Up and down, you stay slow and steady, softly stroking. Beneath your fingers, your flesh is hard. Hot. Blood pulsing through your shaft. Your pants are unzipped, cock within view of any person unlucky enough to open the door to your office.

How many times have you done this to yourself, in the dark, alone?

Their voices always excite you more than their images. Images accompany the words, but they're vague, intangible. The words fire your soul. Release is often easy. Not images, no moving pictures. Just words. Words are enough to make you come.

Her voice calling your name; the woman you love, the one you married, who divorced you, who bore your children. She speaks and when she does, you're turned on by her well constructed sentences, rippling with rhythm. Ideas molded into paragraphs, syllables.

A different voice calling your name. Resonantly animated, laughing bubbling beneath the surface. The woman you're secretly in love with but never did anything about because you were married. The woman who you could have been with but never were.

At night, when you're alone, to release the tension of the day, you don't visualize them. You only hear her. Either one but never together. With your eyes closed, fist wrapped firmly around your cock one of them talks in your mind until you come. In your fantasies, when you're all alone, one of them is always there.

In your fantasies, they speak to you separately. One voice, husky and deep. The other, soft and melodious.

Mentally, when you thought of one, the other didn't exist. Neither could be together in your mind. Mentally, it isn't cheating. But… they're not speaking now. And they're not separate. Then again, this isn't a fantasy... is it?

There they are. Images in front of you. Tangible pictures. Two women, both of whom you love.

Together.

Andy, stretched along the sofa in your office, arms thrown above her head. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, she's breathing heavily through her mouth.

CJ, head bent over, body curled into the corner of the sofa as she touches your wife. Ex-wife. You can't actually see what she's doing; her hair is obscuring your view. You can guess, though.

Two women. Two sets of long, elegantly stylish limbs tangled around each other.

Every red blooded man's fantasy.

Yet you can't help realizing that you seem almost invisible. Non existent. Not even there enough to be called the cliched third wheel. Your cock is aching for release but you think it would be impolite to finish; interrupt their closed world with your unattractively breathless grunts.

Your ex-wife is semi clothed. Demure linen jacket, fully buttoned silk blouse, skirt awkwardly pushed up around her waist. Her stockings are on the floor; panties lying on your desk, thrown there by the same deft fingers that are now playing with the soft flesh along Andy's inner thighs. Shoes? You have no idea where the shoes are. It doesn't really matter.

One of Andy's legs is hooked over the shoulder belonging to the body obscuring your view. You don't need to see. From the jagged breathing of your ex-wife, you know that CJ is hitting all the right spots. Spots only you used to know. Briefly, you wonder how CJ managed to find them so quickly; if, at some point previously, they'd done this before, without you.

Suspicion rumbles through you; a flicker of anger that you brush aside. You've no basis to be jealous of either woman.

You've never had them together in your mind. Each woman is always separate. Each you love for different reasons, consigned to different parts of your emotions. Having them together is a betrayal, almost. Physically, you never cheated on Andy. You could have; there were times when the temptation was almost unbearable. But you believed in the vows. You still believe in them but they're vows that mean nothing with scotch in your belly and two entangled women in front of you.

In the semi darkness, the dull gold of your wedding ring catches the light from the table lamp. Your hand falters for a second; slowing your rhythmic build up to climax.

Oddly, now, you feel as though you're cheating on your wife. Despite that fact that she's in front of you, you feel as though you're to blame. This wasn't your idea, wasn't anyone's really. The three of you just ended up in your office. Together.

CJ's dark hair falls across Andy's thighs as she changes the position of her head. The new movements cause Andy to gasp; loud, gusty sighs of pleasure. You look at her, red hair spread across the cushions. Her eyes are staring blankly at the ceiling as her tongue moistens her lips. She's close to orgasm and you realize how much you want to be a part of this, no longer the voyeur they've unconsciously condemned you to be.

"Andy."

A word, the first in a long time, soft and almost pleading in nature. Her head turns, eyes focusing on you and she smiles; an arm reaches up, fingers beckoning. You slide from your leather chair and shuffle over to the sofa, cock still hard and straight, waving like a flagpole in high wind.

You can see everything now and, as you kneel next to them, CJ doesn't look up, her head remaining buried between Andy's thighs; the fingers of one hand sliding into your ex-wife, tongue flicking firmly against her clit.

You stare down at CJ; silent as she does things to your wife that you've never imagined before. Images whirl in your head, crashing together in spectacular fashion. Andy's moans are getting louder; even with a female induced orgasm, you like it that she still makes exactly the same noises you remember.

She grips your hand, and you lean down to kiss her, forceful and unyielding. You want her to know that you're still here. You still love her. Anything. The situation bothers you but you can't tell them to stop; won't tell them to stop. You want this. Maybe you don't want this. You're too far into it to know.

Through her moans, Andy's tongue plays with yours, familiar and recognizable. Her fingernails dig into your hand as she comes, body tensing momentarily, and then releasing, relaxing back against the cushions, limp and languid.

You break the kiss to look down at CJ again, unsure of what the etiquette in such a situation is. As Andy lies there recovering, CJ lifts her head and smiles at you. Her grin is long and slow; her very familiar Cheshire Cat expression spreading across her face. Her hand slides over your chest, up to your neck; fingers curl into your hair as she tugs your head to hers. Tentatively your hands cup her face, tilting her head just so.

There were times, in the past, when you did imagine kissing CJ. The fantasy of her tongue seeking yours. Wondered what she would taste like. Rich, creamy coffee. Cheese, after too many crackers. Occasionally you imagined that she would taste of honey: smooth and silky.

As her mouth closes over yours, what you taste is what you have never imagined.

Your wife.

She tastes of Andy. Salty. Slightly tangy. She tastes of herself. Sweet and silky. She tastes of the woman you love and the woman you've secretly loved for years. The taste you know so well mixed with the taste you never knew before now.

CJ's tongue dips into your mouth again; Andy's hand slides up your thigh. Determined, exact. Relentless. Her fingers close around your exposed cock, still rock hard. CJ's hand drops from your hair to join Andy's. In tandem, they start stroking.

A half smoked cigar lies in the ashtray on your desk and the room is filled with the smell of tobacco and sweat. The spicy aroma of three people engaged in activities destined never to be repeated nor mentioned in the harsh light of day.

Briefly, before you give in to the sensations of two sets of soft, feminine hands touching you, you wonder if you'll get a chance to taste CJ on Andy's lips before this experience is over. And if the door should definitely be locked.