Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy

Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy | You park in the farthest back corner of the hotel lot, against a side curb, under a tree. Since you’re going to be here a couple of hours, you recline the seat all the way and turn on the radio.

It’s a slow-moving game. The bottom of the sixth is just ending. The home team has failed to score, and still trail by two. 10:09. The minutes drip by.

You wonder what your wife and her date are up to. Has she removed her blouse and short skirt? Is he holding her, and kissing her scented hair? Is he feeling her up? Kneading the firm flesh of her beautiful ass? Now that money is coming in again she’s joined a health club.

*************
erotic story, Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy, brunette fucked hard

Her body is sleek and toned. She’s in the best shape of her life. Well. since she was a cheerleader in college. Not a cheerleader—one of those less athletic, tall, hot, beautiful girls with long hair who dance in formation on the sidelines.

Or at mid-court during timeouts. That was where you first saw her, through a friend’s binoculars. It was love at first sight. For you anyway. When she told you, candidly, that she was dating other guys, and sleeping with them, you said no problem, you’d wait for her.

You’re still waiting. You doze off. It’s late for you. You’ve been up since four a. m. Old habits, from back in the day when your shift started at six.

Before you lost your job during the latest, greatest Great Recession. That was over a year ago. Your wife lost her job too. But now she’s discovered a new calling.

And a lucrative one. Now she’s the family’s bread-winner. You, well, you help out where you can. The first thing to startle you awake is the radio announcer shouting that so-and-so has just hit a walk-off home run.

You fail to catch the name. Home team wins! You shut the ignition off. You awake a second time when a car parks a few places over. Who the hell is parking this far from the hotel entrance! You’re afraid it’s security.

Porn Story Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy

You raise up and peer through the bottom of the tinted driver’s window. But it’s just some guy with a travel bag heading to his room for the night.

Maybe he’s worried about the doors of his Jag getting dented. The third time makes you jump. It’s your phone, which you’ve placed on the passenger’s seat, beeping a new text.

The dashboard clock says 12:05. She’s late! You wipe the sleep saliva from the corner of your mouth and stare blearily at the phone. The text says: b down in 5 You jerk the seat up and start the engine.

You were just dreaming, you realize, that the battery was dead. Car wouldn’t start. a wide expanse of asphalt, or dark sand, separated you from your wife. You could barely make her out.

She was up to her chin in churning water. Drowning. Car wouldn’t start. You put the shifter into Drive but then slam it back into Park. Relax, you tell yourself.

The worst thing you can do is pull up to the hotel entrance three minutes before your wife emerges. How obvious can you get! You imagine your wife getting dressed in the hotel room bathroom.

First she wipes herself clean. Then pulls on her black panty and bra. Then her blouse, then her skirt. Then she works her slender feet into her heels. They’re new.

Black. After sending you the text she freshens up her bright-red lipstick. Then she emerges to collect her fee and bid her date goodnight. Where do I put this? he asks.

She smiles. She pulls push-up bra and the vee of her blouse out. He peers inside as if he hasn’t seen all this—and far more—before. He tucks the wad in her bra.

Two hundred dollars. Ten twenties. Fresh from cash machine two hours before she arrived. She thanks him and kisses him juicily on the right cheek. He gets in one last feel.

Soft flesh and crisp money, all in one parting grope. I should be back in town in a couple of weeks, he says. Text me. You got it, babe.

As she leaves his room he thinks: Fuck! she’s hot! Worth every penny. You time your arrival perfectly. She’s just crossing the hotel lobby as you pull up. The doors open automatically for her.

You lean across and open the passenger door. She looks hot all right. Wonderfully leggy in that short skirt. The vee of her blouse baring a few inches of cleavage.

But a call-girl? Is it obvious? Suspicious-looking, maybe. She slams the door. You step on the gas, getaway complete. You glance at her lovely profile. Her silhouette in the dark.

How’d it go? you ask. As is her custom, she extracts the cash from her bra (or sometimes a garter, or her purse) and tosses it in your lap.

Invariably it makes you jump. Will you not do that, please. She laughs. He was ok, she says. He’s a semi-regular. I’ve dated him a few times before. Dated.

Some euphemism. This ends the discussion about the night’s activities, however. You’d love to ask her more. In fact, you’re getting a boner in your lapful of twenties just thinking about the questions you’re not allowed to ask.

Did he wear a condom? Did he cum in you? How many times? And where? Your mouth? Your vagina? Up your ass? All three? Is he kinky? Does he like to be tied up? And spanked? Whipped? Does he like to spank you? Does he have fetishes? Does he like to dress up in your— Money makes you hard, darling? she says sarcastically, plucking the bills from your lap.

I’m glad something does. You make me hard, you reply. She jogs the bills on her left thigh, refolds them and stuffs the wad inside her little purse. Along with condoms, lube and a tube or two of lipstick.

This is bullshit, she says, out of the blue. I’m gonna start charging two-fifty. Two-fifty for two hours? she says, glancing at you. I’m worth it. And I can get it, too.

Guys like this tonight? She makes a noise with her lips. Not a whistle exactly. More like a whosh. It’s nearly half past midnight by the time you arrive home.

Your wife’s work may be over for the night but yours is just beginning. It starts with you pouring her a glass of chilled white wine. While she unwinds, perched on a kitchen barstool with crossed bare thighs and bare feet, you go in the master bathroom and run her a warm bath, scenting it with a few drops of bath oil.

She hands you her empty wine glass upon arrival. It’s your job to return to the kitchen and refill it. By the time you return her discarded clothes are in a pile in the middle of the tile floor, and she’s stretched out naked in the tub.

Cause for another boner. Did you get my shoes? she asks. Oh. Another trip to the kitchen. Time to sort out the clothes. The short black skirt you hang in the closet.

Her silky blouse will go to the dry cleaners—now that you can once again afford dry cleaning. If you, at the ripply, under-water sight of your wife’s naked body, weren’t already hard, this next task would make you so.

You plug the sink, pour in some Woolite and run cold water until sink is nearly full. Her padded bra you douse gently a few times before setting it aside, on a face towel.

Her matching black panty. The crotch is damp—and not from your wet hands. You take advantage of her closed eyes and upturned chin, as she drains her glass of chardonnay, to sniff the crotch.

Movie Novel Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy Sex Story

It isn’t pee. So now you know: he came in her. He came in her vagina. Just as you’re cuming a little—a spreading drop—in the top front of your own briefs.

You knead the soiled panty in the Woolite water for several minutes, then rinse it and wring it dry. Then you hang bra and panty from the doorframe of the shower entrance, from where they will drip onto the bath mat.

When she tells you the water’s getting cold, or that she’s turning pruny, you go and get her a bath towel from the linen closet. You drape it over her shoulders, from the back, but she dries her own body off.

While she removes her makeup and brushes her teeth you drain the tub and wipe down the sides with a cloth, so a ring doesn’t form. a man on his knees, she often says at this point, with a mouthful of toothbrush.

It’s a lovely sight. You wait for her at the side of your—her—queen-sized bed, boner showing. You long to touch it, to stroke it, but that will have to wait.

Still naked, and warmly moist from the soak, your wife lies down on her belly in bed’s center. Fully dressed, you straddle her body at the thighs and begin her massage.

Starting at the neck, and shoulders, you work your way down. Mm, she says. What’s this? What? As you shift downwards to begin massaging her thighs, and sculpted calves, you discover the beginnings of a bruise on the outside of her right thigh.

How did this happen? you ask. What is it? a bruise. Oh, she says without concern, putting her head back down on the pillow. Things got a little rough.

He may’ve kneed me at one point. What are you doing? Kissing it. Aw. You’re sweet. Sweet enough to let me jack off on you tonight? No. How long since you masturbated? I don’t know.
Video Novel Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy

  • This morning before I got up? Definitely not, then. Finish massaging my feet please? Sometimes—though rarely—she lets you jack off on her back, or ass. Or even more rarely, after she rolls over, her breasts.
  • Pure protein. Claims it’s good for the skin. But even if she’s in the mood your wife isn’t about to let you masturbate on her if all you’ve got to spill is a small load.
  • If you can honestly say to her you’ve gone three or four days, or even a long two, you’ve got a fighting chance. You masturbate too much, she’ll often say.
  • Adding, with a smile, It’ll make you go insane. I am insane, you reply. I can’t stop thinking about you. Huh! Thinking about me in bed with one of my customers.
  • I know how your perverted mind works. She has you there. You’ve been sharing your cuckold fantasies with her, during foreplay, since year one of your marriage. Hell, she’d sized you up long before that in college.
  • That first day you nervously approached her on the quadrangle. I’m going to have to get you a chastity belt. I was looking at one online the other day.
  • Make you go two weeks without cuming. Then you can explode on me. That would be torture, you say. I’d be bouncing off the walls. That’s the whole idea.
  • Anyway, getting to cum on your wife’s sleek flesh is a good news/bad news proposition. The good news, obviously, is that you get to release your pent-up load in a spectacularly visual, erotic fashion.
  • Like watching a porn flick while simultaneously starring in it. And without the worry of. Did I satisfy her? Did she cum? But the bad news is your wife then expects you to massage your own semen into her skin.

Something you find, by this stage, highly unappealing. Disgusting even. It’s a little like a woman expecting you to engage in messy after-play immediately following intercourse. When, after all, all you want to do is turn on the ballgame.

Goodnight, she says abruptly, declaring tonight’s head to toe massage officially over. Can I— No. Goodnight. Yes, dear, you reply reluctantly, backing off her bed with a still-throbbing boner arcing in the front of your pants.

You know the drill. You go in the bathroom and transfer her panty and bra from the shower frame to the drying bar mounted on the wall above the sunken tub.

You turn out the bathroom light. Goodnight, sweetheart, you say as you extinguish the bedroom light, and start to close the door. She speaks. You turn the light back on.

What? I said. , she says, lifting up on her elbows, her c-cups sagging down, you could do this. Do what? What I do? Hunh? She gives her dark hair a shake.

You could go on Deanslist, she says, and hook up with some guys and do what I do. We could theoretically double our income. I’ve been thinking about it.

You’re suggesting. ? You become a call-boy? she says, finishing your sentence. Is that a term? You have a decent body. Slender, the ways guys like ’em. And if you got a membership at the gym, like me.

You stand there smiling, in disbelief, and shaking your head. You don’t understand, you say, it’s different with guys. Women. the only women on Deanslist are prostitutes. Excuse the expression.

I’m on Deanslist. Exactly, you say to yourself. Guys. , you continue. Guys are much more open, and explicit. They have no problem openly hooking up with each other.

Erotic Story Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy

They don’t need. , pausing to avoid the p-word, call-boys. Or whatever they’re called. Your wife, still up on one elbow, rakes her right hand through her thick hair.

Yeah but you’re good at cleaning house. Doing chores. Following a honey-do list. I see ads on there all the time by men looking for male house-cleaners. Or housemaids.

We could get out your little Halloween outfit! she adds, perkily. And they’re willing to pay for it. Sex, you say, warily. Well they’re not really looking to pay you just to see your bare ass in an apron, are they? You could do it in your spare time, seeing how you have so much of it.

Your wife plops her head back down on the pillow, dismissively. It’s something to think about. Goodnight. But I— Goodnight. You turn out the light and close the bedroom door.

From the outside. Why does she have to fuck with my head like this, you wonder. Your erection has flagged. But only a little. You enter the spare bedroom, your bedroom, and turn on the bedtable lamp.

You draw the heavy drapes to. Not that any of your neighbors are up at this hour. You quickly undress. Down to your bikini briefs. Actually they once belonged to your wife.

It’s one of her discards. Laceless, and aside from the narrowness of the crotch, they could pass for a men’s pair. You can’t tell by looking but the black vee-front is wet.

Sticky. You pull them down, toss ’em aside. a greater prize awaits. Under your pillow is a more recent acquisition. Fresh—well, relatively fresh—from Victoria’s secret. These have a lace waistband.

And the microfiber feels like silk. At twenty bucks a panty, it should. You wrap the pink dream around your cock, which is pulsing in midair, with each heartbeat, and begin stroking yourself.

The feel is heavenly. It lasts only briefly, however, as is your want. Within seconds the dream goes creamy and your hand—the grasping palm—goes wet. The only sound you make—You masturbate too much! —a muted, concluding Oh! More out of relief than anything else.

The waiting at last over. The near-pain of it. You wrap the stolen panties in tissues and hide it in the bed table drawer. Tomorrow morning you’ll have to wash it out in the kitchen sink before your wife gets up—she usually sleeps until noon, thankfully—then hang it to secretly dry in your bedroom closet.

You climb naked into bed. Another sigh, post orgasm. The bedside clock says 1:14. In less than three hours the alarm will go off waking you to get ready for the job you no longer have.

Well, there’s always the snooze button. You wonder if your wife has a date tomorrow night. You forgot to ask her. You hope so. It’s another two hundred bucks in the till.

Soon to be two-fifty. And what was all that nonsense tonight about you playing housemaid for other men? Gay men presumably? For money? It’s been years since you any sort of same-sex relations.

You wouldn’t know where to begin. Well, you would but. After sleep overcomes you, finally, you dream that you’re out at the edge of someone’s very green front lawn pushing a lawnmower.

The mower has wheels like a grocery cart. One is balky, of course. It’s a struggle. And whose lawn is this anyway? People are driving by, pointing at you.

Laughing. Your wife drives by in a strange car. Her john is in the passenger’s seat. They’re both laughing. You try to call out to her but the words won’t come.

Or the mower’s engine drowns them out. You realize, latently, that you’re wearing a pink maid’s outfit with black stockings. Otherwise your feet are bare, and caked with brown mud.

Or are they muddy boots? You’re wearing a wig. It’s blonde. This is the outfit your wife made you wear to that Halloween party a few years’ back, when times were good! Well, sort of.

Now you’re on a riding mower. The mower is out of control. You’re whizzing along at go-kart speed. a man is seated behind you. It’s a riding mower for two.

The understanding is: it’s his mower. His yard. His house. You are his employee. His three-hour slave. His thick arms encircle you. He’s naked. You’re naked. He has a big barrel chest.

He’s hairy. His penis is inside you. You’re pretty sure. You can feel it. It’s in you like a worm. Like a worming finger. The position is impossible—but not in this dream.

You’re pretty sure he’s just cum in you. You can feel it. On the seat. What a mess! What will people think? People—neighbors—are standing on the sidewalk, looking. Pointing.

They’re no longer laughing. One of them may be your wife, disguised in a blonde wig. Why? Over the engine noise you think you hear one of them say the police are on the way.

Indecent exposure someone else says. Something like that. You panic. Want to get off. But you’re trapped. As long as the hairy man’s penis is inside you. You’re his naked slave, after all.

The alarm rescues you. Four a. m. You hit the snooze. Time to go back to sleep.

*************
video tube sex, Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy, daughter anal sex

Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy, and sex story, threesome sex wife, erotic story, Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy 2017, incest sex, brt igj, Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy, massage teen big boobs, and anal sex MILF, exhibitionist sexy teen, amateur sex, Japanese teen groped, and Whore Wife And Cuckold Husband Fantasy, threesome sex wife

By continuing to use the site, you agree to the use of cookies. more information

The cookie settings on this website are set to "allow cookies" to give you the best browsing experience possible. If you continue to use this website without changing your cookie settings or you click "Accept" below then you are consenting to this.

Close