I wish my wife was this dirty #1
My wife Anita shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat.
"You OK?" I enquired. No reply. A mile or so went by in silence.
"Why do they think it's so funny?"
"What's funny?" I asked, knowing full well what had got to her. We had just overtaken a white van, which as is quite typical at this time of the year, had its back end covered in the dirt sprayed up from the roads. Some wag had fingered the epithet "I wish my wife was this dirty" in the grime - Not that an uncommon a sight.
"That grafitti on the back of that van, didn't you see it?"
"Oh, yeah. What a comedian!"
"It can't be funny for a family with c***dren in the car, surely?"
I thought for a moment
"Well I suppose that youngsters won't understand, and the older ones will be plugged into their smartphones and won't notice anyway. The grans and grandads will either smile to themselves or gaze away wistfully. I can't think that the atmosphere in the car would be too bad, unless anyone is a bit of a prude. It's the modern day version of those saucy seaside postcards. But I do agree. There should be a time and a place for everything."
Anita gave a bit of a snort, switched on the radio, and we continued down the road. A road that had become one of celibacy over the last few years, I pondered.
We were on the way back from a day with our daughter and her young family on the other side of the country. The visit was all very pleasant, and we had decided to break the journey home with a short stay in a country hotel we had spotted a few years earlier. We had both recently retired and had no desire to battle the Sunday evening stampede to London, nor the Monday morning rush-hour.
We checked-in and I conducted my usual flirty interchange with a hotel receptionist, as my wife cast her eye around and sized up the hotel - all wood panelling, and sumptuous period furniture. We took our bags up the old creaking wooden staircase, along the hall and located our room. It was warm, welcoming and not cramped. We had already enjoyed a full meal earlier in the afternoon so decided on a drink or two in the bar. A table for two in a corner, something bubbly for Anita and a single malt for me.
There were a few other couples dotted around and we passed an hour so in our own pleasant conversation. During the odd lull I eyed up a few of the women, and in a couple of cases made eye contact that lasted just a split second longer than would generally be considered appropriate and noticed one or two shift in their seats and recross their legs. I don't want to sound vain but I am told I have aged well and find that plenty of women give me the glance when I am out and about in public. As a reaction to this I have got into the habit of instantly visualising them semi-clothed or naked, whilst wondering what is going on in their minds - which possibly explains my slightly extended eye contact. None of which helps my permanent sexual frustration of course! Anita stifled a yawn or two and said that she felt like having a shower before retiring for the night, but suggested that I should not hurry myself and come along only after finishing my drink. As she rose and departed the bar I watched one or two pairs of male eyes follow her bum as it gently swayed in her trouser suit. I smiled ironically when, without exception, this was followed by some immediate admonishment from their partners. If only they knew that my wife had zero interest in sex, despite how glamourous she looked. My ego was massaged slightly as I overheard one of the men whisper
"well, you were looking at him!"
Their squabbling relented and the conversations returned to private domestic matters. I sighed to myself as I reflected that, without exception, everyone else in the bar would have more likelihood than me this evening of the enjoyment of making love or having sex, whatever the angle they took on it.
Twenty minutes later I entered our room. Anita was in the bathroom, and said she'd not be long. I kicked off my shoes, removed my socks, trousers and shirt (I had got into the habit of discarding clothes if the room temperature permitted - I like the sense of freedom) and made myself comfortable on the bed and flipped through the leaflets of local attractions to see if there was anything interesting for the morning. A few minutes later the door handle turned and my wife said in a hesitant voice
"Can you make a me a promise darling, please?"
"Of course..." I replied.
"OK, for the next hour I don't want you to say anything. I'll explain later"
What a bizarre request I thought, but what the hell.
"Sure - my lips are sealed." Anita mumbled something to herself.
"OK, not a peep from you for an hour from... Now! One last thing, can you close your eyes, and I'll tell you when to open them". Interesting... I thought to myself.
"OK, you can open your eyes now", and she took a deep breath.
I will never forget the sight that greeted me as I raised my eyes from the floor. My wife was wearing high heels, black fishnet hold-ups with a red bow motif. Above that was a delicate black and red thong, which struggled to contain a few wisps of hair. My eyes continued upwards to be feasted on the sight of a matching red and black quarter-cup bra which presented her superb 36-E bosom heaving beneath a sheer black lace shawl. She was standing by and inspecting herself in the full-length mirror, gently teasing her hair.
I gasped and opened mouth to speak, but she put one finger to her lips and swiftly stooped over me and placed it over mine. Her wobbling breasts failing to slow to a halt inches in front of my face.
"Not a word. I'll do the talking."
She stood upright again.
"I know we've not had much in the way of a physical relationship lately, but I'd like that to change, now that we've got a bit more time to ourselves. I've seen the way that you look at other women, even though you always deny it. And I've seen the way they look at you. In the bar just now, you managed to check out three more. I like it that women find you attractive."
Both of her hands moved towards her breasts and I could see her nipples harden as she caressed them between fore-finger and thumb through the sheer black mesh.
I was having an immediate reaction in the trouser department, and her eyes dropped towards the commotion.
"You could do us both a favour and even things up a bit by undressing too, don't you think?"
I was standing next to her naked within five seconds, and my cock was at attention - well, as much as it can manage these days, which is a few degrees above perpendicular.
Anita dropped to her knees, cradled my balls in her hand and slowly, so slowly, moved her face closer and closer to my now-swaying cock. As her slightly-parted sensuous lips approached she drew back the foreskin with her fingers, and surrounded my glans with her full soft lips. This was heaven! My wife was now on all fours with her head gently pushing and retracting on the first two inches of my swollen cock. I gazed over her back to see the two lacy black lines of her thong disappear into her arse, her stilletto'd feet a yard apart. I raised my eyes a little more and saw in the mirror the thong between the cheeks of her bum.
She pulled away to give herself a breather and must have observed the direction of my gaze as she proceeded to drop her head to the floor and stretching out her arms behind her, she clasped a bum cheek with either hand and pulled them wide apart. In the mirror's reflection I could see the line of her thong over her anus and the tiny red mesh of material below. There appeared to be a darker, damp patch forming. Instinctively I bent over and reached down her arched back, working a finger along the crack of her arse and gently started to massage her fabric. Anita gave out a soft moan but motioned me to take my finger away.
"Oh, yes! That's so good... but not yet."
She lifted her head up again, her nipples like bullets dragging up my thighs. I stood up myself and Anita resumed her sucking, her head bobbing up and down on my stiffened cock. Under this sort of erotic attack I had had no defence and it didn't take long for me to start feeling those exquisite twitches. I began to pull away, but to my surprise and an equal measure of delight and fear, she dug eight fingers and two thumbs into my buttocks.
"Uh-uh, not this time" she commanded.
I couldn't believe it - who are you and what have you done to my wife? Anita hadn't taken me in her mouth for many, many years, and even then it was swiftly accompanied by a dash to the bathroom and some vigorous brushing of teeth. What the hell was going on here?
Anita sensed my impending ejaculation and pulled her mouth back to the tip of my cock. At the end of my penis was a proud shiny swollen bulbous red-purple rocket on its launch-pad. My wife appraised it, smiled at me, and opened her mouth and with her hand around its shaft guided my cock onto her full, ready lips. Ignition - my testicles retracted and I exploded. We have Lift-off!! Several jets of milky spunk shot the few millimetres into her waiting mouth.
"Nnnnngggghhh" she purred,
"Aaaarrrrgghhhh" I groaned.
Tower-cleared! After a dozen or so uncontrollable jerks of my penis I was spent, and the emptied rocket started to angle back down towards the earth. Anita stood up in front of me, put her hands on her hips, opened her mouth and slowly presented her tongue, only to withdraw it, her teeth scr****g out the gooey mixture of saliva, and my cum onto her lips. At the same time she pulled away the shawl to reveal her wonderful boobs. The variety of viscosities of the mixture resulted in rivulets of the sex-juice running down her chin, some dropping immediately onto her heaving tits, others resembling pretty blobby stalactites which refused to remove themselves from her face. With the forefinger of each hand she selected two of the splats of cum on her breasts, winked at me and lazily worked the goo into each of her thrusting nipples.
The droplets on the chin swung from side to side in unison with her breasts as Anita, or whoever this vamp she had become, then turned, bent over in front of me, and placing a thumb in either side of her thong, shimmied herself out of the tiny piece of underwear. As the thong reached the floor she stepped out, turned, and sat down in the corner chair. I was gasping, lying back propped up on my elbows, on the bed. She lifted up her left leg, hooked it over the arm of the chair, and proceeded to do the same with the right.
"OK, it's my turn now. When you have composed yourself, please can you get the stuff on the towel from the bathroom."
"Uh? OK."
I had an inkling. In the bathroom I found a lady's razor, shaving gel and an electric trimmer. I grinned to myself in the bathroom mirror as I prepared a glass of warm water. Returning to the scene of this most welcome sexual reawakening I knelt in front of this wonderful creature.
"I'll just lift my bum up, and you can put the towel on the chair."
I remained silent. With the towel in place she continued
"I'm gambling here, but in a while I hope you'll recover sufficiently to, how can I put it, give me a good fucking."
with the emphasis, and a fire in her eyes, on the last two words. I took a mental photograph of my lovely wife with globules of my cum all over her chin and breasts, and nodded, still committed to my silence.
"Good. I know how much you used to like shaving me, so please go ahead."
I thought that I might start with the electric shaver, to trim the length of her bush, and at the same time repay a little of the pleasure she had just given me. I carefully ran the trimmer across the top of her mound and gently down to the tops of the thighs. There was a slight shiver of delight from her body as the vibrations registered her arousal. I made sure that there was a good amount of contact of the shaver with the soft skin at the top of her legs.
I put down the shaver, rubbed my hands together vigorously to warm them, poured on some of the shaving gel, and began to apply all around her vaginal area. The gel was cool and Anita squirmed a little as I gently smoothed it in. I took the razor and began some slow strokes from the outside in wards. Stubble sounds too masculine a word, and I prefer to think of it as close-cropped lady's hair. Anyway the razor glided to and fro and with each pass I renewed the razor in the glass of hot water. As I got closer to the beautiful folded petals of my wife's vagina, I took extra care in folding over her labia to ensure they were totally hairless. As I touched her labia to move the folds to each side I took the opportunity to very gently caress her hidden clitoris with my free thumb. Anita's body slowly gathered some motion and she slowly, fractionally, pushed her hips back and forth. Similarly, I took extra care at the base of her slit, around her cute anus. Before long only a few strands of shaving gel remained around her delightful genitalia, and returning to her pubis I attempted an isosceles triangle. This did not turn out as easy as I expected, and, by making extra glides with the razor in my desire for symmetry I ended up with a traditional landing strip. By now, my thumb had worked its way into her moist folds and revealed the bud of Anita's clit, and I gently described circles around it. She was starting to grind her hips and her tits were heaving.
I went out to the bathroom and fetched a hot, wet flannel and gently wiped away the remaining shaving gel from around her bare vagina. I also took the opportunity to apply a little moisturising cream with my forefingers. I stepped back to admire my handiwork - and took another mental picture of this glorious glistening vista.
"Do you think I could win Cunt-of-the-month in a Glamourous Grannies magazine?" my wife enquired with a devilish look in her eye.
The language, the scene, her body all meant that my cock was starting to harden again and I knelt in front of Anita's widen open legs. She casually rested one thigh on my shoulder and shifted herself around to get comfortable. My face closed in on her nakedness and my tongue made a few gentle upward strokes on her fleshy petals. A finger helped my tongue tease the lips apart, they slowly yielded and I pushed inwards into her most private part. Anita groaned - I began to focus on her clit, my tongue lapping at the erect pink button. As I embarked on my speciality - writing the alphabet with my tongue I tried to remember the last time we had done this - it seemed like it would have been years ago, before we started a family. Sometimes we went round the alphabet two or three times before my wife's body contracted and her orgasm hit, other times we barely got as far as the letter "m". I licked away and my thoughts wandered. I started to consider the reasons why my wife was now in this position, wantonly spread-legged, dressed as she would consider a slut or a tart, with a man's tongue (would she actually care whose?) pleasuring her. I tried to put some of the more uncomfortable conclusions to the back of my mind, but in each case found that my penis was reacting positively. Sexual desire - and what it does to a person!
Anita herself did not take very long in reaching her orgasm, and as I sensed its arrival with her sharpening breath and thrusting hips, I slide my middle finger into her sopping wet cunt, its bare lips aflame. She grabbed the end of the towel and bit on it as she tried to stifle her scream. Before she had time to compose herself I lifted her onto the edge of the bed, gently laid her down on with one arm around her back, her legs hooked themselves behind my back. We looked into each other's eyes as my cock slide up to the hilt. I gazed at my wife's pretty face and her chin covered with its little streaks of my cum and she clutched at my shoulders. I pulled back, and somehow slide in a little further, and then again. Anita's body responded in kind and Oh! how we fucked each other like this for the next quarter of an hour. Our bodies entwined in stickiness as my chest hair and her nipples smeared the ooze from her cum-drenched tits.
Eventually I came, and it was satisfyingly deep inside her. I don't know how many more orgasms Anita had, but we were both truly spent. As we fell asleep in each other's arms I heard her whisper
"Was that dirty enough for you?"
"You OK?" I enquired. No reply. A mile or so went by in silence.
"Why do they think it's so funny?"
"What's funny?" I asked, knowing full well what had got to her. We had just overtaken a white van, which as is quite typical at this time of the year, had its back end covered in the dirt sprayed up from the roads. Some wag had fingered the epithet "I wish my wife was this dirty" in the grime - Not that an uncommon a sight.
"That grafitti on the back of that van, didn't you see it?"
"Oh, yeah. What a comedian!"
"It can't be funny for a family with c***dren in the car, surely?"
I thought for a moment
"Well I suppose that youngsters won't understand, and the older ones will be plugged into their smartphones and won't notice anyway. The grans and grandads will either smile to themselves or gaze away wistfully. I can't think that the atmosphere in the car would be too bad, unless anyone is a bit of a prude. It's the modern day version of those saucy seaside postcards. But I do agree. There should be a time and a place for everything."
Anita gave a bit of a snort, switched on the radio, and we continued down the road. A road that had become one of celibacy over the last few years, I pondered.
We were on the way back from a day with our daughter and her young family on the other side of the country. The visit was all very pleasant, and we had decided to break the journey home with a short stay in a country hotel we had spotted a few years earlier. We had both recently retired and had no desire to battle the Sunday evening stampede to London, nor the Monday morning rush-hour.
We checked-in and I conducted my usual flirty interchange with a hotel receptionist, as my wife cast her eye around and sized up the hotel - all wood panelling, and sumptuous period furniture. We took our bags up the old creaking wooden staircase, along the hall and located our room. It was warm, welcoming and not cramped. We had already enjoyed a full meal earlier in the afternoon so decided on a drink or two in the bar. A table for two in a corner, something bubbly for Anita and a single malt for me.
There were a few other couples dotted around and we passed an hour so in our own pleasant conversation. During the odd lull I eyed up a few of the women, and in a couple of cases made eye contact that lasted just a split second longer than would generally be considered appropriate and noticed one or two shift in their seats and recross their legs. I don't want to sound vain but I am told I have aged well and find that plenty of women give me the glance when I am out and about in public. As a reaction to this I have got into the habit of instantly visualising them semi-clothed or naked, whilst wondering what is going on in their minds - which possibly explains my slightly extended eye contact. None of which helps my permanent sexual frustration of course! Anita stifled a yawn or two and said that she felt like having a shower before retiring for the night, but suggested that I should not hurry myself and come along only after finishing my drink. As she rose and departed the bar I watched one or two pairs of male eyes follow her bum as it gently swayed in her trouser suit. I smiled ironically when, without exception, this was followed by some immediate admonishment from their partners. If only they knew that my wife had zero interest in sex, despite how glamourous she looked. My ego was massaged slightly as I overheard one of the men whisper
"well, you were looking at him!"
Their squabbling relented and the conversations returned to private domestic matters. I sighed to myself as I reflected that, without exception, everyone else in the bar would have more likelihood than me this evening of the enjoyment of making love or having sex, whatever the angle they took on it.
Twenty minutes later I entered our room. Anita was in the bathroom, and said she'd not be long. I kicked off my shoes, removed my socks, trousers and shirt (I had got into the habit of discarding clothes if the room temperature permitted - I like the sense of freedom) and made myself comfortable on the bed and flipped through the leaflets of local attractions to see if there was anything interesting for the morning. A few minutes later the door handle turned and my wife said in a hesitant voice
"Can you make a me a promise darling, please?"
"Of course..." I replied.
"OK, for the next hour I don't want you to say anything. I'll explain later"
What a bizarre request I thought, but what the hell.
"Sure - my lips are sealed." Anita mumbled something to herself.
"OK, not a peep from you for an hour from... Now! One last thing, can you close your eyes, and I'll tell you when to open them". Interesting... I thought to myself.
"OK, you can open your eyes now", and she took a deep breath.
I will never forget the sight that greeted me as I raised my eyes from the floor. My wife was wearing high heels, black fishnet hold-ups with a red bow motif. Above that was a delicate black and red thong, which struggled to contain a few wisps of hair. My eyes continued upwards to be feasted on the sight of a matching red and black quarter-cup bra which presented her superb 36-E bosom heaving beneath a sheer black lace shawl. She was standing by and inspecting herself in the full-length mirror, gently teasing her hair.
I gasped and opened mouth to speak, but she put one finger to her lips and swiftly stooped over me and placed it over mine. Her wobbling breasts failing to slow to a halt inches in front of my face.
"Not a word. I'll do the talking."
She stood upright again.
"I know we've not had much in the way of a physical relationship lately, but I'd like that to change, now that we've got a bit more time to ourselves. I've seen the way that you look at other women, even though you always deny it. And I've seen the way they look at you. In the bar just now, you managed to check out three more. I like it that women find you attractive."
Both of her hands moved towards her breasts and I could see her nipples harden as she caressed them between fore-finger and thumb through the sheer black mesh.
I was having an immediate reaction in the trouser department, and her eyes dropped towards the commotion.
"You could do us both a favour and even things up a bit by undressing too, don't you think?"
I was standing next to her naked within five seconds, and my cock was at attention - well, as much as it can manage these days, which is a few degrees above perpendicular.
Anita dropped to her knees, cradled my balls in her hand and slowly, so slowly, moved her face closer and closer to my now-swaying cock. As her slightly-parted sensuous lips approached she drew back the foreskin with her fingers, and surrounded my glans with her full soft lips. This was heaven! My wife was now on all fours with her head gently pushing and retracting on the first two inches of my swollen cock. I gazed over her back to see the two lacy black lines of her thong disappear into her arse, her stilletto'd feet a yard apart. I raised my eyes a little more and saw in the mirror the thong between the cheeks of her bum.
She pulled away to give herself a breather and must have observed the direction of my gaze as she proceeded to drop her head to the floor and stretching out her arms behind her, she clasped a bum cheek with either hand and pulled them wide apart. In the mirror's reflection I could see the line of her thong over her anus and the tiny red mesh of material below. There appeared to be a darker, damp patch forming. Instinctively I bent over and reached down her arched back, working a finger along the crack of her arse and gently started to massage her fabric. Anita gave out a soft moan but motioned me to take my finger away.
"Oh, yes! That's so good... but not yet."
She lifted her head up again, her nipples like bullets dragging up my thighs. I stood up myself and Anita resumed her sucking, her head bobbing up and down on my stiffened cock. Under this sort of erotic attack I had had no defence and it didn't take long for me to start feeling those exquisite twitches. I began to pull away, but to my surprise and an equal measure of delight and fear, she dug eight fingers and two thumbs into my buttocks.
"Uh-uh, not this time" she commanded.
I couldn't believe it - who are you and what have you done to my wife? Anita hadn't taken me in her mouth for many, many years, and even then it was swiftly accompanied by a dash to the bathroom and some vigorous brushing of teeth. What the hell was going on here?
Anita sensed my impending ejaculation and pulled her mouth back to the tip of my cock. At the end of my penis was a proud shiny swollen bulbous red-purple rocket on its launch-pad. My wife appraised it, smiled at me, and opened her mouth and with her hand around its shaft guided my cock onto her full, ready lips. Ignition - my testicles retracted and I exploded. We have Lift-off!! Several jets of milky spunk shot the few millimetres into her waiting mouth.
"Nnnnngggghhh" she purred,
"Aaaarrrrgghhhh" I groaned.
Tower-cleared! After a dozen or so uncontrollable jerks of my penis I was spent, and the emptied rocket started to angle back down towards the earth. Anita stood up in front of me, put her hands on her hips, opened her mouth and slowly presented her tongue, only to withdraw it, her teeth scr****g out the gooey mixture of saliva, and my cum onto her lips. At the same time she pulled away the shawl to reveal her wonderful boobs. The variety of viscosities of the mixture resulted in rivulets of the sex-juice running down her chin, some dropping immediately onto her heaving tits, others resembling pretty blobby stalactites which refused to remove themselves from her face. With the forefinger of each hand she selected two of the splats of cum on her breasts, winked at me and lazily worked the goo into each of her thrusting nipples.
The droplets on the chin swung from side to side in unison with her breasts as Anita, or whoever this vamp she had become, then turned, bent over in front of me, and placing a thumb in either side of her thong, shimmied herself out of the tiny piece of underwear. As the thong reached the floor she stepped out, turned, and sat down in the corner chair. I was gasping, lying back propped up on my elbows, on the bed. She lifted up her left leg, hooked it over the arm of the chair, and proceeded to do the same with the right.
"OK, it's my turn now. When you have composed yourself, please can you get the stuff on the towel from the bathroom."
"Uh? OK."
I had an inkling. In the bathroom I found a lady's razor, shaving gel and an electric trimmer. I grinned to myself in the bathroom mirror as I prepared a glass of warm water. Returning to the scene of this most welcome sexual reawakening I knelt in front of this wonderful creature.
"I'll just lift my bum up, and you can put the towel on the chair."
I remained silent. With the towel in place she continued
"I'm gambling here, but in a while I hope you'll recover sufficiently to, how can I put it, give me a good fucking."
with the emphasis, and a fire in her eyes, on the last two words. I took a mental photograph of my lovely wife with globules of my cum all over her chin and breasts, and nodded, still committed to my silence.
"Good. I know how much you used to like shaving me, so please go ahead."
I thought that I might start with the electric shaver, to trim the length of her bush, and at the same time repay a little of the pleasure she had just given me. I carefully ran the trimmer across the top of her mound and gently down to the tops of the thighs. There was a slight shiver of delight from her body as the vibrations registered her arousal. I made sure that there was a good amount of contact of the shaver with the soft skin at the top of her legs.
I put down the shaver, rubbed my hands together vigorously to warm them, poured on some of the shaving gel, and began to apply all around her vaginal area. The gel was cool and Anita squirmed a little as I gently smoothed it in. I took the razor and began some slow strokes from the outside in wards. Stubble sounds too masculine a word, and I prefer to think of it as close-cropped lady's hair. Anyway the razor glided to and fro and with each pass I renewed the razor in the glass of hot water. As I got closer to the beautiful folded petals of my wife's vagina, I took extra care in folding over her labia to ensure they were totally hairless. As I touched her labia to move the folds to each side I took the opportunity to very gently caress her hidden clitoris with my free thumb. Anita's body slowly gathered some motion and she slowly, fractionally, pushed her hips back and forth. Similarly, I took extra care at the base of her slit, around her cute anus. Before long only a few strands of shaving gel remained around her delightful genitalia, and returning to her pubis I attempted an isosceles triangle. This did not turn out as easy as I expected, and, by making extra glides with the razor in my desire for symmetry I ended up with a traditional landing strip. By now, my thumb had worked its way into her moist folds and revealed the bud of Anita's clit, and I gently described circles around it. She was starting to grind her hips and her tits were heaving.
I went out to the bathroom and fetched a hot, wet flannel and gently wiped away the remaining shaving gel from around her bare vagina. I also took the opportunity to apply a little moisturising cream with my forefingers. I stepped back to admire my handiwork - and took another mental picture of this glorious glistening vista.
"Do you think I could win Cunt-of-the-month in a Glamourous Grannies magazine?" my wife enquired with a devilish look in her eye.
The language, the scene, her body all meant that my cock was starting to harden again and I knelt in front of Anita's widen open legs. She casually rested one thigh on my shoulder and shifted herself around to get comfortable. My face closed in on her nakedness and my tongue made a few gentle upward strokes on her fleshy petals. A finger helped my tongue tease the lips apart, they slowly yielded and I pushed inwards into her most private part. Anita groaned - I began to focus on her clit, my tongue lapping at the erect pink button. As I embarked on my speciality - writing the alphabet with my tongue I tried to remember the last time we had done this - it seemed like it would have been years ago, before we started a family. Sometimes we went round the alphabet two or three times before my wife's body contracted and her orgasm hit, other times we barely got as far as the letter "m". I licked away and my thoughts wandered. I started to consider the reasons why my wife was now in this position, wantonly spread-legged, dressed as she would consider a slut or a tart, with a man's tongue (would she actually care whose?) pleasuring her. I tried to put some of the more uncomfortable conclusions to the back of my mind, but in each case found that my penis was reacting positively. Sexual desire - and what it does to a person!
Anita herself did not take very long in reaching her orgasm, and as I sensed its arrival with her sharpening breath and thrusting hips, I slide my middle finger into her sopping wet cunt, its bare lips aflame. She grabbed the end of the towel and bit on it as she tried to stifle her scream. Before she had time to compose herself I lifted her onto the edge of the bed, gently laid her down on with one arm around her back, her legs hooked themselves behind my back. We looked into each other's eyes as my cock slide up to the hilt. I gazed at my wife's pretty face and her chin covered with its little streaks of my cum and she clutched at my shoulders. I pulled back, and somehow slide in a little further, and then again. Anita's body responded in kind and Oh! how we fucked each other like this for the next quarter of an hour. Our bodies entwined in stickiness as my chest hair and her nipples smeared the ooze from her cum-drenched tits.
Eventually I came, and it was satisfyingly deep inside her. I don't know how many more orgasms Anita had, but we were both truly spent. As we fell asleep in each other's arms I heard her whisper
"Was that dirty enough for you?"
há 2 anos
