A slutty wife cheats on her husband after being pushed by him. In the end she loves being a slutty cheating wife... even more than she could have imagined.
If you are under 18 or offended by sexually oriented material, stop right here. Do not read the rest of this message.
WARNING: Sexually Oriented Material Follows. Adults only.
Convention Town Girl
Part 3a - His Version (MMF wife, fictionalized, but only slightly)
[This part by Mr. Screwloose]
Jannie showed me the first two chapters. Wow. I hadn't heard all those details, or maybe I just didn't remember them, in the heat of the moment. She did eventually tell me about the major activities, but seeing those details in black and white really shocked me. And turned me on. She really is some piece.
She asked me to write about our next little adventure. So, this is what I saw. But I'm sure she'll have some interesting details to add, things I don't know.
We had dinner with Stan again a couple months later. We didn't really talk before about what might happen with Stan. I assumed that he would play with Jan and that she would go along with it. But just play. I didn't think that Stan would assume that he could go to bed with her again, at least not while I was around. I didn't talk to her about it. It was just sort of a topic that we didn't deal with. I just assumed that she'd be with me, and that Stan would dance with her and touch her now and then. No big deal.
The evening started as much the same routine. Dinner at a great restaurant, in one of the casinos, surprisingly. Wine with dinner, and after-dinner drinks. We were feeling no pain. Then we went to the dance club in the casino and settled into a booth. And ordered another round.
Stan was his usual friendly self through dinner, so it seemed to me. He paid a lot of attention to her, but then he always did that. Then, when they started dancing, I could see that he got very friendly with her, and that she didn't mind. Or at least she didn't stop him. On the dance floor, his hands were all over her hips and butt and thighs, that I could see. Maybe more that I couldn't see. When they came back to the booth, she sat between us and moved close to him so their legs were touching.
I did notice that both their hands were beneath the table, except when someone was actually taking a sip of a drink. >From what I could see, his hands were well up under her
skirt. She was squirming and her legs were open enough for him to get his hand in easily. I think his hand was probably all the way up in her crotch from the way she was moving and giggling. Was he cupping her crotch? Was he inside her pants, right here in public? And in front of her husband! Jesus, maybe he's inside her. She gets very wet when we play, and that makes it easy to get a finger inside her. It makes me sweat to think about it.
Yes, I'm jealous. And I'm hard as a rock. It's embarrassing to watch, and it's erotic as hell to watch, too. I certainly can't say anything to either of them to stop it. I asked her to do it in the first place, and she's already gone much further than this with him. Twice! Jesus, maybe he will want to have sex with her again tonight.
While I'm worrying about this, they get up to leave. She's going to the ladies' room, and he accompanies her to make a pit stop himself. After some minutes, they come back. I notice that she looks kind of mussed, but I don't get a chance to ask her about it.
After another hour or so, we leave in his car. He has rented a huge Caddie, the kind that can seat six or maybe eight, so the three of us sit across the front. While driving, he keeps his hand on her left thigh all the time. Mine is on her right, too. Both of us men are working their way up her thighs to her goodies, and she's cooperating completely. She opens her legs as much as the seating will allow and pulls her skirt up. In the passing streetlights, we can see the tops of her stockings and the white of her thighs above them.
I'm going crazy. It is so exciting to see another man's hand on my wife's thigh, inching toward her pussy, his fingers on the bare flesh of her thigh, then pushed right up against her crotch. And she is loving it, having hands on her intimate places. She lifts her hips to push against the intruding hand. (And to make space underneath for fingers to get into?) I can see how much more exciting this is for her, that the hand on her pussy is not mine.
Stan pulls in and stops at a liquor store that is still open. He asks me to pick up some cold wine, something that goes down easy, like wine coolers or rose. I get a couple packs of wine coolers of various fruit flavors. I figure these things don't have that much alcohol in them that we won't kill ourselves driving.
When I get back out, they're in the back seat. He is sitting there, grinning like the frigging Cheshire cat. She's sitting sideways, leaning against the passenger door. Obviously, I get to drive while they play in the back. Stan says, let's go to his hotel, but do it very slowly. Go out into the suburbs onto some lonely country roads where no one will disturb us. I guess this is it. He does intend to take her in front of me, to fuck my wife in front of her husband. And, from what I've seen so far, she will be perfectly happy to participate. This is all my fault, of course. I put her up to it. I told her to go along with whatever play he wanted. Not to make waves. Not to piss off the client. And then I didn't object when it obviously went further than either of us intended. To please a customer, I let him fuck my wife. (And then *he* let someone else fuck her, too, just like passing around an atta-boy award for good job performance.) And now I was going to watch it happen again.
I can see them all the way, in the mirror, kissing, feeling. He's got his hands on her breasts before we're out of the parking lot. Driving out of town, he undoes her dress and reaches inside to pull out a breast. He sucks on it while she smiles and moans and cradles his head. They are oblivious to the possibility that anyone might look into the car. The window tinting is pretty dark, so it's unlikely, I admit.
I find a very lonely road, go down it a way and stop. Time for a drink. We all have a cooler. I see that his free hand is on her tits or under her skirt all the time. It's dark, really dark, out here. I can't see all that well in only the dash lights and the city lights in the distance. I can see enough, though. Still, what I wouldn't give for a clear videotape of this whole scene. She closes her eyes, her head falls back, she moans rhythmically, he must be fingering her, jamming into her cunt and rubbing her clit. Her hips are jerking up again and again, in time with her moans. After a couple minutes, she comes, grabbing her breasts and squeezing them as she gasps in her orgasm. God, what a scene. My wife, coming and jerking and feeling her own tits, with another man's hand in her cunt pushing into her and sawing on her clit. I almost can't breathe watching it. Incredibly exciting.
Have another drink, he says. When she sits back, her skirt comes up, and I can see that she has no panties on. Where the hell did they go, I wonder? When did they come off? Maybe on some trip to the ladies room. Yes, that's about the only time I haven't seen her since we left home. Hmmm. Maybe when they went off to the bathrooms together. But maybe at the table, too. Who knows. There was enough playing going on there that I couldn't keep track of it all.
She reaches for his crotch, unzips, pulls him out. Kneels over him and licks for a while. He's very excited. So am I. My wife, licking and sucking this man's cock three feet away from me. Holy hell. He grabs her by the waist and positions her kneeling on the seat, straddling his legs. He doesn't have to pull her hips down onto him. She takes his cock in hand and guides it to her sex. I can't see this, it's maddening, her skirt covers all the details. >From the front seat I can only see her back. But she is
pumping up and down, he is pumping up and down, it is clear that there's a whole lot of fucking going on.
He is sweating, despite the air conditioning, and it's a cool evening anyway. After a couple minutes, he lurches up, pulling her hips down to him at the same time, he's coming in her. My god, he's coming inside my wife. I think that I must have been crazy to encourage this in the first place, except that I have a boner harder than Chinese arithmetic. All through this, at the club, then driving out here, now watching him fuck her, my dick has been up and down with excitement all night.
Her movements slow and she collapses against his chest. He's still inside her. Is his cock wilting? Will it fall out and uncork all those juices? He's thinking, too, has her move off him and kneel on the seat. He takes an empty wine cooler bottle to collect his cum from her pussy. He tells her to lift up her skirt and hold the bottle so that his cum goes into it. She takes the bottle and puts it right up to her hole. The top disappears between her lips, which are still puffy and loose. Holding the bottle is uncomfortable, so she settles down a little until the bottle is resting on the seat.
Suddenly his eyes blaze. He leans forward and whispers to her. Both his hands are on her breasts, kneading. She closes her eyes again. He continues talking to her, but I can't hear. Her hips begin to sway a little. And move down a little. She is settling down further, onto the bottle.
He whispers to her constantly and plays with her breasts. She moves her hips side to side, and back and forth, and around, and slowly down. I look down and only half the bottle is still visible. There must be three or four inches of it inside her now. Hard. And big around, much bigger than my cock or Stan's. She pushes down visibly now, her legs as far apart as they can go. Only a little bit of the label still shows. My god. She is gasping, pumping up and down now on the glass intruder as though it were a giant cock.
She says something to him and he helps her move her feet off the seat so she can sit down fully on the seat. Gingerly, she does settle down, all the way, to a normal sitting posture. If you can call it normal to have like an eight-inch glass bottle up your cunt. And your legs open like ninety degrees. She squirms on the leather seat, the lubrication of her cunt juice and his semen making the seat -- and her ass -- slippery. She's yelling Oh, Oh, Oh, with every movement. The bottle must be churning in her insides. She reaches her right hand down into her crotch and starts to play with herself.
Stan replaces her hand with his and fondles her lips. Then clit. She starts to moan again, biting her lip, moving her hips up and down in a way that I'm sure made the bottle move in and out slightly. And she starts gasping and panting and almost screaming, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! with every stroke. She comes shouting so loudly that I'm glad we're way out in the country. And then again. Two, three, four times. Finally, she's exhausted, almost asleep. Stan offers her another drink. Sure, she says, but we better start to head home.
I can barely squeeze my hard-on under the steering wheel to drive home. All the way, she has a hand, either hers or his, in her crotch, relishing every bump in the road. And she comes constantly. I'm thinking that this bottle must be huge inside her, maybe hurting her, even. But it is nowhere near the size of a baby coming out, and they always tell us that the vagina is very stretchy. And she is enjoying the hell out of this hard thing rammed up her. Every bump in the road causes another gasp and Oh!
As we get into town, we have to be a little more careful. When we stop at a red light next to another car, for instance, Stan kisses her the whole time so that her whimpering excitement and moaning and screaming orgasms aren't obvious to the cars around us. If anyone can see through the window tint, it just looks like a couple smooching in the back seat being driven home by the chauffeur. Well, maybe the woman is whimpering and whining more than usual, and bumping up and down a lot. So she's enjoying herself.
I drive to our house, and Stan drops us off. She actually managed to get our of the car and walk from the curb to the front door with the bottle still jammed up her pussy. She uses a hand to hold it in, but says that she really doesn't need it. We immediately fell onto the couch, and I fingered her to several more orgasms.
Finally the bottle came out. We still have it, in a box in the garage. If anyone finds it, we'll have to make up some story about some romantic reason for keeping it. No one would believe the real story. And I have a hard time believing that we are going to publish this and tell the world.
She sucked me off that night, a rare event in itself. I absolutely flooded her with juices that I had been saving up all night. In the morning, we made love, slowly. She was a little sore -- and a little loose. Amazingly, none of this has hurt our relationship. Still a strong marriage after all these years.
Part 3b - Her Version (MMMF wife, fictionalized, but only slightly)
[Ms. Screwloose's version]
Tommy's version of that night is pretty accurate. Of course, there are some things that he just didn't see, or hear, or feel, so he couldn't relate those.
He's right that we didn't discuss our expectations for the evening beforehand. But if his expectation was that there would be playing but no sex, boy, mine was just the opposite. I was looking forward to getting laid that night. And I had done a lot of thinking about what a thrill it would be to do it in front of my long-time husband. To open my legs to another man and take another cock into my body, to be hot and dripping and out of control wanting to be fucked by another man, all the while my faithful husband's watching and drooling. I wet my pants several times in the week before the date just thinking about it. Forgive me, dear husband, but it does great things for my ego to have, as you put it, a rich and powerful man desire me. And I wanted to drive him wild and fuck his brains out.
We didn't have much chance to play at the restaurant, but when we got to the club, we started in immediately. His hand on my ass while we danced. Sometimes, he would pull up my skirt and run his hand up to my waist under it. We had to be careful with this, to do it only on a side that was not visible to the crowd. But grab-ass, and the occasional hand on the breast, no problem.
Tommy missed a little on the trip to the ladies' room, too. Stan was the perfect gentleman as he guided me there. But when I came out, he met me, and he wasn't alone. He introduced me to a business associate of his, Wilson, a very distinguished looking man, fifties and gray hair. He introduced me as his "Genie," like the genie in the bottle, that catered to his every wish. "Oh?" asked Wilson, just making conversation, so I thought. "Genie, give Wilson your panties," he commanded.
What? Did I hear this right? He's asking me to do what? He leaned over and whispered to me, "Young lady, do as I say. Reach up and take your panties off and hand them to this man. I insist."
There was no one else around. Still, I didn't think that I could slap him or march off without making an embarrassing scene. Don't make waves. It's not as though I wasn't intimate with him. But to show that publicly in front of his friend, that was shameful to me. Cheapened me. Our sex play was one thing. Humiliating me for one of his friends was another. But I had no choice. He looked at me sternly. I reached down with both hands, under my skirt, grabbed the sides of my tiny panties, and ran them down to my knees. I let them fall to my feet. Then picked them up and handed them to Wilson. "You are a most remarkable and attractive lady, thank you. I will treasure these." He lifted them briefly to his nose, nodded goodbye to Stan and left. Stan kissed me hard and reached under my dress to finger me for a minute, and then we returned to the table. My husband says that I looked a little mussed. Outside, maybe. Inside I was boiling and seething and my pussy was dripping. And my mind was racing. Was Wilson now also on the list of people that I should go along with to avoid offending a client and risking Tommy's job and our income? Will I ever see him again? Will I be expected to play the whore for him, too?
I was a little concerned about Stan's driving when we left the casino. I was really glad when Tommy took over. And, well, that gave Stan and me uninterrupted time to make out in the back seat. Stan was nibbling on my breasts before we even left the city lights, but I didn't care. And he had one, two, or three fingers in me most of the time out of the city. When we stopped out in the country, the main difference was that now my husband was watching full time. So we shifted into high gear. First, Stan fingered me to a delicious orgasm. Wonderful. Then I unzipped him and climbed on.
Yes, I felt really naughty pulling another man's cock into me while my husband was only a couple feet away and watching intently. I couldn't see him, my back was to him, but I heard him breathing and gasping as raggedly as I was. He must have been incredibly horny. My pussy was so wet and open by then that Stan's cock slid in with almost no effort. I just slid right down on it and pumped away like mad. And in a couple minutes he came. A real gusher, too. He must have been saving up for days.
I could feel that his cock was shrinking, not as hard or long as it had been just a minute ago. Then he told me to get off but to try to catch his semen in one of the empty wine bottles so it wouldn't drip on the seats. (Ooh, kinky, kinky. God, he can't possibly know about my little adventures back in college, can he? How would he? No, this is just a fluke.) He put the bottle right up to my pussy, between the lips. It was cold and hard, but, after all the handling and the screwing, cold felt good. Holding it was hard, so I settled down a little until the bottle was resting on the seat.
As Tommy said, suddenly Stan's eyes blazed. He grabbed me and told me his idea. That, instead of my being his little Genie in the bottle, that the little bottle should be in the Genie. That I should just relax and gradually take the bottle into my body, into my pussy, into my cunt, and fuck myself with it while it collects his semen. God, what an idea! My cunt flamed with the idea. So I looked at him, and I looked at Tommy, and I started to wiggle a little dance with the bottle. My hard, little lover. My passive lover that I can control. I can take him in deeper, or push him out, or pump him until I'm satisfied. I pushed down and pulled up, and then down further and then up, and then down as far as I could.
Stan was constantly going on in my ear, "Genie, take the bottle. Take it all inside you. Genie, fuck the bottle. Fuck yourself with the hard penis. Up and down, in and out. Jump down on it. Shove it deeper into you. Plant your pussy on the glass prick. Plant your sex on it. Genie, take it inside you. Sit down on it. Take it deep inside your body. Take the whole thing." He just went on and on and I tried to do everything he said. I had to move my feet so I could sit down flat on the seat. The whole thing will be inside me! God, it must be like eight inches long, and wider than two cocks. I felt it stretching my cunt walls and pushing deep into me, deeper than cocks go, it hurts but what a delicious hurt!
Then my flesh-and-blood lover joined in and rubbed my clit, round and round and sawing back and forth. I couldn't stand it, the pleasure was so intense. I came several times. It took minutes, I didn't keep track but I was thoroughly washed out when I finished. I'm sure I could have come more, too, but I grabbed Stan's wrist to stop him and let me recover.
I fell asleep for a few minutes, then we started home. Each bump in the rural road was exquisite agony. When we got into more civilized areas, Stan started fingering my clit again and kissing me deeply. He said that was to keep me from waking the neighbors with my screams.
When we got home, I was just dead. My last conscious act was to do something for Tommy, who hadn't come all night, at least not that I saw. I can't believe he watched all that sex, all that slutty performance, and didn't come. I sucked him all the way, and nearly choked on the flood. And that's the last thing I remember.
The next day, we made love several times. I was still sore, but he kissed it and made it better, wink, wink. Overall, one of those evenings for the record books.
(More about the college adventures later.)