“Lola? Lolaa!”
Where was she? My shouts were muddled by the cacophony of the party, but they were certainly audible. I wandered through the back yard looking for her, from around the fire pit, where a crowd of friends and acquaintances and friends of friends were warming their hands to the grill, where someone’s boyfriend was wowing everyone with their barbecue skills. What a time for her to disappear! We needed ice, desperately, and she had said that her new friend, the guy from her new job, would bring a large cooler with several bags of the stuff. Now neither one of them could be found, and while I was certainly enjoying the warm tipsy glow that was spreading through the party, I found myself increasingly mystified, if not irritated, at my wife’s sudden unexplained absence.
“Have you seen Lola anywhere?” I asked another coworker of hers as I passed through into the kitchen, where a group gathered doing shots and, to my surprise, dancing the limbo with a kitchen broom.
“Not a sign of her. She was out on the front porch a while ago, I think. Talking with Sam.”
Sam. Her new best friend. He seemed to be everywhere she was these days, ever since she had started that job. He had been very welcoming, showing her the ropes. It was good to have a work friend, she had said. I had been grateful that someone had been so kind and helpful to her. It wasn’t easy starting at a hard driving agency like that. The truth was I hadn’t seen my wife that much lately. I had been busy with my own business, working start-up hours. But it did strike me that when I did see her, Sam always seemed to be there too. She was happy. That was obvious from the glow in her cheeks and her easy laughter. I was too, I suppose, happy for her and content that we both were able to enjoy our own pursuits. Then again, perhaps I was just too busy to think much about it. We enjoyed the time we were together. Best friends. Still lovers. All good.
“Lola?” I had passed through the living room and had poked my head out on the front porch. Not a sign of her, just like her coworker had said. I turned and began to slowly pad up the carpeted stairs, the chatter and clamour of the party receding gradually as I ascended to the second floor landing.I had just opened my mouth to call for her again when I heard a muffled footstep above me, on the third floor, as well as—just barely—other tell-tale sounds: a rustling, a whisper, a breathy gasp.
Lola? My query was silent now, echoing in my head. The din of the party receded further as I proceeded up the second flight of stairs. I was about halfway up when I saw them. A flash of movement in my peripheral vision caused me to turn to the right, and that’s when it all unfolded: a foot—her foot—then another, then calves, then her dress—the sundress with the tiny purple flowers, the one that hugged her curves so deliciously—and then all of her.
And Sam.
They were wrapped together like one person in the dim evening light of the spare bedroom. Kissing. Deeply. Making out, to be sure. She was against the wall, and Sam had his hand under her dress, between her legs. Her breaths and gasps were like little muffled explosions puncturing the silence of the room. He was kissing her neck and her breasts now, and in fading light I could just make out her panties resting around her left ankle.
I was frozen on the stairs, transfixed, silent, watching her, them, as if in a dream. Her face was pale, lips parted in a gasp of pleasure at Sam’s touch. I knew instantly that he had slid his fingers inside her. I knew how wet she was just from her expression, as if I was touching her myself, her silky softness moving and pulsing around me, her scent filling my head. Her eyes had a distant look that I knew well, and I could tell from the way she was breathing—short, quiet, whispery breaths—that she was about to cum.
Even now, I am shocked by what I experienced in that moment. I think I knew, even in my shock, that I was supposed to be angry, jealous, enraged even. But I remember instead a kind of quiet surprise that I felt none of those things. I was aware of only one reaction to the scene I had stumbled upon: intense, powerful, urgent arousal. I wanted her to cum with Sam more than I had wanted anything. I wanted her orgasm pulse against his fingertips. I wanted her to drench them. I wanted him to take her right there, with her dress pushed up around her hips, to hear her gasp when Sam entered her from behind, to hear her whispered pleas to him to fuck her, to cum inside her. My heart pounded in my chest. The pleasure and desire I saw in her face intoxicated me, transported me. I had quickly gotten very hard, my cock straining against my jeans.
A shouted greeting from the party below jolted me back to reality. I retreated several steps, still reeling and trying to make sense of what I had just witnessed, but aware of the presence of guests, the need for ice, the possibility of discovery. I turned quickly and slipped quietly back down the stairs. I moved through the rest of the party in a daze, playing the part of a host as if on autopilot. Someone else fetched some ice from the store down the street. Lola reappeared at some point. So did Sam, a little later. There was lots more drinking and laughing and hearty farewells as our guests began to depart and the crowd dwindled down, finally, to just the two of us. We cleaned up a bit, decided to save the rest for the morning, and found ourselves alone in the bedroom, tipsy and flushed from the busy night.
She still wore the sundress, the same one I had seen her in with him. I stared at her as she took out her earrings, the memory of seeing her with him causing me to be hyperaware of the curve of her hips, the fullness of her breasts, the softness of her skin. How many times had she cum with him? Images flashed through my head: her panties around her ankle, Sam’s hand under her dress, between her legs, her face as she felt his cock throb when he came inside her. I found myself reaching for her, kissing her with a hunger that surprised both of us. She responded to my kiss with a flirtatious, cheeky need of her own, as if she were challenging me to satisfy her.
I moved my hand under her dress, between her legs, and slowly slid my fingertips up the insides of her thighs, her heat and wetness drawing them higher like magnet. I let them just barely hover over the crotch of her panties which I knew were drenched without even touching them. When I did finally let my fingertips tease lightly over the wet spot, I heard her whispered moan. They were beyond soaked. Did he fuck her? Did he cum inside her? I don’t know if my cock has ever been harder than it was that night. Images kept flowing through my head: his hard cock inside her, his hands on her ass as he slowly moved from behind. Her wetness and heat bursting around his cock. His cum dripping into her panties after she had returned to the party, a naughty secret between her legs as she had laughed and made small talk with our guests. Did he fuck her?The thought was almost a refrain now. What was certain was the moist heat pulsing into the soft cotton between her legs.
I slid the sopping scrap of fabric down her thighs, turned her around, and whispered urgently at her to get on her knees on the bed. She did as she was bid. I pushed her sundress up around her hips and unzipped my jeans. When I slid my cock inside her she was more drenched than I had ever felt. The insides of her thighs were glazed with arousal. Hers? His? I immediately imagined him cumming inside her, filling her. Did he cum inside her?The thought made me hungrier, harder, almost crazed. I slid one hand up her back and grabbed a handful of her hair. She cried out again and again as I fucked her harder now, her wetness and the thought of his cum inside her, around my cock, making me swell inside her. She turned back to look me in the eyes and in that moment—just for a split second—I caught a glimpse of an expression on her face that signalled defiance, even triumph. Her pussy contracted around my cock, pushing me to the brink.
“I’m going to cum,” I said gruffly. The heat of my spunk burst deep inside her, and we pulsed into each other for a few moments, both struggling to catch our breath. When I slowly pulled out, it was a thrill to see how much of my cum was dripping out of her swollen slit. Mixed with his,I thought to myself. Mixed with his.
Still semi-hard, the thought rekindled my almost frenzied desire. I had to taste her. With both of us still breathing hard and her dress still pushed up around her hips as she lay on the bed with knees slightly bent, I put my face between her thighs and slowly licked up a drizzle of cum glazing her thigh. She moaned softly, encouraging me. I worked slowly and almost meticulously to lap up each drop that oozed from her pussy, glancing up to see an astonished, ecstatic look on her face. She moaned again when as my tongue gently lapped and suckled her lips and then her clit. I was rock hard again, her pussy like a swimming pool of wetness and cum and velvety pleasure inviting me to dive in.
“Fuck me,” she whispered urgently. “Fuck me again.”
She was so aroused now that her wetness dripped on my balls as I fucked her. We fucked with an almost savage need for each other. I was possessed, as if I was superhuman, like I could go on for hours now without cumming if I wished. The images kept flashing in my mind’s eye: her expression as she came against his hand, her mouth around his hard cock, his seed on her lips. She came again in a wave of fluid.
“Cum! I want you to cum inside me,” she cried out.
I slowed down, fucking her more deeply. She reached back and grabbed my hard dick and slid it out of her and then put the slick head against the small button of her asshole.
“Fuck my ass,” she gasped in an urgent whisper. “I want you to fuck me in the ass.”
I pushed the head of my cock slowly inside her. She cried out as soon as I entered, her ass tight and hot around me as I slid it in. Her cries got louder and higher pitched as I slowly penetrated deeper. I reached around her hips and put my hand against her wet slit and clit. She placed her own hand over mine, pushing my fingers against her, inside her, as she continued to moan and cry. My shaft had slid all the way inside her ass now, and I gently rocked back and forth, sliding just a millimetre with each thrust. Did he fuck her ass?I thought. Did he cum in her ass? For a second an image of his cum on her asshole after he had fucked her in the very same dress she wore now flashed into my head. I could feel every spasm and movement she made around my cock. Her cries grew louder and higher pitched, and she gripped my hand against her slit as she came again. I held on a second longer and then the hot burst of my cum exploded around my cock inside her ass.
***
Over glasses of wine on the back courtyard a few weeks later, as the sun slowly set, I told her. We had already split most of a bottle of wine. She happened to be wearing the same dress, the hem of it resting on her smooth thighs. I couldn’t help but think again about what was underneath it, and the thrill of what I had seen that night.
“You have that look,” she said, smiling. “You’re a million miles away. Tell me what you are dreaming about.” Her smile had a flirtatious curl.
And it all came tumbling out. I told her what I had seen—the kisses, his hand under the dress, the ecstasy in her face. I told her how when I had entered her that night, she had been wetter than I had ever felt her. I asked her, I had to know, if he had fucked her that night, the night of the party.
After the initial shock of hearing my admission that I’d seen her and Sam, she spilled her own deepest desires. She had fucked him, of course. The details were as juicy as I had hoped: how he had made her cum with his hand, and how her knees had nearly buckled. How he had pressed his wet fingers against her lips, between them, so that she could taste herself. How she had returned downstairs to the party feeling dazed and euphoric, a secret, naughty thrill spreading inside her as the night went on and she could feel his cum dribble into the crotch of her panties. But there was more. She admitted that she liked to be watched.
And clearly, I like to be the voyeur.
After we had made our confessions, she glanced around the courtyard, her gaze moving from the table to the covered day bed to the walls and corners around us. Sitting in the lengthening shadows, her eyes lit up. “You know,” she said with a mischievous lilt, “we could really have some fun with this newly discovered little kink of yours.” She looked me in the eyes.
“Like what?” It was clear she had something very specific in mind.
“I was just thinking how our sprawling home, with all its little nooks and crannies, we should probably have some kind of security cams set up. Something that covers the whole house, even this little courtyard. We wouldn’t want any hijinks on the property, now would we?” The mischief was in her eyes as well as her voice. “You really are going to need to keep an eye on me.” She smiled and took a sip from her glass. “Don’t you think?”
Which brings us to now, and how I find myself on a balcony overlooking a courtyard in Greece as my wife is fucking another man.
I watch as he brings a tall, cool glass of water and sits on the edge of the day bed. I can see her anticipation, her desire, in the quickness of her movements, the way she touches him and smiles. My cock stiffens as she kisses him, runs her hands over his body, over the crotch of his shorts. When her fingers wrap around his hard cock, squeezing gently, feeling his desire throb, I feel my own cock hot and pulsing.
We had found him surprisingly easily: lounging by the pool two days ago, Lola had struck up a conversation, bought him a drink. He had reciprocated and one thing had led to another. He was a bachelor on holiday, fit, easy-going with a sense of humour that endeared him to Lola immediately. Lola told me later she had been “nervous and dripping” for the entire conversation. I was watching from across the pool, of course, and I could already see how aroused and erect her nipples were through her bikini top. She told him about me: I wouldn’t be there, but I would be watching. After the date had been made, Lola and I had fucked furiously, her whispering in my ear how I was going to watch her take his cock into her mouth, how she was going to ride his hard cock, how he was going to cum deep inside her.
I watch now as she slowly pulls down his shorts, his sharp exhale as she runs her fingertips lightly over his tense shaft, his balls. I know she is going slowly, showing off for me. Every kiss and stroke wrought with restraint, as if she is carefully containing her desire, riding it, lingering until it is unbearable for her. When she slowly moves her head down his body to his cock and slides her tongue slowly up, it is all I can do not to cum. But I hold back. She’s not finished yet. She slides takes his dick slowly into her mouth, and I imagine it’s stiffness and heat in the soft wetness of her mouth.
I watch, knowing how badly she wants his cock inside her, how she is deliberately prolonging the show, teasing me with how much attention she is paying to the bulbous head of his cock. You wanted to watch me?
Watch this.
The End
Read all about the wonderful author: Trip Fleming
My wife is fucking her ex-boss. She owned up after the first time. After going through every emotion imaginable, I am cool with it and want her to feel free to fuck other men too. Our sex life has never been better. She is a new woman – confident and radiant. Together we select lingerie for her to wear for him. I wish I was allowed to watch but so far no luck – even when he turns up to our home to fuck her in our marital bed. The smell of sex in the bedroom after their adulterous act is the most powerful fragrance I have ever experienced. I am so proud of her.
I’m currently enjoying this genre. This story thrilled and fueled my lust for my wife to participate in such behaviour. I totally enjoyed it!
Yes. My wife had the hots for an old college friend . I thought I would be jealous; but I was excited. I wanted her to fuck him more than I wanted her. Trouble is, it’s been the same ever since. I can have brilliant sex with my wife but it’s always a little better if she’s fucking someone else.
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I don’t blame you.i love my wife having lots of sexc with different guys. it .always makes me harder. do you have any pictures of her. cheers tony