It was his voice that caught my attention. His perfect English enunciation, delivered in a rich rumble, the phraseology and vocabulary exquisite.
I turned around to see who it was that had such a beautiful voice, and there he was. An immaculately dressed, middle-aged man, having dinner with a woman who looked as though she was his wife. He looked quite dashing.
As I looked at him, he turned his head and saw me. I felt a twinge at being caught staring, and smiled at him to try to cover my embarrassment. He clearly saw my discomfort and grinned cheekily back at me, before turning back to his dinner partner. I blushed and turned back to my husband, hoping that he hadn’t noticed, but he had.
“Why were you staring at that couple?” he asked.
“The man was talking loudly. I wanted to see who it was.”
“Oh. Well, he seemed to have spotted you.”
“Yes, and I feel a bit foolish.”
“Oh, never mind. It’s not a problem.”
We carried on with our dinner as though nothing had happened. My husband was telling me about his day at work, but I wasn’t really paying attention. For some reason, this man had got into my head and occupied my thoughts. Who was he? Why did he speak so well? Was he famous? All of these questions whirled around inside my mind when, suddenly, I heard his voice again, but right next to me.
“Good evening,” he said. “Please excuse me for being so rude, but have I met you somewhere before? You look familiar.”
“Uh, uh, I don’t think so,” I babbled, blushing.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, “I could have sworn I had met you. My name is Keith Anderson, and this is my wife, Cynthia.”
“Pleased to meet you,” my husband responded, standing up. “I’m Simon Williams, and this is Jane, my wife.” He turned to me. “Do you know Keith?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, thinking that I wish I did. He had an aura about him, a mixture of naughtiness and dominance, something I’d like to explore.
“Look, here’s my card,” Keith said, handing it to my husband. “If by any chance either of you remembers, please do give me a call.”
“Thank you,” my husband said, “and here’s mine. If you ever need accounting services, please consider my practice.”
Keith took his card, then turned back to me.
“I hope you enjoy the remainder of your evening,” he said, smiling.
His eyes flicked down briefly, then back to my face. From where he was standing, he had clearly had a good view of my cleavage. The top three buttons of my blouse were undone, and I was wearing a low-cut bra.
“You and your wife, too,” I said.
They turned away and left the restaurant.
It wasn’t long before we, too, left the restaurant and took a taxi back to our house. My husband went into his study and hung his jacket on the back of his chair. I went into the kitchen, poured us some wine, and took the glasses into the living room. He came in at the same time, and we sat together on the couch.
“I really don’t remember that couple,” he said.
“I don’t, either, but perhaps he’ll give you some business.”
“Perhaps.”
“Let’s forget about them,” I said, rubbing his thigh.
He looked at me, then put his glass down and moved closer to me.
I leaned back on the couch and sighed as he kissed my neck, his mouth brushing up and down, before nibbling at my lips.
I nibbled back, our mouths devouring each other, our tongues licking, our saliva mingling.
I moved my hand up his inner thigh and between his legs, my fingers brushing the mound of his testicles hidden under the cloth of his trousers.
He groaned into my mouth.
I felt his fingers loosen the buttons of my blouse, followed by his hand squeezing my left breast, then rubbing the nipple through my bra.
I felt a twinge in my groin, and my vulva moistened.
I broke our kiss.
“Take me upstairs,” I breathed.
He took his hand away from my breast and got up, then took my hand, helping me off the couch. We went upstairs to our bedroom and undressed each other, then got onto the bed and under the covers.
I lay on my side with him behind me. He likes it that way.
I felt him push his penis against my slit, his head opening up my labia and seeking my entrance, before suddenly pushing hard. His penis slid into me easily, his glans pushing apart my vaginal walls.
“Aaah,” I moaned softly, “it feels so good with you inside me.”
I clenched my pelvic muscles, squeezing the penis inside me. I felt him twitch in response.
“Oh, Jane,” he breathed, “oh, God, I love you.”
He reached over, and his fingers found my clit, gently rubbing the shaft as he started thrusting in and out of my vagina, his pubis banging into my buttocks.
“Yes, yes, my darling,” I breathed as my clitoris hardened and grew under his touch, little electric shocks radiating from it through my pelvis. I put my hand down on top of his, pushing hard.
He started thrusting much harder and faster, his penis pounding in and out of my vagina, until suddenly he stopped moving at the end of a stroke, his penis deep inside me.
“Uh,” he grunted. I felt it jerk as he ejaculated, and a warm feeling spread inside my vagina. After a brief pause, it jerked again, and then a third time. After that, he lay still.
We lay together for some minutes as his penis shrank and shrivelled up until it slid out of me.
“Did you cum?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, my love,” I lied.
My husband seldom made me climax. I usually have to touch myself for that to happen. If I’m going to orgasm from penetrative sex, I need a strong man with a big penis. A man who knows about a woman’s body and how it responds. A man who is masculine and confident.
My husband has none of those qualities. He has others, which is why I love him so much and would never do anything to hurt him. He is attentive, loving, and kind, an excellent provider and a good father. But as my children grew up, I realised it wasn’t enough for me, and I started looking for satisfaction outside my marriage.
“Oh, good,” he said, and took his hand off my clit. In a few minutes, he was snoring.
I waited for a while, then carefully slid out of the bed and put on my bathrobe, before going downstairs to the study. My husband’s jacket was hanging on the back of the chair in front of the desk. I sat down in the chair and felt in the side pockets of his jacket and found the card that Keith had given him, and put it on the desk.
As I read the name, Keith Anderson, I felt a twitch in my groin. Was this the start of something? I reached down and rubbed my stomach. It felt flat and hard, the product of endless sessions of Pilates.
My hand drifted further down, my fingers threading through my abundant bush of pubic hair until they reached my clitoris. I have a fairly large clitoris, long and fleshy. When I’m excited, it grows hard and stands out, making a tent out of my inner labia, as its nub appears from the folds surrounding it.
I rolled it around with my fingertips, wondering about this man. He had been a perfect gentleman, well-spoken and impeccably mannered. But there was something else about him. There was a powerful force hiding behind his twinkling eyes, a force like a magnet that drew you in towards it. A force that promised danger and excitement.
I got up out of the chair and went to the living room to fetch my phone, then returned to the study to sit down again. My stomach was churning as I tapped out a message to him: ‘Hi there, is that Keith Anderson?’
I looked at it for several seconds, then pressed ‘send’.
‘Who’s asking?’ Came the reply, almost immediately.
‘Jane Williams.’
‘Hi there, Mrs Williams. What can I do for you?’
‘Is this number private?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Call me Jane. May I call you Keith?’
‘Of course you may. Now, how may I be of assistance?’
I reached down between my legs again, this time with my left hand, and rubbed my vulva, my fingers slipping between my labia. Everything felt wet and slippery, a mixture of my husband’s semen and my growing arousal.
‘I’m not sure,’ I tapped with my right hand, ‘but I’ve been thinking about you all night.’
‘What have you been thinking?’
‘Lots of things. Things I shouldn’t be thinking.’
‘Why shouldn’t you be thinking them?’
‘Because I’m a married woman.’
‘I see. You’ve been having sexual thoughts.’
I hesitated, wondering whether I should continue down this path, when another message appeared.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve been thinking about you, too.’
As I read his message, there was another ping. It was a picture, a picture of an erect penis, a large penis with prominent veins all over its shaft, its foreskin bounced beneath and even larger glans with a pearl of clear liquid on its tip.
I gasped. It was so beautiful. My pelvic muscles clenched, and a jet of liquid squirted out of my slit and wet my hand. I wanted to bend down and lick the phone.
‘Did you like that?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, tapping shakily.
‘Would you like to feel it sliding into your body, stretching and filling your vagina?’
I couldn’t reply. My hips were moving back and forth as my fingers scrabbled furiously over my clitoris, and my eyes were closed. I imagined his penis, hard and hot, thrusting inside me.
There was another ping. I opened my eyes to see a picture of his testicles hanging down under his penis. They were large and hairy. Then another ping.
‘Lots of fertile sperm to fill your womb.’
That did it. I could almost feel him ejaculating inside me. My clitoris burned as a feeling of intense pressure followed by immense relief surged through my body, making my skin tingle. I released my breath with a long sigh and started to relax.
‘Did you orgasm?’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘You were quiet for a long time.’
‘Oh.’
‘Send me a picture.’
I picked up the phone and leaned back in the chair, opening my robe. I changed the camera to selfie and took a few pictures of my pussy, then scrolled through them.
I looked quite messy. My pubic hair was tangled and wet, my labia were hanging out and glistening with fluids. There was a ring of white stuff around my entrance, and my clitoris was still enlarged.
I picked what I thought was the best picture and sent it.
‘Oh, wow. I’m going to enjoy fucking that pussy.’
‘Oh, really? And how do you know I’m going to let you?’
‘Because you want me. You know it.’
I hesitated before replying, but I knew he was right.
‘Maybe.’
‘Good. Come to the Prestige Hotel in Paddington tomorrow night at 7.00pm. I’ll meet you in the bar.’
‘I don’t know if I can get away tomorrow.’
‘Yes, you can and you will. I’ll see you there.’
‘I’ll try.’
I waited for several minutes, but there was no reply. He was right, of course, I would be there.
*************************
I arrived at the Prestige Hotel just before 7.00pm. I’d rung my husband during the day and told him I was going to the cinema with my friend Sal, and that we’d probably go for a drink afterwards, so I might be home late. He told me to enjoy myself. Shortly after that, I rang Sal and told her to cover for me.
I looked around for Keith, but could not see him anywhere, so I stepped up to the bar and ordered a glass of Chardonnay. As I was drinking it, I noticed a man further down the bar staring at me. I looked away as I didn’t want to encourage him, but it wasn’t long before he was next to me.
“Hi, there. Don’t I know you?”
“No, you don’t, and that’s got to be the oldest line in the book.”
“How about, do you come here often?”
“Second oldest.”
“Well, at least you’re talking to me.”
“Look,” I said, holding up my left hand and pointing to my wedding and engagement rings, “I’m married, and I love my husband.”
The man was about to try again when suddenly Keith appeared and strode over towards me.
“Leave the lady alone,” he said, each word beautifully enunciated, “she’s with me and does not want to be disturbed.”
“Whatever,” the other man said and walked away.
“I’m so sorry that happened,” Keith said, turning to me, “there is absolutely no excuse for a gentleman to behave in such an ill-mannered fashion.”
“He’s no gentleman,” I replied, “and thank you for getting rid of him.”
“Think nothing of it. Now, may I get your drink refreshed? It’s Chardonnay, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is, and yes, some more would be lovely.”
He caught the eye of the bartender and asked for a refill for me and a scotch on the rocks for himself. As we waited for the order, he turned back to me and took my left hand in his.
“That’s a beautiful engagement ring,” he said, looking at my hand, then lifting his eyes to look into mine, “your husband must have loved you very much.”
“Oh, he still does,” I replied.
“And you? Do you still love him as much?”
“Even more.”
“And yet, here you are, alone with me in a bar.”
I looked at him without replying. My mouth was dry, and my heart was thumping in my chest. I wanted to say to him: ‘I’m here because I want you. Because I want you to seduce me into your bed. Because I want to feel your body inside me.’ But I couldn’t. I just stared at him.
“Tell me all about yourself,” he said, still looking into my eyes but taking my hand in his, “your life, your family, your dreams, your fears, your hopes.”
His hand felt strong and protective. I put my other hand on top of his and stroked it, feeling the tendons along the back.
“Well, you’ve met my husband, so you know I’m married. I have two children, a boy and a girl. They are both in their late teens. I think they are well-adjusted and well-prepared for life, probably because I’ve always believed in being there to bring up children. I didn’t work once the first was born. We have an active social life, with a good circle of friends, and I’m active in the community, at school, church, and charities.”
“Jane, Jane,” he interrupted, “I want to know about you. The inner you. Not the fact that you’re a model housewife. I want to know about the Jane who agreed to meet me here.”
I looked down at our hands, suddenly conscious that he was stroking my fingers. I felt a flutter in my groin and shifted in my seat, only to realise that the gusset of my panties felt damp.
“I agreed to meet you here because I’m attracted to you,” I said softly.
“I’m flattered,” he replied, “but you’re a happily married mother who, no doubt, is a pillar of the community. Why would you even consider allowing yourself to pursue an attraction?”
And so I told him. I told him how I had recently been seduced by a man who had taught me pleasures that I never knew existed. How he had made me realise my sexuality and taught me how to use my body to experience overwhelming pleasure with orgasms unlike anything I had ever had before.
I told him how I had felt guilty at first, but gradually allowed the intense enjoyment and satisfaction to assuage that guilt. How my body now needed other men.
“What about your husband? Do you still make love with him?”
“Oh, yes, but not very often. It’s not that important to him.”
“Does he satisfy you?”
“Yes, he does. He makes me feel wanted, loved, and protected.”
“Do you orgasm with him?”
“Very occasionally, but it’s not that important. If I feel unfulfilled, I deal with it myself afterwards.”
“What do you think makes sex with other men more exciting?”
“I think it’s because it’s more basic and uncontrolled. There are no niceties. They know I’m married, so they are just there to satisfy themselves. They’re not there to make love to me; they’re there to fuck me, another man’s wife. That makes them quite dominant and powerful, and I like that. I like strong, masculine men, traditional men.”
I looked at him as I spoke, feeling myself getting more and more moist. I let go of his hand and put my palm against his cheek. I could feel his evening stubble.
“Are you going to fuck me tonight?” I whispered.
“Perhaps,” he replied, rather more loudly, “if I feel like it. It will depend on how good you are, what you do, and how well you do it.”
My stomach lurched at his words.
“Open another button on your blouse.”
I did as he instructed, feeling the cool air on my bust. I’d looked at myself in the mirror at home before I left. With three buttons open, my cleavage was very obvious. With four, my low-cut bra became visible.
“Nice, but not enough. Open another button.”
I did as he said. He reached forward and ran his fingers over the tops of my breasts. I shivered and looked around to see if anyone was watching, but no one was.
“I’m going to enjoy those,” he said, “you have gorgeous tits.”
I looked at him dreamily, wishing we were alone and that he would rip off my clothes.
He stood up and reached for my hand to help me up too.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Upstairs. I’ve booked a room.”
We walked out of the bar together, hand in hand, and into the hotel lobby to get into a lift. We were the only ones in the lift.
He leaned forward and kissed me, our lips apart, our tongues exploring each other. His one hand was cupped around my buttock, the other held my head. I could feel his erection against my abdomen.
We arrived on his floor and went to the room. It was quite large, with a desk and chair, a small table next to an easy chair, and an enormous double bed. I walked towards the bed and sat on it, but he went to sit in the easy chair.
“Come here and stand in front of me,” he said.
I went over and stood in front of him.
“You are absolutely beautiful,” he said, his eyes roaming over my body, “quite stunning. Now, remove your blouse.”
I didn’t hesitate. I unbuttoned the last remaining buttons and slipped off my blouse, then stepped forward and handed it to him. He put it up to his nose.
“You smell good,” he said.
“Thank you,” I replied.
“That’s a very sexy bra.”
“I wore it specially.”
“Do your panties match it?”
“Would you like to see?”
“Yes, very much.”
I felt behind me and loosened the button of my skirt, then unzipped it and let it fall to the floor, leaving me standing there in my very small panties and suspenders belt holding up my stockings. I heard him draw in his breath.
“Wonderful,” he said, “even better than I imagined. You’ve dressed impeccably for the occasion. You really are a stunning woman.”
Again, I felt that twitch in my abdomen.
“Turn around,” he said.
I did as he said and turned to face the bed.
As I stood there, I felt my bra being unhooked. He had stood up behind me and pulled my bra forward and off my body. He dropped it on the floor, then reached around my body and cupped my breasts in his hands, gently lifting them.
“You have the most beautiful tits I’ve seen,” he said, cradling my bust. “They’re heavy, firm, and large, and they feel incredible.”
As he spoke, he slowly palpitated my breasts, moving the flesh around and stimulating something deep inside. My God, it felt good. His touch was perfect, not too hard yet not too gentle.
I felt a flutter in my stomach, and my clitoris seemed to move. My panties suddenly seemed tight, pulling the gusset up between my labia and my crack.
I leaned back, my head against his chest, my mouth half open as I held my breath, wallowing in the sensations flowing through my body.
After a few minutes, I felt his fingers moving across my areolae, tracing a path over the different skin textures. My God, this man was good. I could feel my areolae pucker as my nipples hardened and swelled. They felt like bullets.
I moaned and scrabbled behind me, my fingers searching for his flies as they rubbed across the bulge in his trousers. I wanted this man. I wanted to give my body to him, to feel him inside me.
His fingers continued to rub my areolae and brush over my taut nipples. Waves of pleasure were now coursing through my body, and my hips were moving in little circles, when I felt him grasp my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He tugged at them, rolled them, rubbed them, squeezed them, pulled my breasts by them. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before.
“Oh, Keith,” I moaned, softly, “oooooh.”
My pelvic muscles clenched involuntarily, and I held my breath. My eyes closed, and my mind went blank. After a few seconds, they slowly released, and a feeling of relief spread through my body. I started breathing again.
I tilted my head back on his chest and looked up at his face. I could see him looking down at me, smiling, his eyes sparkling. He bent his head and kissed my forehead.
“You made me orgasm,” I said softly.
“I saw that,” he replied. “I’m pleased you enjoyed it.”
“I want you,” I murmured.
“All in good time,” he replied.
My fingers found his zip and pulled it down. I felt his penis straining against the fabric of his underwear, then moved my hand down to feel the bulge of his testicles underneath.
“Ooooh,” I sighed, imagining how good it was going to feel, when I felt his hands leave my breasts and slowly rub their way down the front of my body.
“You’ve got the body of a twenty-five-year-old,” he said as he rubbed the palms of his hands over my stomach. “No one would believe that you’d had two children.”
His hands drifted further down, his fingers sliding under the hem of my panties and fiddling with my pubic hair, then sliding down and under my crotch, his hand covering my slit, his fingers at the bottom, waiting to probe my vaginal entrance.
I squirmed and pushed my hips forward. I wanted to feel his fingers inside me, and I could feel my juices flowing, preparing my body for him.
But he didn’t. Instead, he pulled his hand out of my panties, then held me by my arms and gently turned me around to face him.
“Get on your knees,” he said, in a voice that brooked no argument.
I knew what he wanted. I dropped onto my knees in front of him, his crotch at the level of my head. I’d already opened his flies, but his trousers were still held up by his belt and his waistband. I loosened his belt and unbuttoned the waistband, then pulled down his trousers together with his Y-fronts.
“Oh, my,” I said as his genitals were revealed, “you are absolutely beautiful.”
And he was. His penis looked lovely. It was erect. The tip of his glans was showing, but most of it was covered by his foreskin, which had a small network of veins in it. There was a bubble of transparent precum at the entrance of his little slit.
I could see the shape of a large head beneath the delicate skin. It was larger than his penile shaft, which itself was thick and rough with bulging blood vessels. There was a large vein running from the base of his shaft until just below his glans, where it veered off down to the side.
I grasped his penis between thumb and forefinger, and pulled the skin back and forth, marvelling at the way his foreskin rolled on and off his glans.
I lifted it up so I could see underneath. His urethra was large, bulging out from the penile shaft. I imagined it twitching as semen was propelled up it. I ran my finger down over his urethra, then onto the folds of his hairy scrotum, gently touching his oval-shaped testes.
“Do I pass the test?” He asked.
“With flying colours. You undoubtedly have the most beautiful genitalia I’ve ever seen.”
“Better than your husband’s?”
“Oh, you men. So competitive. Yes, better than my husband’s. And bigger.”
I leaned forward and touched the tip of his glans with my tongue, licking off his precum. It was tasteless and slippery.
I pulled back his foreskin to reveal his purple glans. The skin was taut, giving it a smooth, shiny appearance. I ran my tongue around his glans, licking all over it, then circling his prominent corona. He tasted fresh and clean.
I lifted it up and held it alongside my cheek, brushing it across the skin of my face. I could feel it jerk as I did so, the muscle at the base of his shaft expanding as it tensed. A small dribble of precum slid down the side of my nose.
I fondled his testes with my other hand, marvelling at the thought that they were full of millions of sperm, wriggling around while they waited for an egg to fertilise.
I turned my head and licked up the underside of his shaft, all the way from the top of his wrinkled scrotum where it joined his penile shaft, up his bulging urethra, until I reached his frenulum. I felt a jerk as I flicked my tongue sideways across his frenulum, then up to tickle the twin mounds surrounding his slit. I was rewarded with a spurt of precum. It dribbled over my lips and down my chin, before hanging down in a silvery thread, swaying with my movements.
I looked upwards. His face was full of lust. His eyes hooded, his mouth half open. Still looking upwards, I pulled back slightly and, opening my mouth, pushed his penis onto my tongue, then started stroking his shaft, my thumb and forefinger curled around it.
“Oh, you dirty girl,” he said softly, “you’re such a slut.”
I could feel his foreskin moving back and forth on my tongue. Precum was flowing out of his slit and slithering towards the back of my tongue. I had to gulp and swallow it. The smell of sex was in my nostrils.
I could feel his arousal growing. His hips were moving back and forth, and his penis was jerking, but I kept my position, his penis resting on my tongue. I knew he would climax shortly, and I wanted him to see himself cum onto my tongue.
It wasn’t long before I felt his shaft swell and feel even harder. I lifted my hand slightly and curled my other fingers around it, squeezing it gently.
“Aaaaah,” he sighed.
It was only a few more strokes before I felt his shaft expand even more, and then his urethra bulge out, and a wad of semen jet out of his slit and hit the back of my throat. I gagged momentarily, then quickly swallowed before reopening my mouth, ready for the next jet to spray out and into my gullet. This time, I swallowed without closing my mouth, just using my throat muscles. His semen slithered down my throat, hot and pungent. It seemed to burn as it went down.
He ejaculated again, but this time I kept it in my mouth, swirling it around. It tasted quite pleasant. Musky and spicy.
He ejaculated again, but with less force. This time, I closed my mouth and sucked his glans, running my tongue all around to gather up his semen, before opening my mouth again and allowing it to dribble out and down my chin.
“Fucking hell,” he said, “you really are a dirty cumslut,” as his penis twitched on my tongue.
I gave a final swirl of my tongue around his glans, then stood up and leaned in to kiss him, my tongue forcing his lips apart and licking inside his mouth. He licked me back, sucking at my tongue, then probing my mouth with his. After a while, we broke our kiss.
“Shall we take a short break?” I asked.
“That depends on what you want to do next.”
“I want you to fuck me,” I replied.
“Language, my dear,” he said, smiling.
“Fuck the language,” I said. “I’m not a boring housewife. I’m a sexy, sensual woman who needs a good fuck with a man who knows how to do it.”
He smiled and took my hand.
“Let’s see how sturdy that bed is,” he said and led me over to the large bed which dominated the room.
“Take off my shirt,” he said.
I unbuttoned it and pushed it back and off his shoulders, then leaned forward and licked his nipples as he struggled to pull it off his arms. They were small and hard, with tiny areolae. Typical male nipples. Why on earth do they have them? They serve no purpose.
He finally got rid of his shirt and reached down to remove my suspender belt, unclipping my stockings and loosening the belt fastening. He dropped it on the floor.
“Sit down on the bed,” he said.
I sat down on the edge of the bed. He bent down and picked up my right leg, then rolled down my stocking and took it off, before doing the same with my left leg. I lay back on the bed while he was doing this, wondering what was next. I soon found out.
He grasped my ankles and pulled me forward until my backside was perched on the edge of the mattress. He leaned past me and grabbed a pillow, stuffing it under my backside so that my vulva was pointing upwards. Then he knelt down at the side of the bed and lifted my legs up and onto him, the backs of my thighs supported by his shoulders. His head was between my thighs, his face beaming at me.
“I think we’d better get rid of these,” he said, hooking his fingers into the hem of my panties and pulling them down. I braced my legs on his shoulders, lifting my hips so that he could pull down my panties. As he did so, I felt the gusset pull out from between my labia.
I lifted my legs, one at a time, so that he could pull my panties off completely. He put them to his nose.
“You smell good,” he said. “The nectar of desire.”
He dropped my panties on the floor, then leaned forward and licked my labia from the bottom of my slit to the top, his tongue flicking from side to side. I groaned as I felt them move, gripping the bedclothes. My labia seemed to get hot as he continued licking.
I felt his tongue slowly start to separate my labia, pushing them apart to expose the delicate pink flesh inside. He ran his tongue up and down, gently opening up my innermost recesses.
“Aaaah,” I sighed. “Oh, that feels lovely.”
I let go of the bedclothes and held his head gently.
He licked inside my slit for a long time, then moved slightly and sucked my labia between his lips, one at a time, his tongue flicking along the edge.
“Oh, Keith,” I cried, as I felt my juices flowing out of my vagina. “Oh dear.”
My vagina was tingling inside now. My clitoris itched madly.
As he continued to suck at my labia, I felt his fingers starting to probe my entrance, the gateway to the ultimate destination of my womb.
He ran his fingers around my opening, then slowly inserted them, tickling the walls of my canal until they found that sweet spot at the top.
“Yes,” I cried, “that’s it. Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. Instead, as he continued to tickle my vagina, he moved his mouth up my labia and flicked his tongue across my clitoris. I shrieked, but he ignored it and started licking around my clitoral shaft, pushing his tongue against the folds of skin.
I tried to pull his head closer to my groin. I wanted him to suck at my clitoris, to draw my nub out of its sheath, but he didn’t. He just continued to circle it with his tongue while he pressed his fingers on my G-spot.
It was heavenly. My clitoris was burning and hot. My vagina was gushing fluids. I was pumping my hips. My muscles were clenching and releasing, when suddenly I felt his lips suck on my clitoris, drawing it between them, and coaxing my nub to stand out from its fleshy surrounds. His tongue flicked over it, then pushed down and licked it.
My senses went wild. Flashes of light shot across my eyes. I went deaf to the outside world. All I could hear was the sound of my pulse. My skin became hypersensitive and tingled all over. All my muscles went into spasm.
The feeling was incredible. I held onto it for as long as I could, until I couldn’t.
“Aaaaargh,” I screamed, and suddenly let go. I felt a rush of liquid between my legs, as my muscles relaxed and a wave of relief spread through my body. But almost immediately, I tensed again, and the same sequence happened. Not just once, but three more times, until I was exhausted and my hips slumped back on the bed.
Keith moved his mouth off my now super-sensitive clitoris and licked at my entrance, sucking in my juices. I opened my eyes and pushed myself up to look at him. His face was covered with my fluids. So was the bed.
“Thank you,” I said, “that was really good.”
“You’re quite a squirter,” he said, “quite a messy girl.”
“Not usually. Take it as a token of your undoubted expertise,” I replied.
I liked this man. He was cultured, intelligent, witty, with a good sense of humour. He was also damn good with his tongue. I was looking forward to seeing what he could do with his penis. I didn’t have to wait long.
He stood up, my legs still on his shoulders, and leaned forward so I could take them off, then climbed over me and onto the bed to lie on his back. I turned towards him and saw that his penis had recovered and was once more erect, lying on his abdomen.
I sat up, then moved onto my knees and straddled him, my crotch just above his waiting member, then gently lowered myself down until my labia rested on his shaft. Still very wet and slippery from my recent orgasm, I started to slide back and forth along his hard shaft.
I could feel him twitch underneath me, especially when my labia rubbed his glans. He tried to move his hips and enter me, but I just pressed down so that he couldn’t get the right angle. As I did so, my labia parted and his urethra pressed against the inside of my slit. It felt damn good.
“So, big boy,” I said, sliding back and forth, “should I let you fuck me, or should I just massage your cock with my pussy?”
I watched his face contort as he struggled to appear calm, then leaned over and kissed him, then licked his lips, his nose, his eyes. He drew in his breath, and his penis twitched, then suddenly his hands were on my breasts and those talented fingers were playing with my nipples. Damn, it felt so good.
The next minute, he lifted his head and sucked at my nipples, raking them through his teeth. I groaned. I couldn’t help it. It felt so damn good.
He let go, leaving my nipples wet with his saliva.
“You like that, don’t you?” he said. “But it’s not enough. You want me to fuck you.”
“No, no,” I lied as I slid back and forth. “I don’t need you inside me. I’m going to make you cum like this.”
He smiled, his eyes dancing.
“You’re lying. Your pussy is flowing like a river. You want my cock in your cunt.”
It was a losing battle. I did want him inside me. I wanted to feel his penis push its way into me, penetrating my body and claiming it. I wanted to feel that special moment when my entrance muscle gave up its struggle, and his glans popped through to spread apart the walls of my vagina. To feel the hardness of his member stretching me while the softness of its skin tickled my nerves.
“Oh God, anything to keep you quiet,” I said. “I bet you climax in no time.”
“We’ll see,” he said, laughing, “but I think you’ll be squirting all over the bed long before my sperm are searching for your eggs.”
My stomach lurched at his words. They were so sexy, so arousing, even though I was on birth control. I lifted my hips and reached down to lift his penis upright and position it at the entrance of my vagina. I could feel it pushing open the tender flesh as I let myself sink down.
There was a momentary pause as his head encountered my entrance muscle. For some reason, I have quite an active muscle there, but I quickly used my weight to force it open, and his penis began its inexorable journey towards my cervix. It wasn’t long before my buttocks were on his groin and his penis was firmly lodged inside me.
It felt fantastic. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of a large, thick, firm penis inside the vagina. I’ve found that men who are slightly larger give me really special feelings. They touch parts inside me that smaller men don’t. That makes my vagina tingle, and little bursts of electricity shoot through my groin.
Keith’s penis did just that. I felt completely filled by him, his penis pressing against my inner walls, his glans twitching against my cervix.
I flexed my pelvic muscles, contracting my vagina around his shaft. I felt a ripple around his shaft. He groaned. I did it again and felt his hips push up. I reached behind me and felt for his testicles. They were loose in his sack, but felt quite hard.
I fondled them gently while I squeezed my muscles. He groaned again, and his penis twitched. I felt myself getting wetter.
“You’ve got an amazing cunt,” he said softly. “I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s so soft and warm, and so alive.”
“I told you I’d make you climax quickly,” I said, smiling at him.
“Oh, I’m not sure about that. It’s not that long since I came.”
“Are you sure about that?” I said, clenching my muscles again and feeling him jerk.
“Oh, fuck,” he sighed, “that feels incredible. How do you do it?”
“Years of practice with my Kegels. Having children plays havoc with your body. Everything is stretched, and your muscles go soft. You have to work hard at getting everything back, but when you do, the side benefits are enormous.”
I squeezed again, then started moving up and down, feeling his penis glide along my canal. It felt really good. The corona of his large head scraped the walls of my vagina, sending little messages to my nerves. I felt my insides getting more slippery. Whether that was him or me, I didn’t know, and I didn’t care.
Everything was itching madly inside me, when I felt his fingers on my clitoris. A shock ran through my groin, and I gasped.
“You like that?” he asked. “Are you going to cum on my cock like you came in my mouth?”
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I was struggling too much to control myself. I wanted him to cum, but he wasn’t going to. He was going to send me to a crashing orgasm first, with his beautiful, fat penis, but I didn’t want it this way. I needed him desperately, but I wanted him to take control, to dominate me. I lifted myself off his cock and knelt between his legs.
“I can’t do it,” I said, in a low voice, terrified of my words, “not like this. I need you to take me, to use me, to fuck me, to fill me with your semen. I’m yours. My body’s yours. My tits are yours. My cunt is yours.”
I hadn’t felt like this for years, not since the man who seduced me into my life of cheating. Now I wanted this man, this consummate gentleman, to do the same. To cast aside his gentility and fuck the life out of me, to turn me into his sex-slave.
He looked at me, then sat up.
“Turn around and stay on your knees,” he said curtly.
I turned around and put my head on the bed and waited. The next thing I knew, I felt his penis at my vaginal entrance, then, without warning, he rammed it in until it hit my cervix, and started thrusting in and out. Long, hard strokes, quite fast.
“Ah,” I cried with the initial entrance, and then again as he hit my cervix. But he didn’t stop. He held my hips and pounded his penis in and out of me.
“Oh, God,” I cried, “oh, yes, fuck me. God, I love your cock.”
And I did. His penis, no, his cock, felt so good. I don’t know why, but it did.
I wiggled my hips, rotating them around his movements, so that his cock rubbed against different parts inside me. My heavy breasts bounced back and forth with the force of his thrusts.
I looked down my body and saw his hairy balls swinging back and forth. I wondered how it would feel when he ejaculated. With some men, it’s hardly noticeable, while with others it’s like having a hose spraying inside you. You can feel the semen splattering against your walls.
He fucked me like that for ages, his cock ravaging my pussy. My body got into his rhythm, matching his thrusts. My vagina tingled with pleasure, as did my clitoris. I was in seventh heaven.
Slowly, I felt myself climbing the mountain of pleasure. My skin became hyper-sensitive, my breathing heavy and loud. I was grunting with each thrust and backing my buttocks against him. I was fast approaching that time when control disappears. He noticed the change in my response.
“Cum for me, you sexy bitch,” he growled, “I want to feel your cunt spasming around my cock.”
He put his hand around my waist and pressed on my clitoris, making it drag along the top of his shaft.
“Oh, fuck,” I cried, “oh God. Oh, yes. Oh. Oh. Oh.”
My stomach churned, and my mind went blank. I clutched at the bedclothes, bunching them up in my fist. I could feel my toes starting to curl as all my muscles clenched. My thighs started to shake uncontrollably, and intense feelings of pleasure swirled through my body.
I cried out. A shout of intense joy, then started babbling incoherently. Keith told me later that most of it was absolute nonsense.
Eventually, I came back to the real world. My muscles relaxed, and my shaking stopped. Keith was still inside me, but not moving. Then, for some reason, I started to cry.
“Jane, what’s the matter?” Keith asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, tears streaming down my cheeks. “That was so intense and prolonged, it just made me cry.”
“Would you like to stop? We’ve been at it for more than an hour.”
“Have you cum?”
“No.”
“Then you’d better carry on, but not like this. I need to look at you, to be close to you.”
“Of course,” he said, and pulled out of me.
I got off my knees and lay on my back, my legs around the man on his knees in front of me. The bed felt wet and slimy, but I ignored it. I looked up at him. His face was gentle and concerned. It seemed at odds with the almost obscene sight of the throbbing penis sticking out in front of him, dripping with fluids.
“Make love to me, Keith. Don’t fuck me, make love to me. Be gentle. Everything’s sensitive right now.”
“Oh, Jane, of course I’ll be careful,” he replied. He moved forward and lowered himself onto my body, his groin over mine, his chest against mine.
I pulled my legs towards me, raising my knees, my feet flat on the bed, then spread my legs wider. I reached down between us and grasped his penis. It was wet and slippery. I rubbed it up and down between my labia, then settled its head at my entrance and pulled it slowly towards me. As it slid into me, I felt him push gently.
My vagina was stinging as I felt him go deeper inside me, until I felt him nudge my cervix. He stopped and waited, allowing me to adjust, then started moving again, gently with small strokes.
“Is that alright?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said, “it hurts a little, but I suppose it’s OK.”
“Just relax. It’ll get better.”
And it did. The edge of pain disappeared, and I started to enjoy the feelings centred around my vagina. He kissed me gently as our bodies moved together, brushing his lips against mine. His chest bore down on my breasts, squashing them.
I ran my hands up and down his sides, then let them rest on his buttocks, feeling his gluteal muscles ripple as his buttocks rose and fell.
I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist, locking my ankles together and resting my feet on his lower back. My hands gripped his shoulders.
“Oh, Keith,” I murmured into his mouth. I nearly said ‘I love you’, but managed to stop myself.
We moved together in almost perfect harmony, our bodies seemingly a single entity. The pain of his initial entry had long gone, to be replaced by a growing urgency. I gripped his buttocks and tried to pull him deeper as I thrust my hips up in contrast to his movements.
“Oh God, Keith, fuck me,” I cried out as I felt that wonderful feeling starting to form deep inside my vagina, spreading out into my groin.
That was enough to send him over the edge. His rhythm changed, and his thrusts became more urgent. He paused at the end of each stroke, his cock jerking. He was going to climax soon.
Then suddenly he gave a huge thrust and held still, deep inside me, his cockhead nestling in my fornix. His glans seemed to swell to an even larger size, and I could feel his urethra expand as a wad of semen surged up it and shot into my vagina like a cannonball.
I clenched my pelvic muscle as I felt his sperm splattering against my cervix and my vaginal walls. I could swear that I heard the noise, but perhaps that was just in my imagination. I could certainly feel it. I could also feel the warm fluid spreading throughout my vaginal canal, coating everything with its slimy consistency.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I shouted, my head moving from side to side as I felt his ejaculation.
He grunted, drew back until he was almost out of me, then plunged in again and held still as he sprayed another jet of semen inside me. He followed this with a third, much smaller ejaculation, after which his body slumped against mine as he relaxed.
We lay together for several minutes, after which I started to feel quite squashed and uncomfortable. I pushed up his shoulders, and he raised himself.
“I think you need to pull out,” I said. “You’re starting to feel very heavy.”
“Must I?” he asked. “It feels so good inside your cunt.”
“Yes, you must,” I replied.
He lifted himself up and started to pull out his penis, my labia clinging to it as though they didn’t want to let him go. His glans emerged, cum dripping from its slit. I reached down and fondled it.
My vagina suddenly felt very empty, and I wondered whether I’d done the right thing.
He lay down on his side facing me. I turned on my side to face him. We both reached out and touched each other, our hands wandering over the other’s bodies.
“You’re a lovely man,” I said, “and you’re also a fantastic lover. I think I’ve been in a state of constant orgasm. I’ve felt things that I’ve not felt before.”
“I can say the same thing,” he replied, “we’re very good together. It’s your cunt, it’s the most amazing cunt I’ve ever felt. It’s sublime.”
I didn’t respond, but I felt very good inside.
“Did you mean what you said when you came?” he asked.
“Oh, God. What did I say?” I asked.
He laughed. “Nothing, really. I’m just teasing. You were babbling incoherently.”
“You miserable shit,” I said, giving him a playful slap.
“Would you like me to fuck you again?”
“Shit, no. As it is, I’m going to be walking bow-legged out of here.”
“No, I mean another time.”
‘Of course I do,’ I thought, ‘I’d like you to fuck me every day, but we can’t. I’m married.’
“Let’s see,” I responded instead. “I’ve had an unbelievably good time. So good that I’m worried that repeating it might make life complicated.”
“Ah. I understand. But I bet you won’t resist. You’ll call me in a few days’ time.”
“You’re very sure of yourself. One might say cocksure,” I replied with a smile.
“Jane, you and I both know that this was the best fuck either of us has ever had. You’ll want to repeat it, as will I.”
He was right, of course. I would want him again, regardless of the danger. I’d just have to be careful.
“I’d better get dressed,” I said. “My husband will be wondering when I’m going to get back home.”
“I wonder if he suspects anything.”
“I don’t think so. He’s never given any indication.”
“It must feel strange being with him when another man’s semen is slowly oozing out of your cunt.”
“Oh, I’ll have a shower as soon as I get home. I don’t want him to smell you on my skin.”
“Very wise.”
We both got off the bed and gathered up our clothes.
“Have you seen my panties?” I asked. “I thought they were on the floor.”
“They’re here,” he replied, holding them up, “but I’m keeping them.”
“Oh, no, Keith. You can’t do that. Your semen will seep out of me and go everywhere.”
“I’m sure you’ll cope.”
“You’re a bastard. But a sexy one,” I replied, punching him lightly.
“If I remember, I might bring them next time.”
“If there’s a next time.”
“Oh, there will be. You won’t last more than a few days.”
I didn’t reply. That would only egg him on.
“My god, this bed’s a mess. Just look at it. It’s covered in semen and other bodily fluids,” I said, changing the conversation. “I’m embarrassed.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he replied. “I’m sure the staff are used to it.”
He walked to the door and held it open. I stepped out into the corridor and waited for him to close the door, then took his hand as we walked together to the lift. It came fairly quickly. We went inside, saying hello to the couple who were already there, and stood facing each other.
I put a hand to his cheek, then reached up and kissed him. As I did so, I felt a dribble down my inner thigh.
“You’re coming out of me,” I whispered into his ear.
He grinned.
The lift arrived at the hotel lobby. We exited and went to the hotel entrance. There were a number of taxis waiting outside.
“What’s your address?” he asked.
I told him, and he told the first driver, then gave him some cash.
“He’ll take you home,” he said, turning to me and opening the cab door. “There’s nothing for you to pay. I’ve already paid him.”
“Thank you, Keith, and thank you for a lovely and unforgettable evening. I haven’t enjoyed myself as much in years.”
“It was my pleasure,” he replied, “and I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
He leaned forward and whispered into my ear: “Don’t have a shower when you get home. Keep my smell on your body, my sperm in your pussy.”
“Shut up, you lecherous man,” I said, and got into the taxi. I pulled my skirt right down before sitting on the seat, so that I didn’t leak onto the leather. He closed the door, and the taxi moved off.
As we drove to my home, I thought of all that had happened. It had been a wonderful evening and, as I relived the experience, I felt my body tingle. I decided then that I would definitely call him soon. He was both a charming gentleman and an exquisite lover who knew how to make a woman feel special.
I wanted more of him, to feel his hands on my body, his cock in my vagina, his semen in my uterus, and I was damn well going to make sure it happened. In the meantime, I would go to bed with my husband and allow him to unknowingly reclaim my body, his penis inside me, coated with my lover’s cum.
