I love how he throbs in my mouth.
I love it when his hands touch down on my head, feeling my silky hair as I bob up and down on him.
I love worshipping at the altar of strange cock.
He urges me back when I’ve got him to the edge of coming, and I feel a little tremble of desire course through my body at the suggestion that maybe it’s my turn, in some form.
“I need you,” he says, breathless.
I give his cock one last lick, then rise to my feet, and he stands with me, his hardness brushing my stomach. He kisses my mouth, perhaps tasting himself on my lips.
Do real professionals allow their clients to kiss them on the mouth? I guess some probably don’t. I’m not merely a professional, though. I’m a wife, and it’s something that gets my hubby going to know I’ve experienced that tender intimacy of a real kiss with other men.
Kissing is so much more affectionate than fucking, after all. The suggestion, perhaps, that what I’m doing could turn out to be more than a quick fuck. Triggering my beloved’s jealousy like you wouldn’t believe.
Wade, as it happens, is not kissing me for long before he turns me in his arms, grabs my breasts, pushing his erection against my behind.
He slips my bra down, freeing up my breasts as he fondles me, and I lean back against his shoulder to continue our kiss, slipping my tongue into his mouth, moaning as he massages my chest, crushes my stiff nipples, my hand finding its way to his hardness, holding him, squeezing him, pumping him.
Then he turns me again, making me feel like his dance partner, and he pushes me forcefully back onto the bed, making me squeal.
“Wade!” I giggle.
“You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he growls as he pounces on me, his hands moving to my breasts again, but this time making way for him to take my hard little buds in his mouth.
“Oh God…” I sigh as I feel the heat of his mouth on my sensitive nipples, his lips closing around them, his tongue swirling around them, his sucking causing little electric shocks that surge down through my body directly to my tingling pussy.
He kisses me again on the mouth, then he’s kissing his way down my stomach, to the edge of my panties where he pauses a while, as though teasing himself with his proximity to my sex.
Then he pushes my thighs open and up, and I lift my knees to allow him access. He presses his face to my panties, breathing in long and deep, inhaling the scent of my soaking pussy.
He opens his mouth, presses it against the tiny triangle of purple satin, rubs his face over the material, and I guess he can detect my wetness.
He looks up at me, as though asking permission.
“You want to?” I ask him, since it’s him that’s made the online payment for my time.
“Yes,” he whispers.
“Then it’s yours.”
He pulls aside my little panties, and for a moment just feasts his eyes on my sex. I feel a glimmer of that old paranoia that I used to have when a man would reveal my most personal parts. But I rein it in, getting back into that bold frame of mine that’s grown along with my portfolio of sexual partners, knowing that I look as good as any man could want. Particularly after my husband shaved my pussy just before I came out.
“Mmm…” Wade licks his lips, then gently pulls mine apart, ducking down to drag his wonderfully warm, velvet tongue up my slippery groove from base to apex.
“Oh God…” I can’t help but moan as I feel his heat on the center of my bliss, his mouth pressing to me, his kiss soft but luxurious over my buzzing clit.
He looks up at my face as he laps at my juices, seeking out my response. I only have to exaggerate my reaction a little, what he’s doing is intense. He holds me firmly, his hands clasping my behind, pulling me to him as he slides his tongue as far inside me as he can reach, nudging my little sensitive button with his nose.
I feel his hot breath on my flesh, I feel the vibrations from his voice as he moans slightly, apparently enjoying himself.
It is a surprise to me that men will do this even while they are paying for your time. Oh sure, there are plenty who won’t, even if you paid for theirs, even if they adored you. But a surprising number want to go down on a girl, even if it’s not necessary, or if she says she doesn’t want it.
It’s a surprise for a girl who always thought this was only something for lesbians, who was always sure men would find her pussy ugly, her juices distasteful, her scent off-putting, until she came to start believing her husband wanted to do it for more than just because he felt obligated.
It’s a surprise for a girl who simply never asked her menfolk if they would, or if they wanted to. These days, I know my husband gets off on being asked to, or even being told to when I’m feeling frisky. And other men… well, let’s just say it’s more common than I thought that they want to as well.
I stroke Wade’s head as he feasts on my soaking folds, and his action on me becomes a little more vigorous. I sense how he likes my encouragement, and apply a little more pressure, pulling him against me, even guiding him a little as to where I want him, and the rhythm I like from his tongue.
After a while, he shows no signs of abating, and my reactions to him no longer need exaggerating.
Wade breaks off for a brief moment, and whips off his shirt — and then my panties, and then there’s no stopping him. He’s a man possessed, the fingers of one hand nudging my clit while those of his other thrust inside me. I look down on him, see that he’s ripped, his torso the product of plenty of time in the gym, making me want to test his fitness with my sex.
The way he’s totally focused on me leaves me gasping for breath, whimpering as the sensations threaten to overwhelm me.
I’m quivering, shuddering, near orgasm when I feel him pull away. I feel a jolt of powerful disappointment, and I’m about to plead with him to continue — but then I feel the tip of his hard cock press against my entrance, and suddenly that idea seems even better to me than riding his face to climax.
I look down, a little startled by the prospect of unsafe sex with someone I don’t know yet, but somehow Wade has not only managed to lose his pants and underwear, but also slip a condom over his big hard shaft.
He rubs it over my glistening flower, pressing against my swollen petals, stirring waves of energy that pulsate through my body.
It’s one of those moments where I always think I could make a big decision not to cheat on my husband. It’s not really cheating when I have his approval, right? But it’s still an edge-of-the-cliff time, when I’m really breaking those vows of mine, really causing major jealousy for my husband even though he hasn’t had me confirm this yet.
I lie there and remember just how insanely fired up he was the first time, when I came back to him and said I’d done it, I’d fucked another man, I’d taken someone else’s hard cock in my married pussy.
I remember how wonderfully ferocious my husband was when he reclaimed me after that first time, and it makes me crave Wade’s penetration.
“Do it, Wade,” I say as he pats my clit with the tip of his cock to tease me. “Fuck me.”
Then he directs it to me again, his tip nudging into my soaking entrance. I’m holding my breath as I feel him lean into me, that beast stretching me open around it, more than any fingers could, gliding inside me to fill me as though I’d been designed to fit him.
Bigger than my husband, not that my husband is in any way disappointing in that respect. If you’re going to stray from your husband, it might as well be with someone who is different, though, I always think. Wade’s difference makes me struggle for oxygen as he thrusts into me, that wonderful hot powerhouse apparently pushing every button I have inside.
I suspect that long-term, Wade’s size would be too much. But in small helpings, it’s irresistible. Hubby will enjoy me telling him this — it doesn’t make him feel inadequate to know there are guys bigger than him out there. Actually, from what he’s told me, it seems to make him feel good that he’s able to grant
me the experience of being with guys bigger than him.
“Oh yes, oh yes, fuck yes…” I cry as he fucks me, standing on the floor with me lying before him on the bed, my butt on the edge of the mattress.
He pushes up my legs, squeezing my thighs together as he continues to pound me, and as I whimper at the astounding feelings washing through me, he forces me into the first powerful orgasm of our allotted two hours.
After that first time, we lie there and talk, and it’s nice, Wade is friendly, good for a conversation even though he’s apparently in IT. Well, hubby’s in IT. Perhaps that helps make me feel comfortable opening up to Wade.
“Do you have a boyfriend, Rachel?” he asks, and for some reason I feel like throwing caution to the wind and revealing the truth.
“A husband, actually.”
“He know you’re doing this?”
“He does.”
“Kids?”
“We just had our first.”
“Wow. That’s something.”
I’m lying draped over him, casually playing with his flaccid cock, and find that my revelation suddenly has him thickening up again.
“You like sleeping with another man’s wife?” I ask.
“Never thought I would. But I guess I do.”
“I can tell.”
“You should tell people — on your website, I mean. Your very own unique selling point.”
With that, I climb on board for another ride, and I think about the suggestion. Wade’s right — what I have with my husband is unusual. Maybe I don’t have to hide it from my clients. Maybe it could be something to attract a certain kind of client.
It’s worth trying, I guess.
Looking up at my bouncing tits as I ride him, Wade says: “If I was married, I’d want my wife to be like you. I don’t think I’d share you, though.”
I smile, knowing this is why my husband is so special. My hips continue to gyrate over him as I reach up behind my head to tie up my hair, knowing that this action pushes out my chest, empathizes the cleavage he’s so obviously fixated on.
“I wouldn’t look like this if my husband wasn’t sharing me. So you’d have to.”
What Your Husband Really Thinks
1
To start with, she thought I was kidding. That I was teasing her because she’d been pressing me to open up about my sexual fantasies ever since she’d read that article in Cosmopolitan about married couples who know nothing about each other’s actual turn-ons.
“No, tell me what you really fantasize about. Come on — we’ve been married five years, and you’ve never told me.”
“I just did, didn’t I?”
“Okay, be like that.”
Did Marissa open up to me about her fantasies? No. The deal seemed to be that I would tell her everything about what I thought about when I was horny, and once I broke the ice she might feel ready to tell me her sexual secrets.
The second time, she thought I was trying to trick her into revealing her fantasies before I revealed mine, which apparently wasn’t part of the deal.
The third time, she decided I was telling her the truth, but she also decided that in claiming that I fantasized about watching her sleep with another man, I was somehow trying to engineer a full swinging scenario where she would have to allow me to sleep with another woman.
I could insist all I liked, but that particular night she wasn’t taking any other explanations.
The time after that, as she once again asked me to open up about what was going on inside my head, sexually, I got almost angry, and finally demanded to know what she fantasized about.
At first, she just blushed, said she didn’t fantasize about anything much. Then she said she always thought about me, about my big hard cock, about pleasing me.
I couldn’t help but laugh about that.
“Why are you so eager to hear what turns me on, when you won’t tell me?”
“I don’t know…”
“You’re afraid? I’m not going to tell anybody.”
Her blush seemed to intensify, and though it probably embarrassed her, it was actually very becoming on her pretty pale face with its frame of shoulder-length brown hair.
“I guess… sometimes I think about certain celebrities…”
“Is that right? And who in particular?”
“I don’t know… whoever I might have seen recently…”
Her blush continued. It wasn’t because I was fucking her slowly at the time, although I wonder if it made me subconsciously feel that it was, and therefore got me super hard inside her. If she hadn’t been talking about fantasizing about another man, I might have thought that was it.
“Like?”
I gave her a direct look, straight in her cool blue eyes, teasing her, silently accusing her of being a chicken — the Marty McFly School of Motivation.
“I don’t know… like that guy from the Aquaman movies.”
“Aquaman?”
“No, the other guy…”
“Aqualad?”
Her expression was tantamount to a full confession. I felt my cock pulsate inside her. “He’s like, half your age,” I pointed out.
Marissa smiled, rolled her eyes, said: “He’s twenty-two,” as though she’d done the research. “And he’s hot.”
“You think about him sometimes when we’re…”
“Sometimes…”
Her awkwardness was endearing, since it told me she was telling the truth. Had we been just dating, rather than married five years, I might have told her to shut the hell up about her secret crush, I would have been jealous even though I knew there was no chance in hell she’d ever meet the actor who played Aquaman’s sidekick.
Maybe I’d feel insecure every time Marissa so much as looked in the direction of a younger man. Or any man for that matter.
But now, secure in our relationship, I thought it was hot that she fantasized about another guy. It fit into my own strange fantasy.
“Okay, Mister, I’ve told you my embarrassing secret, so what’s yours? You gonna tell me what really gets you going when you’re not with your sweet wife?”
Laying between her shapely legs, I pushed inside her, and my cock was particularly hard. Could she sense it?
“Right now...” I said, and thought from her expression that she was beginning to suspect that I might be picturing my chosen fantasy right then, as I pushed into her like that.
“Right now,” I tried again, “what gets me going is the thought of my sweet wife banging Aqualad.”
“Hey!”
She thought I was teasing her, still. Couldn’t accept that it was actually hot to think of her wrapped around the buff sun-kissed and gym-toned body of her secret crush, and that another man might crave her fine curves, her smooth porcelain skin, her pretty face with all those cute little freckles mottling her nose and cheeks. And that in gratifying himself, he would drive her completely crazy in bed while I watched everything from close by.
We wrestled. I let her get the upper hand. She slid over me, slipped me inside her, started to ride me cowgirl style.
“Okay, Mister,” she said, and from her tone I could tell she was going to attempt to tease me into backing down and revealing my real turn-on secrets. “So right now, you imagine I’m lying on that other guy? Zack Gilbert’s his name, by the way.”
“Sure,” I said.
She wiggled her hips, “And what would you be doing at this time? You’d be watching us? Or would we be alone?”
“I don’t know. Watching, I guess.”
“And you wouldn’t be an insane, jealous mess, watching another guy — a guy half your age — sliding his big, hard cock inside your wife?”
I don’t know, I guess it helped that she used word “cock”, something I can’t say I remember hearing coming from her lips before. I mean, she had a sexy voice anyway, I’d always thought that. But the fact she was describing something that really did get me going… well, it was the perfect storm.
My cock pos
itively throbbed inside her, and she couldn’t fail to notice that.
It made her gasp.
“Seriously?” she said.
“I’ve always told you the truth about this,” I insisted.
A look of bemused wonderment came over her face, as though someone had been trying to explain to her that her recently-deceased great uncle had purchased a winning lottery ticket just before he’d passed away, and now technically it belonged to her — as did the tens of millions it represented.
Her nipples were so stiff, responding to my own hardness, little rocks with her areolae all pursed around them. She was fired up.
“So wait, you’d actually be happy to have me meet a guy like Zack Gilbert, bring him home and sleep with him right in front of you?”
Another little pulse or two from my hardness seemed proof enough, like the most sensitive of lie detectors. She was keeping completely still in order to read the measurements.
“And this is because if I sleep with Zack, I’ll have to let you sleep with whoever it is that haunts your dirty little dreams?” she said, testing me.
No movement from the manhood that time.
“Not at all,” I said, deadly serious.
“You just want to watch me and him?”
A little throb there, clear enough.
“I don’t get your fantasy,” she said, resuming her gentle rocking on my pole. She had that sexy little dimple she gets between her eyebrows when she thinks I’m nuts. “You want me to sleep with someone else… where’s the benefit for you?”
“Watching you. Even hearing about it afterwards.”
“And what, you wouldn’t be jealous at all?”
“Probably. But I guess… I guess I see that as part of the thrill.”
“You’re crazy, aren’t you? I married a crazy person.”
That was the moment it kind of sank in that this was a real fantasy. After that, she didn’t seem to refer to it for a while. I thought perhaps it had horrified her, that it had all been a little too much. It was just a fantasy, I had no intention of lobbying her, to make it real like all those couples I read about on the Internet forums. It was just a fantasy, something harmless I used from time to time to keep the fires burning when I needed them to.
Wives with Benefits: Volume One Page 7
