The Naughty Collection

by Ruby City Books

  Before I knew it, my husband was beginning to take complete control over the situation, dominating me completely, and shifting this up from a simple deep throating to an absolute, brutal face fuck. Not that I minded this, of course I was, to be frank, as much of a horn dog as your average female could be, and there was little my husband could throw at my insatiable carnal self that I couldn't readily handle with aplomb.

  I gagged on him, doing my damnedest to suppress my gag reflex as he plunged himself repeatedly into my skull, his nuts smacking against my pretty cheeks, my nasal breathing labored as I inhaled the steamy air of the shower.

  Faster and faster and faster he fucked my straining noggin, until at last he slid me off of him carefully, and I smiled up at him, an accumulation of my own fluids welling up around my cheeks, being slowly washed away by the streams of the shower.

  He had yet to ejaculate inside me, however, and before I knew it, I was being man-handled into a wide, receptive position, my body heaved around to his bidding, which, in the context of our lovemaking, was something I very much enjoyed.

  I was on my hands and knees, ass and pussy wide open for his selection, when he mounted me hard like a fucking animal, choosing the latter orifice, and grinding his long, stiff cock up the tight, pink tunnel of my pussy so firmly that I could scarcely contain him.

  I could hardly believe that he'd regained this much sexual energy so quickly after the morning we'd already had with the Joneses, and when he began to fuck me, it was like heaven itself inside my pussy. “Oh... Oh... Oh... Oh...” I began to chant, as he commenced to pound my sopping wet cunt, his body crushing me quite pleasurably as he worked his way in and out, in and out, in and out of me, working up a tremendous momentum as he jackhammered me, his thrusts so brutal, so powerful, that the immense force of his smacking pelvis came damn near slamming me from his prick altogether.

  “Oh God... Oh God... Oh fuck, fuck, fuck...” I moaned, my yammerings becoming more and more explicit with the exponential rise in his efforts, and soon he was pushing, pulling, drilling, fucking me at such a rapid fire pace that the noise swelled into a long, agonized groan, “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh...”

  And, WHAM!

  He hurled his full, bulky anatomy up deep, deep into me, smashing my pussy with his jackhammer of a cock, his leg hoisted up around me in desperation as he began to ejaculate, and his sperm pulsing into me in furious abundance, spurt after spurt after spurt of his sperm, coating my insides, drenching me, flowing back out of me in abundance as his thick form began to shake and rattle around on top of me.

  He plunged me clear through to the other side, and for the third time before noon that morning, I was left screaming, cringing, creaming my damn lights out with a vicious, pelvis-consuming orgasm, sensations sparkling drunkenly through my entire braced form, my shoulders quivering, stars flashing in front of my eyes, and my teeth nearly sinking through the flesh of my lower lip before I caught myself, and let out a huge, horrendous gasp of unrefined pleasure.

  Derrick, too, gasped, and shuddered, and pulled his body out from mine, extricating him in a smooth, quick stroke, and leaving me to collapse toward the drain of the tub, as he reclined back against the opposite wall, his wang still swaying and dripping with his off-white essence, the stuff that now filled me up inside and left me dizzy, panting, exhausted on the floor of the shower.

  After a few minutes of lying passively on the porcelain, scarcely able to think straight, the water began to chill just the slightest bit and I reached up exhaustedly, turning the hot tap up higher, before climbing back around onto my husband's heaving body, our forms squeaking and rubbing up against the porcelain as we reoriented ourselves.

  I draped myself on top of him like a blanket and proceeded to kiss him on the mouth, his own lips doing little to participate in my own showering of affection, until at last I had to stop, looking at him skeptically, as though I felt certain something must be wrong.

  “I love you,” I ventured, wondering what his response to this might be, but he simply smiled, and then, after a few more minutes, he replied, “I need to go get dressed,” as though he actually had somewhere to be today other than the B and B.

  I watched his perky, pretty ass as it slipped from beyond the realm of the shower curtain, dripping and the cheeks jiggling slightly with his steps and I sighed, turning to face the shower head and thinking about whether I'd done something wrong somehow.

  Ah well, I thought, after a while of being unable to decipher Derrick's unhelpful clues. I would figure it out sooner or later, certainly.

  At present, I washed the remainder of Derrick's essence out from between my thighs, finished cleaning up and went moist and naked down the stairs, old comforter in my arms and Mrs. Jones' panties in my fingers, to go and get dressed.

  Chapter 2

  Derrick and I had been running our Bed and Breakfast for... I don't know... Three years now? But we'd only been sleeping with our customers for the past few months or so. Despite how the notion of sleeping with one's customers may sound, it really wasn't anything quite like you might think it is. Don't fool yourself into drawing a connection between what we were doing and sex work, or prostitution, nothing like that. I don't make any moral judgments about anyone in that line of work, but it's never been something I would consider for myself personally.

  No, the reasons for wanting to sleep with guests was an entirely personal fulfillment, a kink if you will, that had been in my head to some extent or another from very early on in the game, but had taken some considerable degree of convincing for my husband to get on board with the idea.

  See, there are multiple facets of how exactly the idea for a B and B got started in my head.

  Innocently enough, there was, first and foremost, the memory of having served my mother breakfast in bed as a kid. I'd always loved feeling like I was useful around my own house, and it was charming to think I was doing something special for someone, spoiling them, with luxury, even if it was only just toast and orange juice, simple things like that that I'd served them.

  Yet, even back then, during the days when the dream had been a rather simple one, my services hadn't been without their share of awkward incidents. For instance, on at least a couple of occasions, when I thought I would surprise my mother by serving her in bed unannounced, it turned out that my stepdad had also taken it into his head that he would serve her in his own special way that morning, if you catch my drift, and the two of them would scramble at the sight of me, trying to preserve some shred of decency and keep me from knowing what was going on, but of course, it wasn't all that hard to figure out.

  And then, similarly, my experience during college tended to feed into my notion of eroticism as far as shared living spaces were concerned. I had this roommate who, I'll be honest, fell safely into the label of being highly promiscuous, and on more than one occasion I would find myself in the room with her while she and any number of her boyfriends were sweating the sheets together, essentially in full view of yours truly, a bobbing lump in the blankets indicating the man's form as he ground himself in and out of her tight little body, leaving her moaning at the top of her damn lungs, so that keeping up the pretense of wearing headphones while studying on my part was made more and more vain with each throbbing, wet stroke.

  Hell, sometimes, once they were finished, lying there naked and heaving beneath the covers, but their heads poking out, the man would look over to me, smirking, and say jokingly, “Hey sexy, how would you like to come over here and join the two of us for round two?”

  I would laugh, as though I considered the proposition preposterous, and generally I would flip the bird to whatever guy it would happen to be. He would laugh in return, and then he would resume smothering himself in my roommate's tits, all the while I secretly wished that I might have had the nerve to actually join in the fun, to give into that naughty, kinky side of myself, though it would take quite some time more before I would manage to surrender myself so thoroughly...

  There was eve
n a time where I couldn't really stay at a hotel without thoughts of kinky, depraved sex slipping into my head. I was curious, incredibly so, as to who had been in this bed before I'd been, who'd had sex in the same bed in which I'd now lay, and how filthy was it to consider such depraved, glorious thoughts...

  And God, what the hell was wrong with me, I wondered?

  I guess, for a lack of a better way to put it, I had begun to become rather obsessed with the concept of shared, sexual, domestic spaces. I had a high sex drive, a vivid imagination, and I'd become rather enthusiastic about the notion of exploring that side of my personality more in-depth, even as I maintained a front of being completely “normal” sexually. I supposed I probably fell into the realm of being pansexual when I was really honest with myself, open to just about any arrangement I could envision when it came to the bedroom, and all I needed was the right opportunity to force myself into really giving into those deep, seedy cravings of mine.

  Derrick, as far as I was concerned, had seemed like something very close to the perfect man from the very first date I'd been on him, sexy and open-minded, understanding and supportive and after we were married, we began to allow ourselves to explore our inner kinksters to our heart's content.

  I don't know what you would call us, exactly... Swingers, maybe? Or, partners in an open marriage? This seems relatively accurate, but we did make sure to run by our sexual choices by one another before we gave into temptation, just as a way of avoiding any problems that might arise should a bad, or particularly stressful coupling arise on either of our behalves.

  No rifts had ever really formed between us throughout that period of experimentation, and it wasn't until these recent months, marking the beginning of our B and B rendezvous, that something seemed to trouble Derrick somehow, even though he wouldn't be completely open with me about what it was.

  At any rate, it was evening now. We had a very rare weekday guest, a very attractive businessman who'd shown up that afternoon and who was now lodging comfortably up above our heads after having had dinner with us about an hour before. We'd been getting a lot of these weekday guests as of late, quite the influx of them, in fact, which was quite a change from days past. So I wondered whether, quite possibly, Derrick and I's reputation for, ahem, mingling with our guests might have begun to spread around.

  I feel like maybe I should point out here that the two of us didn't necessarily go to bed with our guests, not all the time. It wasn't something that was, like, an “official” service that we offered. Our willingness to swing completely depended upon the individual or individuals in question who happened to be staying and we only offered up the more lurid delicacies of our bodies in the event that there was an attraction on our end. We had two separate breakfast menus that we offered to customers depending upon their apparent fuckability, one with a listing at the bottom that said, “Ask about our Super Delight Special.” There was a photo next to it featuring a long, phallic sausage, surrounded on either side by two eggs, and its tip moving in tantalizingly close to the hole of donut in the center. It was, of course, plain as day what the intent was in placing it there, but there still remained a level of deniability should the guest(s) in question be offended by it. Sort of like in those animated movies when there's, like, dirty words written in the stars, and the filmmakers can just sort of shrug their shoulders and say it was a coincidence.

  Anyway, the man who'd been staying here tonight, at least in my humble opinion, seemed the epitome of delightful fuckability, and Derrick and I had given him the more suggestive menu in the event that he decided he might just feel up for screwing around a bit this evening.

  I was sitting at the table, doing some accounting biznass, when suddenly the telephone rang (one of those old-fashioned corded phones, for the record, adding to the quaint, cozy feeling of the house). I saw that the call was coming from upstairs, and I cleared my throat, and picked up, in a hotel receptionist tone: “Hello, Mr. Collier. Is there something I can help you with this evening? Did you decide what you wanted for breakfast tomorrow morning, maybe?”

  “Um, yeah,” came his muffled voice over the receiver. “I was actually just looking at the menu here... Could you tell me what the Super Delight Special is, exactly? I'll be honest... I've heard some rumors about this place... There's a chance I might be interested in something like that, if what I've heard is true...”

  I smiled, almost blushing, hot under the collar at the chance to get in this classy stud's pants...

  God, I was insatiable...

  “Yes sir...” I said, cutting directly to the chase, but nonetheless trying humorously to retain my professional, matter-of-fact sounding air. “The Super Delight Special, is me, coming up, and sucking on your cock for you... Or riding you... Or whatever it is you think you might enjoy... Or, you know, my husband could suck your cock... Or, both of us could-”

  “Send your husband up,” said Mr. Collier, and suddenly I felt largely deflated. I'd really been looking forward to getting to know him a little better, and had apparently misread him, not even coming close to detecting his interest in a same sex rendezvous.

  But oh well, I thought... The customer's always right, as they say.

  “Right away, Mr. Collier,” trying to stay as lighthearted and cheerful as I could under the mildly disappointing circumstances, and the phone clicked back onto the receiver upstairs.

  I sighed, and went to fetch Derrick, who was busy snoozing away in our Having had sex twice that morning, he'd basically been exhausted and tired looking all day, and Mr. Collier's arrival that afternoon had kept him from taking a breather until maybe an hour or so ago. I wasn't exactly sure, when the two of us had been discussing whether we'd wanted to seduce our new guest, why Derrick had responded positively to the proposition given his state of exhaustion at the time. But, he was apparently up for it, and so despite my hesitance to do so, I gently stirred him awake, brushing my hand across his cheek, until gradually he began to grunt awake.

  “Babe... Mr. Collier wants to have sex with you... Are you up for it? What should I tell him?”

  “Mm...” Derrick grunted, as this news had awoken him, and his eyes flew quickly open. He stirred from beneath the covers. “I'm up... I'm up...” And, I could see from the huge lump in his pants (which he hadn't bothered to change out of prior to plopping into bed), that he was indeed very, very up- although, it was of course very possible that this was just morning wood, given that he'd scarcely had a minute's notice to even let the mental image of fucking Mr. Collier to sink in for himself.

  “So... Should I tell him you'll be up?”

  “Yeah... He wants just me, you said?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I shrugged, trying not to let my disappointment at this show.

  “Oh... Okay then... Well, tell him I'll be up in, like twenty minutes. I need to get cleaned up first.”

  “You sure you're up for it?” I said, a little bit skeptical given his present demeanor. “I mean... You do know this isn't any sort of like, obligation or anything for our customers... It's completely about whether we want to do it or not.”

  “No, I'm good babe. I want to. The guy was pretty hot, I've gotta say. I'm just not all the way woken up yet. I'll be good to go once I shower and slip into something more... Comfortable...”

  I laughed at this as he gathered up a change of clothes under his arms, and he kissed me on the mouth.

  “Brush your teeth while you're at it, hon. You kinda stink...”

  He flipped me off as he stepped from the room in the direction of our downstairs bathroom, and I had to laugh again. Derrick's bisexuality was a fascinating subject for me, not to mention highly tantalizing and arousing. It was so strange... Any time we weren't in the direct vicinity of fucking going on, you might never have gotten it out of the man that he wasn't as straight as a goddamn board. He didn't eye men the same way he eyed women, or at least not in my own presence, and so when I'd first found out about his hunger for man meat early on in the exploration period o
f our open marriage, I was as flabbergasted as you might imagine. That man could take a cock as well as any woman I knew, just as readily as he could get a girl like me cumming her lights out with his most exquisite touch.

  I loved to watch him have sex with other men... It drove me fucking crazy whenever it happened, and I was, admittedly, rather disappointed by the double blow that Mr. Collier hadn't been interested in me watching while the two of them sweated the sheets together.

  But, I will admit, a bit unethically, that I hung around outside the door to his room for a bit after Derrick had gone inside- not with my ear to the paneling, or anything like that, mind you- and between what I heard and what Derrick told me about it afterward (the two of us loved the spiciness of swapping sex stories with one another), I managed to piece together a fairly accurate picture of went on behind that bedroom door, atop that newly changed bedspread, between my husband and another man.

  “So... You like men,” said Derrick, sitting down gently on Mr. Collier's bed, smiling as he looked into his eyes.

  “I like some men...” replied Mr. Collier- or Richard, which was his actual name, and probably a bit easier to go by during a scene of passion than “Mr. Collier.”