine." Spending a month at the cabin, just the two of them, was fine; but having James along was better. It wasn't like inviting a friend along on a honeymoon--that stage of their lives seemed far away. Somehow the daily sex turned into a few times a week, which turned into weekend sex, which turned into every week or two, or maybe once a month. The sex tapered so slowly over time that it just seemed a natural effect. They still had sex--it never stopped--but even those sessions were more like something they did because it was just part of the entire list of things: do laundry, wash dishes, scrub bathrooms, take out trash. At one time, they'd watched porn together, but not for a year or more. Each Valentines Mike would buy Lydia some sexy lingerie. It'd be worn that night, and then live in her dresser drawer.
Sadly, Lydia was reaching her sexual prime. She'd met Mike when she was 23. By 24 she married. Now, at 32, she felt like she was a totally different woman. She was no longer a college student. She couldn't even remember what it was like to date guys before Mike. Seriously, she tried to recall the sensation of kissing old boyfriends, and see if she could picture the shape, texture, scent of their penises. She could get the image, sort of, but it was more like something she'd read, than experienced. for her, it'd been Mike's body year after year. She knew exactly what it took to bring him off. She'd accepted that she'd have to spend alone time to get off herself. That was fine. Not exactly how she'd imagined married life would be. But, all in all, it was fine. Mike was always there for her. He didn't cheat. He treated her kindly, and, well.... he was her husband, and that was that.
She grumbled, but accepted the fact that James was now going to spend at least 3 or 4 weeks with them at the cabin.
As soon as all three were at the cabin, something changed. The air smelled sweeter, the sun warmer. There was an energy, a buzz that Mike and Lydia had not felt before. It was a youthful energy, a giddy. Lydia was not sure what had changed or why. For James, it was obvious: he loved the cabin, the loved the lake, and the porch overlooking the lake. But more importantly, he'd always had a thing for Lydia. Even when he was married--especially when he was married--he saw Mike and Lydia as the "perfect" couple. She was smart, and sexy at school, but here in the cabin, as she spent her days in shorts and bikini tops, she seemed extraordinarily sexy.
In fact, one afternoon, he'd returned to the cabin to fetch something, and spied Lydia on the porch, sunning and napping. He stood, silently as possible, hidden in the shadow of the inside, peering at her bare skin through the screen. He knew he shouldn't look, but it was also exactly what he'd fantasied about. He was instantly hard, and by instinct, pushed his hand in his pants and began to stroke his cock.
In his mind, a scene played out like a porno: he'd step out on the porch, holding his stiff cock. Lydia would look up and blink. And smile. And reach for his cock with her mouth. Then he'd tug aside her bikini. He always wondered if Lydia was shaved. He was certain that she was. She was so hot to him. He'd flip her onto her knees and give it to her. He was now beating his cock hard.
What would happen if he stepped outside? Would Lydia scream? Laugh? Even if she wanted him as much as he wanted her, what would happen if Mike returned? James was already taking too long. No, that would be the worst thing to do to a best friend.
As he stared at Lydia on the deck and beat off, he still imagined her on her knees. He was pumping into her. But now he pictured Mike in the scene. He had his dick in her mouth. Yeah...that was it. He'd always imagined Mike and Lydia going at it. James had never had hot sex with his wife, the "ice queen" called her. So he transferred that passion to idea that Lydia and Mike had perfect, porn star sex. James didn't want to break them up. He didn't want Lydia to himself. He just wanted to join them, to have a small part of that passion. He pictured himself and Mike fucking Lydia. He decided then, that he would do everything he could to make it happen.
What he didn't know was that Lydia wasn't sleeping. He didn't know that she'd been completely aroused since arriving at the cabin. He didn't know that she'd fingered herself at least a dozen times in the few days they'd been there. He didn't know that she'd checked out his package as he walked around in shorts. It never occurred to him that Mike had put on a few pounds over the years and, in fact, had started a middle-aged paunch. Although James' hair was starting to thin, he was still pretty lean. Lydia had noticed. She'd actually been thinking of James as she spread out her beach towel. She removed her bikini top and lay back in the sun. She hoped to be caught. She wanted to be seen. She wanted both men to walk back to the cabin and catch her topless. She'd act surprised. But she hoped it'd make Mike a little jealous, and James a little horny.
She knew it was just a matter of time before the guys returned. The waiting made her more and more excited. She became wet. Is this the seven year itch, she wondered? At age 32, all she wanted was to be taken, ravaged. She wanted to feel a cok inside her. A new cock, with a new shape. She wanted to put it her mouth and taste new skin, new salty cum. As she thought about James' body, she became wet and reached into her bikini and touched herself.
That's when she heard a gasp from inside. Someone had already been watching her. This turned her on even more. Was it her husband, Mike? If so, was he seeing her, finally, as the sexy woman she was? Now fully awaken from her daydreaming her ears strained. She could hear the unmistakable sound of a man jerking off. She knew the sound well. Mike would beat off in the bathroom. He never realized even with the door shut, she could hear. She could her him slapping his meat, and then the grunt as he spurt. Then the flush of the toilet. That was fine. She took her alone time. He deserved his. She never mentioned it. But she was also never aroused by it. Now, she was half naked on the deck of her cabin, listening to the sound of a man beating off. Was it Mike stroking his cock, finally using her as his masturbation fantasy? She liked the idea.
But if it was Mike, he probably would have come outside--either to tell her to get dressed, or to take her into the bedroom for a quickie. She deduced that the man behind the screen, standing in the shadows of the cabin was not her husband, but his best friend James.
This drove her wild. She pushed two fingers into her already soaking vagina. "Oh yes," she gasped. "Give it to me." She imagined a cock bigger that her husband's penetrating her. She imagined her husband looking on, nodding his approval, as she stretched to accommodate a new cock. She knew it was unrealistic, but she was masturbating; she could fantasize however she wanted, right? She never imagined cheating on Mike, or being in love with another man. She just wanted a new cock. A new body to take her, ravage her. Even make her feel like a naughty slut, and not a proper, professional teacher. Having any sexlife beyond the typical, accepted monogamous married life was literally grounds for her to be fired. For seven years, she'd been a teacher, and always aware of sensitivity of keeping one's sex life private. Naked pictures of herself--even pictures drinking and partying could get her fired. Any porn on a computer could be ceased. Even a rental history of DVDs if there was ever any question of her sex life. She understood the reasons, working with kids, and knew the stories and cautionary tales passed down. But secretly, she wondered if she'd somehow missed out. She imagined that lawyers could have naughty sex. If lawyers had a threesome, no one would care. Three teachers, the PTA would have their asses fired.
Of course, the more dangerous something is, the more desirable. The thought of three teachers getting it on seemed especially naughty to Lydia. And even better, it was her Dad's old cabin. The place she grew up, and where she experienced her first sense of sexuality. She touched herself for the first time in a sleeping bag on the porch, listening to the crickets and the lapping of the lake on the shore.
She'd go on long hikes alone, and some times slip off her clothes. She'd walk nude through the forest, wearing only her hiking boots. She knew she'd be in trouble if caught by her parents. She'd been warned that she'd be raped if caught by a stranger. But contrary to the caution, it gave her one of her first fantasies. She knew that real rape was a violent crime, and did not wish it on herself or any woman for real. But in fantasy, her "violators" were always very cute, very sexy, dashing, and polite, like cowboys in the old Westerns.
One of her regular fantasies was adapted from the classic Western good guy in white hat vs. bad guy in black. In this story, she was a Native American or a pioneer woman who lived in the woods. Along comes the bad guy, the train robber, dressed in black, with a load of money, escaping the law. He'd take her as a hostage. At his camp, he'd be gruff but a gentleman. She'd cook him a meal and nurse his wounds. He'd tell her she was "pretty flower ready to bloom." He'd say things like, "have you ever touched a man's gun before?" He'd place her hand on his crotch. She'd feel it move and she'd squeal. "Go on," he'd say, "it ain't gonna bite." And then he'd let her hold his cock in her hands, and pet it, and kiss it and then taste it. He'd show her what to do and make her suck him off.
It was less rape, really, than an initiation. Because he was the bad guy, he would deflower her. He would be strong, rough even, but never cruel. He'd have his way with her. First in the front, and then in the back, until she knew how to accept his cock in every way. She'd be his captive and his sex slave. Her favorite image was to be tied to a tree and taken.
Then, she'd hear gunfire. The goodguy was catching up, with his white hat and white horse. There would be a blazing fight while Lydia remained bound, naked, to a tree. The bad guy would ride off in a cloud of dust, never to be seen again. The good guy would ride up, dismount, and untie the poor Lydia. He'd scoop her up, and set her on his horse. He'd wash away all the dirt and blood and semen from her pale white skin. He'd tell her she'd been soiled by evil, but that it wasn't her fault. He'd marry her, and make her an honest woman. And they'd ride off into the sunset.
She found a stack of old porn mags her Dad had hidden. She'd sneak one out to the woods, and look at the images of sexy women, imagining herself in their positions. She'd spread out the pages so she could see several images at once and finger herself.
What a sexual girl she'd been, and now, decades later, that latent energy was boiling back up. On her back, half naked, fingering herself, she thought about the hidden magazines. She thought about the good guy in the woods, and the bad guy. She dipped and flicked her finger, imagining being penetrated--viloated--by the bad guy, as she listened to the unmistakable sound of a man beating off.
She knew it was James, her husband's best friend. He was the bad guy--the forbidden lover of her adolescent fantasy. Her husband, the calm, safe, thoughtful Mike, was the good guy that she had married and would grow old with. She didn't want to marry the outlaw, but she wanted him to teach her, to show her the ways of making love. She began to pitch her hips, pushing her fingers deeper. She could hear James inside, beating off, trying to stifle his moans. She matched her rhythm to his. Although separated by the screen door, they were fucking as if one.
She imagined James fucking her, and her sucking her husband. Or vise versa, James in her mouth, Mike in her ass. James in her ass, Mike offering his cock to her mouth. Maybe she needed both--the good guy, the bad guy. At the same time. That was what had been missing, always missing in her life. She could not have only the good guy, no more than she could settle down with the outlaw.
Her moans became high pitched and she began to cry out, "fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," as she shook in a powerful orgasm. At the same time, holding back for this cue, James released a huge load of cum.
Later, they'd all three be together in the cabin. After a big spaghetti dinner and lots of wine, they'd continue drinking and talking, and flirting. James wouldn't be able to take his eyes off of Lydia, repeating the scene of her masturbating on the porch, trying to imagine what she looked like under her bikini, tasted like, felt like. Mike found his wife radiant that night, glowing in a look of sexual bliss. She wore a tight tank top and short skirt, and he could smell the scent of sweat, suntan oil, and her sex. He was seeing her renewed, vital and inviting his stares. He noticed her bending over to pour more wine for each of the men, and James checking out her small, but sexy cleavage. It didn't make him angery, but rather assured him that his wife was sexy. James, his friend, looked at Mike, and Mike nodded, as if to say, "hell yeah, check out those tits." Lydia bent over several times to pick up objects. Mike and James stared at her ass held in by the tight skirt and a peek of white panties, bunched up, revealing a clear outline of her vulva. Lydia found herself staring at James, knowing he'd been hard for her, and had gotten off from the show she'd put on. She knew it was just a matter of starting. Of crossing the line. Once crossed, there would be no holding back. Each of the three sensed it. The more Mike sensed James' desire for his wife, the more he desired her, too. The more Lydia felt the burning stares of the men, the more confident she became of her sexiness, and more eager to feel the two men and their hard cocks at the same time.
The fire was blazing and they were a couple bottles of wine into the evening, good and buzzed, and horny. "Hey, wanna know a secret," asked Lydia.
The two men glanced at each other, and both seemed to nod to say, "yeah, cool."
Lydia stood up, wobbled a little, and made her way toward the bedroom.
The men glanced at each other again. Then they followed. "Have a seat," said Lydia, patting the bed's patchwork quilt. "I want to show you something." The men glanced at each other again. Lydia swayed over to the wall, where she peeled back part of the wood paneling, left over from the 70s. Behind the panelling, she retrieved a couple dusty magazines. She brought them to the bed and hoped on, beside the two men. She flipped one open and they all started to check out the pictures. Page after glossy pages, she felt herself getting hotter and hotter.
She could see the straining bulges in the men's shorts. "You want to know my secret?" she asked. She knew this was the moment that would either break the spell, or set it into action.
She let her hand slip into her panties, and begin to stroke herself. "When I was a teenager, I used to touch myself looking at these magazines. " Bot men stared at her, fixed on her hand, unable to take their eyes off. James glanced at Mike. Mike looked at his wife. She met his gaze and seemed to say, "This is ok, right?"
He had never seen his wife so desirable, so completely alive with sexual energy. His look seemed to say, "Oh my god yes!"
"Do you want to know my deepest secret?" asked Lydia, seductively.
Both men nodded slowly.
She gently reached out to each, softly rubbing their strained erections through their shorts, cupping their balls, and tugging at the elastic bands, signaling them that the talking was done and all three getting naked was next.
They'd have all summer to themselves to try each and every combination. And summers to come. At seven years, it would save Lydia and Mike's marriage. It would start a new chapter for them, a renewed sex life. For Lydia, it would fulfill a long-time fantasy, and make her childhood cabin even more fun to look forward to each summer.
