by Unknown
The towel dropped to the floor. Her nude body was on display for him for a moment: her long limbs, the gentle curve of her waist, her pink nipples, like tiny candies in the center of her small aureole. Her feathery yellow bush, neatly trimmed and almost white, a gossamer veil over her bright pink cunt.
Then she turned, and headed to the dresser. He watched her slide a white lace thong from her ankles to her hips, using one finger to pull the thong out and then into place, nestled between the two spheres of her perfect ass. She raised her hands over her head with the complicated dress in her fingers, and the fabric slid and slithered over her body. She tugged at it until it was in place. She gave a twirl.
John exhaled.
The dress was a throwback to fifties-era dresses, except for the front, which plunged nearly to her sternum. The cut of the top had the effect of enlarging the appearance of her breasts, and the flare of the skirt made her hips appear slightly larger as well. She looked like a pin-up girl.
“That. Is a sexy dress,” John managed to say.
She was putting earrings in her ears. “Now,” she said. “I have a question.” Seeing that she had John's full attention, she retrieved something from the dresser. “Thigh-high pantyhose, or no?”
John swallowed. “I think I need to see them on,” he said.
Adria smiled, teasing, and placed a foot next to him on the bed. She expertly slid the hosiery from her foot to her thigh. The dress fell away from her leg and gave John an unobstructed view of the intricate white lace that barely covered her snatch, and her lean thigh. The stocking terminated mid-thigh in a band of complex, sexy white lace. Adria smiled at him and performed the same slow, sexy routine with the other leg.
She held the skirt up for him as she turned on the floor in front of him. “What do you think?”
“I like it.”
She dropped the skirt. “But do you think,” she purred. “That someone else might like it?”
He was dumbstruck again, so she moved toward him, smiling. “There are always a lot of new people at weddings. We hardly know anyone there at all. There's a reason people tend to 'hook up' at these things.”
John felt as though his insides had been set to sea on a boat. In the meantime, his cock was twitching uncontrollably to an all-time high level of readiness. He could feel his heart in his chest. She wasn't serious, though, was she?
She was really going to do this? Only a week after they'd discussed it?
“You're not serious,” he said.
She crawled on to his lap, spreading her dress out carefully so as not to wrinkle it. “Aren't I?” she said, and she smiled when she felt his cock twitch against her thigh. She put her forearms on his shoulders. Her dress breasts seemed to pour toward him, fuller than ever, held back only by the pretty flower fabric of the dress. “I want you to have a good time at this wedding. And it seems to me like you have a lot of fun if I have a lot of fun.”
A small part of John's mind was working very diligently on the pragmatics of this conversation. A very small part. But his cock was robbing his higher functions of blood, and he couldn’t maintain that train of thought for more than a nanosecond.
“What will...I mean, are you sure?” His sentence ended in a whisper. His voice caught in his throat as Adria's pretty breasts moved closer to his face, and she pressed her hips against his. She gave her hair a toss and undulated in his arms. He found himself sliding his hands up along her frame. His fingers moved over patches of her silky dress and her skin. She trembled with pleasure.
Then she sat up straight to unzip her dress. “I don't want to mess it up,” she explained, grinning at him. She slid it over her head and tossed it onto the floor, but neatly.
Her breasts were now in front of him, and he took one of her small pink nipples into his mouth. Her freshly-showered skin smelled like lemon, but beneath it he could detect the scent of her skin, a little like honey. “So what would you do?” he whisper, her pebbled nipple still in his mouth. His fingers found their way beneath the fabric of her panties and began to slide down the length of the thong, along the hard ridge between her buttocks, over her puckered asshole, into the flesh or her wet gash. She squirmed in his hands, and her thigh rubbed his cock.
“If the right guy was there,” she said, and her voice vibrated in her chest and against his lips as he dragged them over her chest to her other breast, “I could do just about anything. If you want.”
John pushed her onto the bed, overtaken suddenly by a desire to fuck her senseless, with no more foreplay. I could do just about anything, her voice murmured in his ear. He stripped his shirt off and kicked his pants and underwear away with clumsy, fevered movements.
“Like what?” he growled, and he was surprised at his own voice. His hands reached forward and turned his wife around, propping her on all fours. She complied, all too willingly, and he yanked her panties down to her knees.
She turned back to look at him. “Tell me what you want me to do,” she said, grinning.
He slid his fingers into her wet cunt. She was positively gushing, and now that she was freed of the wrapping of her panties, he could smell her honey-salty cunt. The scent of it rose to his nostrils, damp and hot.
“Would you suck another man's cock?” he said. His own boldness shocked him a little, but his eyes were on her pink folds, glistening with excitement, and his mind was elsewhere, already imagining her posed just as she was, but with another man's fingers exploring her pretty pussy. His cock bounced in the air in front of him as the images traveled through his mind.
Adria brought her finger to her mouth, and closed her lips around it. John shuddered. “Is that a yes?”
She smiled. And then, almost to his utter disbelief, she placed two more fingers in her mouth, and began to suck on them as obscenely as he had ever seen her do anything. She let her spit glaze her three fingers, and spread her mouth open. She slurped on them, dirtily teasing him.
He couldn’t take any more. Staring at her fingers in her mouth, picturing a fat slab of meat in their place, he pushed his cock inside of her.
He glided into her, barely pushing, she was so wet. He grasped her hips and slammed his cock all the way to his balls, deep inside of her. Again and again.
Adria sucked on her fingers, and then she had to drop her hand to support herself against his violent thrusts. “That's it,” she said. “I want a man who can fuck me like that.”
John hammered himself into her. “Are you going to let him fuck you hard like this?”
“Oh,” Adria moaned. “Fuck.”
John pictured another man stretching his wife apart with his enormous cock, pummeling her until his cum splashed against her cervix and gushed around his dick, dripping from the walls of her cunt. He was close to the edge, but he wanted to hear her say something dirty, something even more painfully unfaithful and slutty than she had already said. “Tell me what you'll do,” he groaned.
She gave her hair another toss, to look back at him, It was damp now and it stuck to her neck. “I'll let him fuck me like that,” she said, coyly, and he knew that something was coming. He slowed his thrusts to try and stop himself from losing it before he got to hear what it was. His balls ached and he could feel his blood pounding in his ears.
Adria smiled. Licked her upper lip. She had a smug grin, perhaps because she knew how much he was under her thumb. She ground her ass back against him.
And then, finally, she said: “But just before he comes, I'm going to get his cock in my mouth, so I can taste myself on his cock, and he can fill my mouth up like a dirty whore...”
John was already exploding, halfway through this sentence, and slamming his cum deep inside his wife. His eyes were on her lips, her mouth telling him this dirty story, but in his mind he could see cum – another man's cum – dribbling from her dirty mouth.
She laughed as she threw herself onto the bed, her head on the pillow, and he felt her pussy clench around him as she came. Her own hot cum combined with his, and he felt t
heir mingled juice gushing from her cunt and onto their thighs, hot and sticky.
Adria pulled away from him and rolled over. Her face was flushed. She reached a hand up to his chest and placed her fingertips on him, trailing them down to his abdomen. Then she reached her other hand to his neck and pulled him down to her. He lay his head on her full breasts.
His chest tightened with the realization that, for the first time in quite a while, Adria seemed fully in the room with him, not demanding or fantasizing about something more, or different.
He closed his eyes. Except that she was, technically, if she had been as engaged in the fantasy as he was.
Maybe it was more appropriate to think of Adria as fully engaged, for the first time in a long time, in his fantasy, and not her own.
And then it hit him, like a slap in the face. His chest went cold and he could have sworn his heart actually stopped for a beat: Adria was talking, very seriously, about actually doing this.
Today.
“Is this for real?” he said, pulling away from her. His voice sounded a little desperate, but he didn't care. He also didn't know from which direction the desperation came – a desire for it to be real, or one that it not be real. He propped himself up on his elbow. “Are you being serious?”
Adria's face had a strange expression on it. Her face seemed as strange as his own voice: impossible to read, conflicted. He knew the conflicts in Adria came from somewhere else, and it pained him (but deliciously) to think of what it was that pulled her in two directions inside her own mind.
“I think so,” she said finally. Almost cheerfully.
There was a silence.
“But listen,” she said. “You have to promise me that we just have fun with this. Like we have. I don't want this to turn into...I don't know, something darker. You're sure this is what you want?”
He was relieved to hear her say this. He kissed her shoulder.
“Just for fun,” she said.
“Okay,” he said. “Just for fun.”
She smiled, and sat up. “Okay,” she said. “I need another shower. Thank god you didn't mess up my dress.”
John sat up. “Okay,” he said, hating himself for being so insecure, or indecisive, or whatever he was being. “Just to be sure, we're saying...you're going to...you know...all the way.”
She kissed his nose. “For fun.”
“For fun.”
She made a serious face. “You are having fun, right?”
“Yeah. Yes. I mean...I will. Yes.”
She stood up, folding her arms over her chest. “You don't sound very sure.”
John scratched the back of his violently. “I think...you know, it's...”
What was it?
“Okay,” he said. “This might sound weird, but it's almost a little bit more...fun..if you...I don't know. I don't know how to explain this.”
She nudged him with her knee. “Try.”
He looked away. It was sort of an embarrassing truth.
“I don't know. If you aren't really...like, we don't talk about it, it's sort of just something you do. Like if there's less permission. You know?”
There. He had said it. As the words came out of his mouth, he realized they were actually quite an astute observation about himself, by himself. The thing that most turned him on was the idea of Adria doing all of this, right under his nose, but without his explicit permission.
“So you don't want me to do this with your permission?”
He rubbed his head again. “I don't know...I mean, yes and no. I do, and I don't.” He squinted, which was his way of covering his face without covering it. “Does that make sense?”
It made no sense, not even to himself.
So he was wholly surprised when his wife tilted her chin slightly up, and half-closed her eyes. “It makes perfect sense to me,” she said.
He stared at her.
“You want it, but you don't want it,” she said calmly.
“Yeah, exact...”
She was already walking to the bathroom. “I get it,” she said, and her voice had the calming tones of a hooker in Hollywood movie.
Leave it with Chastity, the voice seemed to say. I know what you need.
John rubbed his head with both hands, and fell backwards onto the bed.
He supposed it was out of his hands now.
The wedding dragged on, in a Catholic ceremony that befuddled most of the attendees, who had known the bride and groom as non-religious hipsters for most of their lives. John supposed it was to please somebody's parents, but it was grueling and included a full mass.
Adria nearly fell asleep in mass, and resorted to fanning herself with a program. Beads of sweat had formed on her chest and John amused himself watching them drip down her skin and in between her breasts. And by looking around the church at the male attendees, wondering if Adria would find any of these men suitable. Thinking about his wife closing her lips around another man's cock. He had an erection all through the service.
By the time people got to the reception, they were ready to party, and nearly everyone was drunk within an hour. There was – perhaps to make up for the interminable mass – an open bar. Adria came back to life, and fetched a drink for them both. Then she leaned in to him playfully. “I know what you were thinking about during the service,” she said.
Then she trounced away, without saying another word. But she looked back at him as she walked away, and her eyes it was clear: she was holding up her end of the bargain.
“I think I found our guy,” Adria said, appearing next to him on a large porch that overlooked the gardens and pool area at the high-end reception “castle” Marie and Luke Ryerson, sometime-friends from college, had rented for their thus-far extravagant wedding. Adria's arm extended with her drink and pointed at a cluster of younger-looking men standing by a the garden. They were drinking beer and ogling women. One of the guys was Luke's younger brother, and John felt his stomach drop when he saw him – that might be too close to home.
“See the moppy-heady guy? Black hair?”
Luke's brother was blonde. John exhaled with relief.
“He's been flirting with me all afternoon,” Adria murmured. She had her eyes on him lustily, and didn't even look over at John as she said this. He felt a delicious stab of pain. She was buzzing with energy, sort of writhing in her own skin. He wondered is she was already turned on, ripe and ready for her target.
“What do you think?” she said, and she took a sip of her champagne. She frowned. “This is disgusting. Champagne is disgusting. Why do people drink this stuff?”
John blinked at her. Was this really happening? Had his wife really just casually asked hm what he thought about her choice of random stranger to fuck, and had she then just complained about the taste of champagne as though her previous statement had been about the weather?
He looked at the man. He had a lean athlete’s build beneath his shirt and suit pants. Hints of his muscles somehow made it through the fabric. His face was handsome, and he had a slight amount of stubble on his jaw, which seemed sort of deliberately there, as though he were the kind of guy who didn't care if he was at a wedding, and maybe hadn't made it home last night to shave.
What a punk, John thought.
But he found himself nodding.
Adria finished her drink, and muttered about it again. “Here I go,” she said, and she swung herself around so that she was in front of John. She gave him a kiss. John savored the taste of her lips, and his cock twitched as he thought about how the plan, the plan between them at this moment, was to let another man have a taste of her as well.
And more than just her lips.
He felt an attack of what felt like vertigo wash over him as she walked away. The seriousness of what he had just agreed to came over him like an enormous, crushing wave. What was he doing? He gripped the railing and leaned against it, his eyes on his wife – who seemed to have no such wave of fear or regret overpowering her – as she crossed the lawn. Headed s
traight for the group of guys.
She caught their attention immediately, as Adria always did. She stopped about halfway to the group, and kicked off her shoes. She leaned over to pick them up, and John knew that the group of men had a nice view of her breasts in her low-cut dress. They certainly didn't bother hiding that they were taking a look.
Adria stood by the bar and ordered a beer. She feigned to not know that she was cutting the line, then put her hand on one of the men to ask him to forgive her. They began to talk to her, and in no time at all she had immersed herself in conversation with the very man she wanted. She laughed with him for a bit.
She handed him her drink to hold.
John watched as she slid her dress up, right there in front of everyone. His heart slammed against his chest and he felt like a fist was inside of him, squeezing bile into his stomach. He had no idea, as she slid her skirt higher and higher up her thigh, what she was going to do.
She stopped at the lace band at the top of her thigh, and hooked her fingers under it. Then, very slowly, putting on a show, she removed first one stocking, then the other. She tossed them on the ground and kicked them under the table. No doubt, John thought, she said something friendly and witty as she did. She was enthrallingly tomboyish and feminine at the same time, his wife was.
He could see that she had drawn her man in. He was smiling, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her.
She leaned closer to him.
They turned, and the walked away. Through a parting in some bushes, over a low brick wall, and over to an area of the yard with a fountain. They had collided as they were walking, and Adria was leaned up against his arm. Far too close for a married woman.
He felt his limbs going numb, and so he moved backwards until he fell into a chair.
Adria felt delicious as she slid her stockings down her leg. She knew John was above her, looking down and watching. Mark, her new acquaintance, was taking the bait hook, line, and sinker. She could feel his eyes on her as well.
“That's better,” she said, kicking the stockings under a catering table.
