How a bitch fucks when she approaches the stop

How a bitch fucks when she approaches the stop

My wife is a stunning, gorgeous brunette. She is at once the most genuine and endearing sweetheart you will ever meet, and a sexual force that washes through me like a hot, chaotic wind. The epicenter of a family one never wants to leave, I have the kind a partner in life that a man would want brag to the world about, but decides to leave unsaid because it makes it all the better. So you ask: why would I share her with another man? What follows is my answer to that seemingly simple question. One may decide to read this at arms length and enjoy as a voyeur, or perhaps find it helpful inspiration to do something only discussed coyly in hushed voices even when no one was around. To begin, let me describe my wife, whom I’ll call “Amanda.” A product of an Irish Catholic family, she is the kind of girl you want to bring home to your mother (and I did). Amanda grew up in the shadow of four older siblings, and was told she was the “looks” of the family. While certainly true, time has proven she is perhaps the most intelligent of the bunch. She was married once before, and as dysfunctional as that arrangement was, it changed her for the better in ways only adversity does. Through the travails of that stormy relationship, Amanda gradually blossomed into a corporate rock star. Leveraging her ability to build partnerships, along with her resourcefulness and ingenuity, she created professional opportunities for herself and never looked back. I’m guessing her siblings look at her from afar and say, “Wow, our little sister is all grown up.” That’s right, she has. Perhaps the most stunning transformation was in a sexual sense. When we first met, I saw Amanda as a sweet, innocent and caring soul. Although she was absolutely stunning physically (more on that later), there was an introspective side to her. I spent hours through email asking her questions, delving into her past, trying to understand her at the most basic level. I was utterly fascinated by her story. I knew, however, there was a sexual being deep inside -- someone who was locked up through years of oppression and convention. And while it was never my intent to “set her free,” I have learned through years of trust, bonding and mutual respect, that the most incredible sexual being will emerge. Fortunately for me, that being is my wife. So I suppose I should describe my wife physically, because as vapid as it may seem, I feel compelled to paint the picture. Trust me, later on you will appreciate this description. Amanda has just turned fifty, and has a mature allure that younger men yearn for, and older men understand. She has short brunette hair, a smile that will disarm the most hard-hearted of men, and big, brown eyes that will draw you in like the most addictive of opiates. And those wonderful, womanly curves. My particular favorite is the area between her upper thigh to her midsection -- that inviting hand-drawn indentation that would make a Bezier tool jealous. Her legs are simply gorgeous. Thick, pleasing thighs and muscular calves make quite a statement in high heels and a skirt. In fact, she is at her absolute sexiest when she goes to church. I can’t even get into those fantasies. Now that you have some background on my wife, and can appreciate why she is so amazing, maybe you’re beginning to understand why sharing her with another man is so thrilling to think about. Or maybe you’re still wondering. *** Let’s table the musings for a moment and let me offer a glimpse into our intimate life. Making love to Amanda is something that happens well beyond the bedroom. A locking gaze lets each other know we still find one another irresistible. A slight wink is a subtle punctuation to those feelings of mutual desire. I think about Amanda in a sexual context often, playing out scenarios and fantasies, constructing erotic storylines in which she is the protagonist. I am able to do this because she is so willing and open to talk about these things, and doesn’t think I’m any less of a partner. Like many couples, we’ve explored the usual fantasies, even if just as light pillow talk. Sex in a public place, involving other people, celebrities (lord help us if we ever bump into L.L. Cool J) and any number of other scenarios. While the conversation was mostly light, erotic fun, my wife is adventuresome enough to talk a bit more seriously about the possibilities. One fantasy in particular really reached down inside me and planted like a stubborn seed. Maybe it’s because I’m in my late forties, or maybe it’s because I love my wife so much and trust her, but the thought of including another man in a sexual encounter is what I most want to do. I mention my age is because I wonder if younger men are less open to this arrangement as they are still trying to prove their manhood. After all, the male competition is fierce at this age, and coupled with the normal insecurities of facing the inevitable crush of responsibilities of adulthood, the furthest thing from his mind is sharing his partner. In any case, I believe this fantasy -- this need -- is that of an older, established man who is married to a trusted partner in life. So when I broached the topic to Amanda, I was anxious to hear her perspective. Even though we had a pretty open discussions around these topics, I was pleasantly surprised by her answer. “Yeah, I think it would hot!” came the cheerful reply. Exploring this possibility a bit more, and pressing her for assurance that she would consider such an arrangement as much for her pleasure as mine, she asked why I felt this way. Secretly, I loved the question. It demonstrated that while she wanted to explore this with me, she also wanted to understand my motivations. “Well, “ I explained, “there is some sexual thrill on a number of levels.” I proceeded to deconstruct the fantasy a bit, from the emotional to the physical. First, I explained, there is an emotional force at work. If this wholesome and upstanding woman could have the opportunity to fuck another man, devoid of guilt or fear, how cool would that be? If I could finally repay all the wonderful moments by arranging this amazing experience, how fun would that be? There was something emotionally potent about the very thought of Amanda fucking another man. Second, there is the physical. The sights and sounds of my loving wife having sex with another man would be so hot. I can only imagine what my gorgeous Amanda would look like sucking a hard cock, or laying back taking him into her wet pussy or perhaps on all fours thrusting back on him. I have masturbated many times to these very visualizations. Lastly, there is the sexual journey, or “road trip” as I call it. It’s really cool to talk about all these fantasies, but to actualize some of them? Well, that’s just fucking hot. It’s like talking about visiting Paris, or Milan, or Mars, but never going. Sometimes, you just gotta pack your bags. Her response indicated she knew where I was coming from. “Well, set something up, dude!” The use of ‘dude’ punctuated her encouragement, and provided some levity. With her approval, and with confident ambition, I was ready to set out on a search for a suitor. I was sure the world was teeming with hot, available men who had a high emotional IQ and literacy rate. *** So finding a qualified candidate was sure to be a piece of cake. After all, I had read “Penthouse Forum” and “Hustler Letters” growing up. Those factual accounts recalled the ease and convenience with which suitable partners came out of the woodwork. It was as if the authors of these letters drove up to some “fantasy drive through” and simply ordered a stud muffin with cheese. I didn’t wanted to look too close to home, or consider someone we knew, for all the obvious reasons. Besides, I’m not sure how I would even start that conversation (“So… hey man, if you’re not doing anything Saturday night, would you like to fuck my wife?”) Nah, that wasn’t going to work. The obvious thing to do was to turn to the Internet for help. I quickly dismissed the idea of services like Craig’s List, or any swinger listings and I wasn’t about to answer some random ad posted by “Big John Stud.” No, my wife deserved a hot, educated guy who was a good lay. I found a few sites that listed plenty of hot guys, but they all catered to the gay market. Apparently, gay guys fuck a lot. And pay for it. And pay for it, I thought. The thought of paying for sex had never entered my mind, but it made sense. Amanda and I could tailor the experience to our specifications, without worry of ego, preferences or -- to be blunt -- their “feelings.” Who gives a fuck? This ain’t no love connection, homeboy. We’re paying you for your looks, body and hard dick -- nothing else. But… let’s talk about that. No, this isn’t romance, but in discussing the matter with Amanda, we were looking for more than just a human dildo. We required a little gray matter as well as get hard on command. So, when I proposed a “hired gun,” to my surprise she was in. Plus, it narrowed my search down to hot guys who would do what we told him to do. For money. With renewed confidence, I began to scour online for hot guys who required a fee for their services. How hard could this be? I thought. Shit, paying a guy to be with my sexy wife -- they would line up! But alas, there are a million male escorts out there who are more interested in serving the gay market. I guess bending over for some old, fat C-level exec of a financial institution beats working for a living. No thanks, I’ll take the daily grind. Over time, my frustration grew along with my intimate knowledge of homosexual acronyms as I searched for the right partner. Eventually, using the search term “straight male escort,” I stumbled upon a guy with some potential, and checked out his website. His name was Slate, and he was living in Toronto. I’m sure his name wasn’t really “Slate,” but it sounded a lot more manly and erotic than “Bob” or “Clifford.” Originally from upstate New York, he was thirty-seven, a former fitness instructor and was in Toronto for the next year to get a license in physical therapy. He also volunteered for an organization that reunited returning war vets with their service dogs. From what I could tell from the website, he seemed educated, intelligent and articulate. The tone of his website was sincere, but at times whimsical and irreverent. From a guy’s perspective, he seemed to be a “man’s man.” He had a few photos posted too, mostly classy shots in a suit or tuxedo, probably escorting some GILF to a bridge game or something. According to the “Stats” section of the site, he was 6’ 2”, 220 pounds, wavy brown hair, hazel eyes and an athletic build, with an extra pound or two. The few less formal photos confirmed this description, one with his shirt off at the beach. While he was no L.L. Cool J, he was a really good candidate. So, I sent him an email. I mentioned we were hard-working professionals, and very much in love. Without being specific or graphic, I described an “arranged date” for my wife in which she would enjoy the company of an attractive man, and that it would progress “as necessary.” Hitting the send button, I hoped I might hear something from him soon. I’m impatient, so if something doesn’t happen instantly, I’m officially annoyed. Three weeks went by. During this time, I had reached out to a few other guys. Most were monosyllabic meatheads who could only manage terse responses like, “Sure, name time and place,” or some who insisted on PayPal deposits before proceeding. One “dick” even offered the ultimate cuckold experience in which he would pound my wife while humiliating me. Oh cool! Name your price, Raging Bull! Finally, Slate responded to my inquiry. Scott, so sorry for the delay. I was in North Carolina at an event for veterans and I just got back last night. Thanks for your interest! You and your wife sound like a fun couple, and I’m honored you would consider me to fulfill your fantasies. In his response, he went on to describe how he had experience in this area, and had worked with other couples wishing to explore and push their boundaries. He asked me for a bit more information, and was curious if my wife was truly interested in making this fantasy a reality. He had mentioned some bad experiences in which husbands had “surprised” their wives with his services, and how those situations never turned out well. I insisted Amanda was not only in agreement, but looking forward to the experience. With that, we agreed to talk over the phone later in the week. I have to admit, I was very nervous and actually needed to psych myself up before tapping the numbers. It didn’t help that the country code plus Trac Phone code plus some other bullshit code was like the launch sequence of a fucking ICBM. I screwed it up multiple times and had to use my company-issued iPhone to look up the country code. Finally, I deciphered the secret process and heard the familiar tones of a dialing phone. Several rings later, Slate answered. “Hello?” His greeting was disarming, but not cheesy. I identified myself as Steve, and that we had planned on touching base. “Of course!” he cheerfully acknowledged, his attention to customer service being evident right away. We talked for about fifteen minutes, which was longer than I had anticipated. I was actually surprised Slate would spend that much time talking, and further impressed with his gentle line of question regarding my wife. He asked about her personality, her sensitivities and her simple pleasures. I said I didn’t know about any of that crap and that we were looking for a good man to fuck her. There was silence for a moment, and then a burst of laughter as he realized I was joking. I quickly followed with my appreciation of his willingness to learn about her, and how that knowledge was key to a successful adventure. We chatted a bit more and it was obvious there was chemistry. Over the next few weeks, we had set a date for our encounter, and exchanged several emails in which I laid out the “rules of engagement.” We were set to meet him in Toronto on May 25. *** We drove to Toronto on Friday and checked into our hotel -- The Trump International Plaza. As I wanted the most memorable experience, I reserved a suite will all the trimmings -- including a heated bathroom floor! I mean, who has a heated floor in the bathroom? Oh well, nothing is too good for my wife. There were two “dates” planned for the weekend. The first would be a get-to-know-you meet up over drinks. We decided to meet at this new, trendy speakeasy called 70 Down. It featured quiet lounge areas perfect for intimate conversation, which would be important for us to get comfortable with each other. We arrived a few minutes early and quickly found a quiet corner. We wasted no time ordering drinks from the waitress, a young woman with pierced midriff named Cally. Amanda ordered a Belvedere Martini, up with a stuffed olives. I ordered very sophisticated Rob Roy. And of course, Amanda ordered two shots of whiskey like she always does. This is the playful side of my wife I love. We made small talk about insignificant things, such as the bar tender’s crooked bowtie and weird hair piece. It’s comforting to make fun of people while you’re waiting for the guy who will be fucking your wife the next night. Just a couple minutes late, Slate the bar and quickly identified us. He gracefully moved to me and extended his hand with a firm and friendly handshake. Next, he gave Amanda a respectful peck on the cheek and a quick brush of his hand on her shoulder. He apologized for being late -- there was an accident a few blocks away. The pictures on the website must have been recent because they were a spot-on match. I could tell from Amanda’s initial reaction she was pleased with his looks and even detected a faint blush on her gorgeous face in the flickering glow of the small, scented oil lamps on the table. When Cally came over with our drinks, he ordered a scotch and soda. Good choice, I thought. We asked her to add a third shot -- symbolic for the experience in store for us the next night. We sat and made the small, idle conversation one would expect in this situation. I was pleasantly surprised by Amanda’s assertiveness, but I could tell she was a little nervous. So was I, but Slate was adept at diffusing this energy. He put us at ease with light, non-invasive questions about our drive to Toronto and our stay in this wonderful international city. He had a charm and sense of humor that was surely a turn on for woman, and acceptance into “guydom” clubs the world over. He was no L.L. Cool J, but he was making an impression on us. We spent about an hour with Slate, and I mentioned it was time for me and my wife to move onto the next phase of our evening -- dinner at a French restaurant called Auberge du Pommier. “Oh,” Slate exclaimed. “You’ll love it. It’s wonderful and the staff is very attentive.” I thought it was interesting that he mentioned the “attentive” service, rather than the food. I reasoned he was focused on serving people. Over dinner, Amanda and I discussed the brief meeting with Slate. “So, what do you think?” I asked in a prodding, playful way. Amanda paused for a second, letting her opening to her response hang just a bit. “I… think he’s kinda hot!” I was at the same time surprised and elated by her answer, and thankful she could make an honest observation without worrying about my reaction. And I have to admit, I was a bit turned on with her enthusiasm. Searching for affirmation, I pressed on. “Should we invite him on a date?” “Sure,” came her response, with a slight uptick at the end, suggesting a daring curiosity. I promptly emailed Slate and asked him to meet my wife at 10 p.m. at Shoots, the hotel bar. When we got home that night, we fucked hard and with purpose. *** The night of the date, I wanted to be there when Amanda got ready. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, and to enjoy the moment. I went to the bar and asked her to text me when she was ready -- that way she could have her space. When I received the text, I headed upstairs with great anticipation, like unwrapping a very sexy gift. When I entered, Amanda was sitting on the couch, legs crossed and a seductive smile that made me melt and get hard at the same time. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and high heels that I had gotten just for this occasion. She wore her hair smooth, and her diamond earrings sparkled in the soft light. My lord, she looked incredible. I extended my hand to her and pulled her toward me. “Honey,” I whispered in her ear, “you look absolutely incredible.” Playfully, I added, “You’re going to make two men very happy tonight.” I encouraged her to enjoy the date because she deserved the attention of a handsome man. I gave her one last hug and a kiss and went on my way. As part of the date, I would go to a local strip club and have my own fun. I found a place called The Brass Rail, which had received pretty good reviews. The plan was for me to go to the strip club, and Amanda would meet Slate in the hotel bar. I grabbed a taxi and headed over to the club. Inside, it was a typical strip club: pumping techno music, platforms with poles, disco balls and weird odors. I found a seat in the lounge area from the stage as I was more interested in hanging back than leaning over the bar stuffing dirty dollars into dirtier g-strings. I ordered a scotch and soda from the stoned waitress, and looked around surveying the surroundings. I as on skank alert as I was sure they would come popping out of the back any minute. Sure enough, a young woman slithered over to me and introduced herself as Elsie. I misheard her and repeated “Elsa?” I thought it was weird a stripper was so inspired by a Disney character. “No!” she over-annunciated over the din of cheap knockoff Skrillex beats, “Elsie!” The shouting killed the mood, plus she had one of those face tattoos down to her neck, which I first thought was a birth defect. I politely shooed her away and settled back to my drink. Eventually, an older woman approached me from a distance like a beeline. Rather than shaking her goods, she simply sat down next to me and introduced herself -- Simone. Ok, so it was a bullshit stripper name, but she seemed nice and wasn’t fresh out of college so I didn’t feel like the office creeper. Unlike the other girls, she was wearing a little more. It was a black one piece kind of thing that at once looked like a short mini-dress and a bathing suit as two straps tied around her neck to keep everything together. She was a brunette with an an open, inviting face. She was also a little on the plus side, and that was just fine by me. I got the sense she was very attractive at one time, but years of tough living eroded her beauty. “Are you waiting for friends, or are you on your own tonight?” Simone asked. I thought it was interesting how she phrased the question -- on your own . “Well,” I said, “I guess you could say that,” answering the second question
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and letting my honesty get the best of me. I mean, I could have just said I was solo tonight, but that just wasn’t true. She cocked her head just a bit and probed. “Now that answer begs another question,” she said coyly. I sensed she genuinely wanted to know more, and I was beginning to loosen my grip on my “secret.” Just as I was about to respond, the familiar loud rhythmic thumps that signal the cattle call rang throughout the club. As if to rescue me, Simone gently took my hand and whispered to me. “Let’s continue this in private.” Rising smoothly from the lounge chair, she led me past a couple burly security professionals to an intimate VIP room in the back. Once seated, she covered the obligatory schtick regarding rates and number of songs. Taking a hundred dollar bill out of my money clip and holding it up, I proposed we just hang out and talk. Pleased with the no-frills arrangement, she accepted the bill and we settled in to continue the conversation. “So,” she resumed, “you’re own your own tonight but…” playfully trailing off to invite me to fill in the blank. I swallowed a bit and stammered, trying to find an approach. “Um, well, technically I’m not ‘on my own’ tonight.” I stopped to see if she would pick up my bait, and she did. Crossing her legs, as if to position herself for a game of Twenty Questions, she continued. “Temporarily,” she repeated, emphasizing as if interrogating me. “Let me guess,” she confidently announced, “you are here for a few hours while your wife or girlfriend enjoys some girlie girl fun like the spa?” She settled back, satisfied she had figured me out in two minutes. I suppose years in this line of work makes a woman both armchair psychologist and junior detective all at once. While not entirely offended, this lame assumption emboldened me and my smart-ass inner self began to emerge. Afterall, she doesn’t know Amanda. Losing my reservations, I matched her deadpan with a very direct disclosure. “No,” I informed her. “She’s on a date right now.” Leaning back a bit as if the fact whizzed by her ear like a bullet, she asked for further clarification. “A date?” she curiously repeated. “Like a date -- you know, meet for a drink, hang out, whatever.” “Like, with another man?” “Yes, another man." Clarifying further, I added, "A hot man.” Sensing there was something a little dysfunctional going on, she tightened a bit and asked if this was some sort of jealous retribution. Or maybe the first stop for an evening that wasn’t going to end well for someone. “No, no, no,” I hastily assured her, stepping back from the cool vibe we had going. “I arranged the whole thing. Really.” Returning quickly to ease, Simone was still a bit curious. “Is this some sort of hall pass thing?” she asked almost mockingly, as if the gig was up. No, I told her, this was a fantasy I had for a long time, and my loving wife was living it with me. She was a bit shocked at first, and slumped back a bit as if to say well I’ll be damned . Frankly, I was surprised that she was so, well, surprised. I reasoned that she must have entertained all sorts of men, and the occasional couple, so surely this topic has come up at some point. I pressed her a bit on her reaction. She thought for a moment, and then said she while understands why men would want to include another woman in their sex life, it was unusual to want to include another man. I explained all the reasons why this was so hot to me, and she began to understand. The conversation turned a bit more fun as she cheerfully asked me some tactical questions about where they meeting, what time, what’s on the agenda and so on. I gladly answered her inquiries, trying not to make my personal satisfaction too evident. She also asked if I would be involved, and I said indeed I would be. I let her in on the series of communications I would receive as Amanda’s date progressed. First, I would receive a text when she met Slate to begin their date. Next, I would receive a text when they left to adjourn to the room. And finally, I would receive a phone call as they began fucking. “No way!” Simone squealed with incredulous delight. In an example of perfect timing, I received the first text from Amanda: “Hi, babe! I’m here at the hotel bar and Slate just arrived. I love you!” The glow from the phone seemed to light up the entire lounge. Extending it to Simone, I announced the arrival of the first message. She took the phone, and squinting a bit, read the message aloud. “Oooo, Slate!” she exclaimed. “He sounds like a hottie!” We had a good laugh and I made some lame joke that he better be ‘rock’ hard tonight. She appreciated the attempt at humor and patronized me with a pretty good fake laugh. We had been taking for awhile, and perhaps sensing she was now a part of the plan, gracefully slid onto my lap and began to grind. I relaxed a bit and let Simone do her thing, appreciating the pride she took in her craft. She ran her hands through my hair a bit, which felt good, and pressed her covered tits onto my face. I ran my hands over her plump ass a few times, and gave gentle squeezes. While I enjoyed lap dance, it felt more like passing time. Leaning in to the side a bit, Simone whispered in my ear. “You want to watch your wife getting fucked, don’t you?” Her warm breath lingered around my ear as she waited for an answer. “Yes,” I replied, with a hint of splendid surrender. She whispered a few other dirty things, and I have to admit, it really turned me on. We went on like this for awhile. Finally, I thanked her for listening to me, and for the extended lap dance. I knew the next message would be coming any minute, so I texted my cabbie. Rising at the same time, I hugged Simone and thanked her again. “Anytime,” she said, adding, “Come back with your wife so I can hear all about your adventure.” She gave a cute, sexy wave and I headed out front into my waiting cab. *** The strip club was about ten minutes from the hotel, so I had a little time to think about Amanda’s hot date. How was it going? Was he treating her well? Was she nervous? Was she flirting with him? Just then, the second text came in as if on cue. “Hi, gorgeous husband! I think we’re ready to head up to the room. I hope to see you soon! I looooove you!” The extended “looooove” and exclamation marks immediately put me at ease. According to our plan, I would hang out at the hotel bar and wait for the phone call. I told Amanda to take her time and not feel rushed into anything, so her call to action could happen at any moment. I ordered a scotch and soda and prepaid so I could be squared up when the call came. Wary of a nosey bartender trying to strike up a conversation, I found a small table in a corner, and took a sip of my drink. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in the room. Knowing Amanda, she was probably nervous and talking a lot. If this happened, I advised Slate to take the initiative. I told my wife she could enjoy any sex act she desired, whatever would make her feel special. There were no limits, and I was dying to know how far my wife would go. Minutes seemed like hours, especially since I’m so impatient. I was sipping my drink when my phone buzzed. A jolt of nervous anticipation coursed through my gut. Looking down at the phone, there was the familiar interface: “Home, Amanda” and “Slide to view.” I stared at the screen for a moment, with a mix of emotions. On one hand, it was a bit surreal this was happening at all, and on the other hand, great anticipation to find what was waiting on the other end of the line. Fumbling with the crappy interface, I actually had to swipe three times (ok, maybe it was nerves). Holding the phone against my ear, I paused for just a second. “Hey,” I answered, affecting a swarthy, quiet tone. “Oh babe, you need to get up here,” breathlessly cooed Amanda. “Are you getting fucked right now?” I asked, now starting to hear the sounds of two people having sex. Prefacing her affirmation with a short sigh, she said she was. “This is so hot,” she added, and I was instantly turned on. “I’m on my way,” I announced. “Enjoy his cock and I’ll see you soon.” Disconnecting the phone, I picked up my drink and headed out of the bar. As I was walking, it felt like my steps were weighty and slow, as if it was going to take me forever to get to the room. As I approached the elevator, the doors opened and a cute, young couple emerged. Dressed fairly formally, they breezed by me and offered a polite smile of acknowledgement, and I responded in kind. Stepping into the elevator, I watched as they continued on into the night, and wondered if they would ever have an experience like this. I pressed the button for the eighteenth floor, and the doors slowly closed. As the car smoothly ascended, I assumed there would be no stops since it was later in the evening and most people were already out for the evening. To my surprise, there was a stop on the tenth floor. As the doors opened, an older woman, perhaps in her seventies, gracefully entered. She was a study in elegance: short, silver hair with subtle waves, a classically gorgeous face, a perfectly fitting cocktail dress and sharp black heels. The sequenced dots from her pearl necklace was a perfect compliment to her attire. “Good evening,” I said, trying to muster the charm of The World’s Most Interesting Man , and not sound like some schmuck from small-town America. “Good evening,” she returned kindly, with a slight downward nod and a warm smile. I realized there was a five-star restaurant on the twenty-second floor, and made the assumption she was headed there for dinner or a drink. “Headed to the restaurant?” I politely inquired. “Indeed, I am,” she said, while glancing up at the floor indicator with what I sensed was anticipation. Feeling a certain level of openness in the thirty seconds we shared the elevator, I bravely inquired further. “Are you meeting someone special?” Fully anticipating a mature smackdown, I was elated when she smiled and said, “Yes, I am.” Not wanting to press any further, I couldn’t resist a flirty, but genuine compliment. Stepping back slightly so I could casually frame what I was seeing, I said “Well, you look fantastic tonight. Someone special is going to see someone hot!” She let out a schoolgirl’s laugh and thanked me, trying to maintain a sense of modesty. “You just made my night,” she added. The futuristic tone from overhead indicted the elevator had reached my floor, and I wished her a pleasant evening as the doors smoothly slid open. “You too,” she called after me. Oh, we will, I thought. Since I reserved a suite, the room was quite a walk from the elevators. As I passed the rooms, I wondered if anyone was doing anything as hot as we had on tap for tonight. Nah, probably traveling salesman watching Spankervision on the hotel cinema channel. Finally, I arrived at room 1844. Pulling the keycard out of my breast pocket, my hands were trembling a bit. I paused, and leaned in slightly. I guess I was trying to hear the sounds of sex, or perhaps I was extending the foreplay as long as possible. In any case, it was go time, so I waved the keycard over the lock and felt another jolt of excitement as the light flashed green and the door unlocked. Surely, the sound of my entry could be heard in the bedroom, so I imagined what it must have been like for Amanda, knowing I had arrived, and that her husband would walk in on her fucking another man. Hanging the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the outside handle, I locked the deadbolt and headed to the bedroom. As I walked down the hallway, I could see the room was dimly lit, and heard faint sounds of activity. I was hoping I might see some flashes of shadows, faint teasers of what I would soon witness. As I approached the doorway, I gradually let the scene unfold in front of me. As requested, they were fucking missionary. Slate was on top, and while not pounding Amanda, had established a deliberate, sexy, rhythm. She lay on her back, legs spread wide and back, the strappy come-fuck-me pumps bobbing in the air and looking like the dots on two thick inverted exclamation marks. Her manicured hands looked good, too; one squeezing his muscular ass, the other braced around his shoulder. As instructed, neither acknowledged my presence because I wanted to simply take in the moment. Using my forearm to prop myself against the door jamb, I silently observed, feeling my cock tingle as blood began rushing to the area. After a few moments, I walked around to the side of the bed, and taking Amanda’s hand into mine, I gently kissed it and said, “Honey, you look incredible right now.” “Babe,” she countered, “I’ve been wanting you so bad.” Setting my scotch on the night table, I lowered myself onto the chair that was strategically placed by the bedside. “Keep going, I love it,” I encouraged. “I’d like to watch for awhile.” Resuming the pace they had established before, I was able to get another view and take in more detail. Her tits were heaving up and down in sync with his strokes, and his thick cock was sliding into her pussy. Pushing her tits together, Amanda offered her nipples to him. He leaned down and sucked her left nipple, then her right, leaving them hard and swollen, with a slight glaze of saliva. At this point, I was rubbing my crotch through my suit pants, transfixed by the sheer hotness of my wife. “Babe, I need your cock,” Amanda said urgently almost begging. Not giving her a chance to tell me where or in what capacity, I stood and began to undress (carefully, I might add, because nothing says sexy like tripping over your own pant leg and careening into two people having sex). Once naked, she could see how hard I was, and I heard her whisper, “Oh yeah.” As if instinctively, Slate propped himself up a bit so I could kneel beside my wife. I was about to feed her my cock when I noticed her lips were slightly swollen and surrounded by a sexy, natural blush. I could tell she had been either kissing him or sucking him. Either way it was hot to think about. Taking my cock in her hand, Amanda gently tugged at first, and gave my balls a nice squeeze. Her first lick up the length shot me with so much pleasure I actually gasped and twitched a bit. As Slate continued to fuck her, she took my cock in her warm, wet mouth. Amanda gives the most incredible head, so I was content to enjoy this position for awhile. “You look so hot sucking me, baby,” I observed. “You know what I want?” Amanda asked. “I want you to watch me suck his cock.” I was so astounded by this directive, but I had to oblige. The three of us uncoupled, and as I settled back down into the chair, I enjoyed watching Amanda get into position to put on a show for her husband. Slate had been wearing a very sheer and see-through condom, so I could clearly make out the details of his thick dick. It had some nice veins, but was also smooth. He was neatly trimmed, including his balls, and the whole area was well maintained like the outfield at Camden Yards. Laying across his lap, Amanda gave his hardness a few strokes before taking him into her mouth. When she did, she locked her gaze on mine and worked her way down the shaft, her lips widening as she approached the base. She eventually worked into a steady rhythm, only breaking cadence so she could slap his hard prick against her tongue -- the sound filling the room. Slate was really getting into it, and undulating his hips a bit to meet her downward stroke. I, too, was into it, as I was really pumping myself with my hand, matching Amanda’s strokes. For her part, she was basically fucking him with her mouth. Rising from the chair, I approached and offered my cock to Amanda. At first, she sucked us alternately, spending time exploring each with her mouth. Eventually, she brought us together, pressing our cocks together and fitting what she could into her hot mouth. Feeling his hardness against mine was surprisingly erotic, especially since my wife was “brokering” the interaction. Taking a break from sucking us, Amanda looked at our stiff dicks in her hands, like an artist admiring her work. Looking up at me in near exasperation, she said, “I need your cock in me. I need you to fuck me.” With that, Slate moved off to the side so I could get into position. Spreading her legs the way I like, Amanda invited me into her moist vagina. I wasted no time with teasing her because she was beyond that point. She needed thick, hard cock with no delay. I quickly worked into a soft pounding, imagining her perspective as she was taking on another man, knowing she was pleasing us both. Slate remained on the sidelines and intently stroked himself. I loved it, and I know Amanda did too as she looked over several times to enjoy him masturbating. I was fucking her pretty good when I slowed down a bit to catch my breath. Leaning down, I asked, “So what do you want?” Her answer was direct, “Two cocks in my pussy.” I fucking loved it. Yeah, two thick, hard, swollen cocks -- cocks that you made that way -- inside you. You deserve this baby. Let’s do it. I dismounted and asked for Slate to be on the bottom. Watching Amanda maneuver into position over him was so incredibly hot, like watching a great sports play in super-slow motion in high definition, so every nuance of movement could be savored. She slowly worked his juicy dick into her, sliding down the entire base, and back up. I let her go for awhile so I could enjoy a close-up view of her pussy lips stretching over his manhood, gripping it greedily. Positioning behind her, I put my hand on top of her ass to slow down her pace and steady a bit. I pressed my cock against his, and gently forced both of us into her. Upon full entry, Amanda gasped loudly, and then gave out a hot little whine as we pulled back. We worked into a nice motion, first with both cocks matching strokes, and then alternating. His hardness against mine felt incredible, and Amanda’s cum was all over us, thick and creamy. At one point, we were pounding her pretty good, and she was giving it right back to us, meeting our thrusts with thrusts of her own. I actually almost came and had to abruptly stop, as I had a few other “configurations” I wanted to try. Alarmed, Amanda said, “What’s the matter?” “Nothing, honey,” I assured. “You almost made me cum.” I really couldn’t take much more, and I knew Amanda had cum several times. We were ready for the big finale. I suggested we change it up and go back to missionary, with me fucking Amanda. I wanted to watch her suck Slate while I fucked her, and in general just get a view of that gorgeous face, contorting so beautifully with pleasure. She quickly took his dick, working it with her hand and mouth, her efforts producing “smacking” sounds as saliva met suction. She worked his balls too, tugging, stroking and licking while I fucked her. She would take a break from sucking him so I could kiss her. I wasn’t sure how I would feel about this, but I loved it because her lips and mouth were so distended with blood, and the warmth felt and tasted incredible. I was starting to get that familiar tingle in my loins, and I knew I was close. I was pounding Amanda pretty hard now, with her tits bouncing, the five-star bed making noise and Slate’s hard cock starting to bulge even more. “I want you to cum,” I ordered Slate. “Cum on her tits.” Amanda moaned at the prospects and I knew I made the right call. Just then, he removed his condom and started to stroke himself with long and deliberate movements. Amanda was licking his balls when the first stream of hot cum landed on her left tit and across her nipple, making Amanda moan loudly in response. Two more spurts landed in the middle of her chest, and a final, oozing trickle settled on her right nipple. Amanda came again, and loudly. “Oh my god, that’s so fucking hot!” she exclaimed. Collecting his cum with her fingers, she worked it into her hard nipples, like a lubricant. She kept pinching her nipples with his cum, and I kept thrusting into her, producing violent slapping sounds. Finally, I unloaded into her wet pussy, my cum filling her up and spreading warmth throughout her. I slowed my rhythm down gradually, until I collapsed beside her in exhaustion. The three of us laid there for a few minutes, enjoying the afterglow of a wonderful experience. Understanding his place, Slate rose from the bed, gathered his clothes, and stepped into the bathroom (with heated floor). Looking over at Amanda, I smiled and said, “Wow.” She gave out a little chuckle as if to say, Yeah, we’re pretty awesome, huh? Emerging from the bathroom fully dressed, Slate bid us farewell and with a peck for Amanda and a handshake for me, was gone. Every once in awhile, we’ll reminisce and relive parts of the experience. I never asked her about the date, or what happened while I was in the lobby bar. I suppose I’d rather just imagine, or perhaps I’ll ask her to describe it in detail one night while I’m fucking her. And so there you have it.

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