The Hotwife Summer

by Arnica Butler

  And what of Ben, tucked away under the table? I was sweating, even though the kitchen was cool and the floor had frozen me through my ass earlier. I was breathing in serrated gasps, and despite my best efforts, the scene on the camera screen jumped round wildly as though I were running.

  Inside, I felt like my guts were sweating as well. Was it from excitement? From fear?

  Summer was formidable. She had converted into my fantasy woman, and now she almost terrified me.

  And then there was the reality unfolding before me: she was going to take it hard from two men.

  My mind remembered Sandro, but my rushing blood drowned everything out except Summer. Summer sliding the straps of her shirt off each shoulder. Summer slipping out of her jeans. Summer encased in black and white panties, which I could only guess she had bought for this occasion.

  Marcel was the first to act. The enormous ebony man pulled his shirt off in one quick movement, and revealed a chiseled chest, a vicious burn on his forearm, and biceps that seemed as large as Summer's waist.

  She looked him up and down with approval. Her hand was in his jeans as he took them off, and when she found his cock with her exploring fingers, she opened her mouth in gigantic smile. She treated me to a sideways glance at that moment. When her eyes widened with her pleasure, my pulse quickened as though I had been stabbed with a needle-full of adrenaline.

  In a tidy movement, Summer moved slowly down to a crouching position, as though inspecting tires on a car. As she moved down his body she placed her hands on him, feeling with obvious pleasure the hard, dark body. She tugged at his jeans until they slipped down around his ankles, and then she did an amazing trick of turning herself slightly. He followed her cue, and also made the slight turn.

  “Take it all off for me, Marcel,” she said, and lifted her eyes to meet his.

  Sandro had leaned against a table, and was smugly and slowly unbuckling his belt. He had kicked off his shoes, I noticed. Summer's were still on: black heels that wrapped around her foot like bondage.

  But it wasn't what I was looking at: I could see Marcel's cock clearly now. It was a long, thick, black-red snake stretched in front of him. Just inches from Summer''s wet mouth, which she was twisting around seductively in front of him, moving closer to him without touching him. Teasing him.

  Her eyes focused on his cock as she let her knees drop, one by one, so that she was no longer crouching but kneeling. Her eyes widened as she drank in the sight of him, and she licked her lips appreciatively.

  She reached with her hand and grasped his hard flesh. She smiled. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “Oh, it's so big! It might be too big.”

  She looked back at Sandro. Was she goading him?

  Her voice was carrying everywhere, it seemed. Echoing endlessly in the metal and tile room. Oh it's so big, oh it's too big!

  My cock throbbed. I wanted desperately to shift my position, but I was afraid of dropping the camera, or missing a moment of the action. Or worse, disappointing Summer by falling out from under the tablecloth and ruining her unknown plan.

  Summer guided Marcel's cock to her lips, and she rubbed the tip of it against them. The man's enormous member twitched, and because it was so big, I could see it from where I was. Summer wrangled it back to where she wanted it, and then she looked over at Sandro invitingly.

  The message was clear, and he understood it.

  I couldn't have had a better view: Summer was kneeling between the two of them, and they were turned at a slight angle toward her. She placed a hand on Sandro's cock. With one huge cock in each hand, she looked from one to the other, as though she simply couldn't decide which delicious treat she wanted to eat first. She was almost facing me now, and she looked to the center, at me, for me..and winked again.

  Marcel was the first to break. His giant black hand came out of nowhere and cradled Summer's entire head in his palm, like a basketball. He pushed her toward him.

  Summer opened her mouth, and I watched as her red-painted lips slid down Marcel's black shaft. The dark meat disappeared into her, inch after thick, black inch, until her lips closed around the base of his cock.

  Marcel groaned.

  Summer leaned back ward, and the seemingly endless black cock slithered out her, wet and sticky with her spit now, slipping from deep in her throat. When it fell from her mouth it was so much harder that it barely bobbed down, and now it seemed almost monstrous. She returned her hand to the shaft, and turned to Sandro.

  She gave his cock a look. It was almost imperceptible, but I am sure that Sandro saw it. A look as though her next task would be easy. Almost a shrug of the face.

  She repeated her talented dive over Sandro's cock. Her lips slid easily over him, and she opened up wider and wider, without even gagging, taking the whole fat Italian cock into her mouth.

  I watched in lurid fascination as she moved back and froth from Sandro to Marcel, and the fat members of these two other men filled her throat. They grasped her head and her hair, and pushed her deep onto them, until even the talented Summer began to gurgle a little, and choke slightly. Each time her mouth left the tip of one cock, spit trailed from her lower lip to the flesh of the man she had just sucked. It was dribbling down to her breasts, dampening the bra she was wearing. Her makeup began to smear. She was turning into a beautiful, exquisite mess.

  It was Summer who remained in control, however. Summer who stopped by resting back on her heels and scooting away from them. She was gasping for breath, and covered in slick, viscous saliva and precum. She didn't make a move to wipe her face.

  At this point I saw that I had let the camera slowly drop, and I was filming the floor. I jerked it back to her face.

  “I want you inside of me,” she said. “I want to fuck both of you at the same time. I want to get all. Filled. Up.”

  She felled the giant Marcel by reaching out for his cock and pulling him down to the floor with it in her hand. She pushed him down onto the floor, where now they were close enough to me that I could smell the sweat of their bodies. Beneath that scent was the sweet, honeyed aroma of Summer's cunt. She wriggled free of her underwear, and was left in only her lovely bra and the black heels that so sexily bound her feet.

  She straddled Marcel, who seemed to have been taken utterly by surprise and was only just recovering his senses enough to grab for her body with his giant hands. His dark skin was pressed against Summer's hips, then her breasts, then her legs. He was moving his hands around her body like she was silly-puddy he would mold into something different. In his enormous paws her body – so round, so full – looked fragile as a teacup.

  His cock was pointed at he ceiling, just behind her ass. Summer rocked her hips a little, so that her fleshy bottom stroked his shaft with a feathery kiss. Where her mound met his pelvis, a sheen of her excitement stuck to his skin.

  Impatient, Marcel used on of his hands to grasp her arm and hold her in place, and the other to grab his own cock. He lifted her up – and she had to rise to kneeling, which even then was not high enough – and guided his cock to her pussy.

  Summer reached down with her own hands, and held the big cock between them. She rubbed the tip of his shaft against her clit, but because of its length, she almost had to bend it. She abandoned the plan and moved the tip of his cock to her wet hole.

  She looked over to me, biting her smiling lip as she sank down his column.

  I sucked in my breath as my wife's pink pussy filled to the brim with his black cock. When she came to rest against his pelvis she let out a deep moan, and purred like a cat. “Oh, fuck, your cock feels so good. I'm all filled up by it.” She mewled again. Sweat was gathering on her skin, making her shine as though she had been oiled.

  Marcel grasped her hips, and moved her easily, as though the weight of her were nothing, up and down, over his cock. The sticky sound of her flesh being fucked while she creamed all over another man's cock filled my ears.

  And then, to my utter surprise, she leaned forward, propping herself up with
one hand on Marcel's hard chest. For a moment it seemed that this was to position herself so that Marcel could pump away at her, which he did. But I saw her extend her arm behind her, and over her ass, and then stretching gracefully, she reached for her own ass with her fingers.

  Sandro.

  I had forgotten Sandro. The image of the black flesh filling my wife and making her howl had erased him from my mind.

  But there he was. He had knelt behind her, between Marcel's legs.

  Summer tossed her hair again, and turned her gaze on Sandro, watching his face as her fingers fanned across Marcel's pumping cock, and drew her own moisture up to her ass. He watched as she slid her own fingers inside of her.

  I watched as Sandro rose to a half-standing kneel, and positioned himself just over her asshole. He pursed his lips, and a glob of clear spit dropped from his mouth. It missed, and slid down her bobbing ass. He tried again, and it nearly hit its target. As I hoped, he gave it one more try.

  My cock, now, seemed to have fallen away from my body. It ached worse than it ever had, and though it seemed like my torture couldn't get any worse, even more superheated pain filled my dick as I watched Sandro spit on my wife's anus.

  She rubbed her own ass, still looking back at him.

  The tip of his cock was nearing her now, close to her pink eyelet.

  “It's so big,” Summer gasped again. “It's too big. I can't take it all!”

  What a show. She was gasping and panting, moving her hips up and down, and that voice. Her voice said that not only could she take it all, she wanted it all.

  Sandro wound her her hair in his hand, and palmed her asscheek with the other. He moved her ass toward his cock. Summer let her own hand drop to Marcel's chest.

  “OH GOD!” she screamed, in a low growl, as he began to enter her.

  He was taking his time, and only a few inches of his thick slab were between her legs already. “Oh!” she squealed. “Oh, it hurts! It's too big for me!”

  But her voice, of course, indicated that it was just the right size for her, and her mouth was open in gasp of pleasure.

  He released her hair and she fell forward. I watched as she fell onto Marcel's chest, as though she were a lover resting on him, instead of a hotwife taking his cock hard. Marcel gathered her hair now, conveniently pulling it away from her face so I could see her contorted gasps for air.

  Sandro's cock moved in and out of my wife, shaking her gently against Marcel's body. Her open mouth, her closed eyes, her fair skin pushed with each thrust against his ebony muscles. I watched his cock, glistening with her wetness, dipping further into her. Stretching her open in the ass, while Marcel's thick meat pushed the lips of her pussy open. I could almost feel, in my own cock, the sensation he must have, of sinking into her tight softness, the length of his cock against the veined hardness on the other side of the flesh between her two tunnels, spread thin as a membrane. His balls slapped against the big, hairy balls of the giant black man, who had his mouth open and my wife's head clutched in his hand as Sandro fucked everyone to a screeching, twisting climax.

  Summer moaned. Oh yes, her mouth formed, but the sound that she made was like a sputtering animal at the verge of drowning. Sandro picked up speed, and his thighs slapped against her upturned ass as she clawed at Marcel's skin. Back and forth, back and forth, her face sliding on her own sweat and the sparkling black surface of Marcel's chest. She cried and mewled, biting her lip and saying over and over how big and thick their cocks were, how she just couldn't take any more.

  I couldn't take any more. The ache in my own cock was so consuming I felt only the throb and the quiver of it. I had let the camera fall, and I was sick and sweating. I tried to lift it but I was so consumed by the ecstasy of watching the two men violate my wife so thoroughly that my hand refused to obey me.

  She opened her eyes as she came, looking straight to me. Her eyes were black with excitement, her pupils having spread like her holes. As her body spasmed with her own delight, she opened her mouth as though to scream, but her voice was caught in her chest. For a moment the scream ricocheted through her without escape. When she finally yelled, the sound vibrated with the rhythm of Sandro's hard, deep thrusts.

  My stomach filled with what felt like a cold liquid, but my cock was so hot and so heavy with desire I felt it would break apart like a water balloon if I moved at all. I realized I was holding my breath, and I gasped.

  Summer was the only one who heard me, because Marcel was groaning – a thundering, deep groan that came from deep inside of him, and Sandro was hammering hard with his own need.

  He arched his back, and Summer kept her eyes locked on mine as her two holes filled to the brim with cum, as they slammed it deep, deep inside of her. I could hear how their cocks sloshed now in the cocktail of cum that was splattering from her two, wet, filled holes.

  “Fill me up! Fill me up with your hot cum!” She screamed, as they thrust the final spurts of their seed into her. All for effect, all for me, as though she knew my mind and wanted to burst my cock with her words.

  They panted in a heap for a moment, catching their breath.

  Sandro did the thing he loved so much, of pulling his cock slowly from the women he fucked, and admiring the rising well of cum that oozed from their tightening holes. He watched as it welled up and spilled over, down to the cushion of brown balls beneath her pussy. Running like a river, mingling with everyone's sticky white froth.

  Then he released her, pushing himself up on the small of her back, crushing her into Marcel.

  Summer lay inert on Marcel's chest.

  It was me now, alone beneath the table, unable to calm my heavy breathing, dizzy with ecstasy and pain, who needed release.

  Summer gave Marcel a smile, and rolled off of him. She pushed her sweaty hair from her face and adjusted her bra, which still held her tits neatly encased in silk and lace; the only part of her nearly unravished. She sat so that I could see between her legs, where her thighs were wet and slippery with cum. Her pussy was distended, her ass gaped.

  She looked around, very suddenly composed, as though she was looking for her keys.

  Sandro leaned against a table, panting.

  “Mrs. Brooks,” he said, when she stood up. “You are a very naughty girl.”

  She tossed her hair. Her face was different now. There was an element of meanness in it. She bestowed a waspish grin on Sandro, and winked. “I am.”

  I could barely breathe now. My stomach was gathering flesh from every corner of my torso and wringing it tightly. My cock, near busting, could take no more.

  But Summer was not done yet.

  “I just want to show you something,” she said. Her voice was still thick and syrupy, still coming out of her mouth like honey. Her mouth that had just swallowed his cock, was still full of the taste of his precum.

  But her voice had an acidic quality to it, and Sandro heard it.

  I had a good view of Sandro as his face changed, and his body turned flaccid. I could see that the same cold, indescribable fear was building inside of him, filling up his arteries, moving from his heart out to the rest of his body. His eyes watched the camera in her hand.

  Marcel was intrigued, but he no fear gripped him. If anything, he seemed amused. He said something in French, but when it left his mouth it sounded like a laugh.

  Summer twisted the camera in her hand. She was haughty now, in control of everything.

  Even I didn't know where this would go, or where she was leading us.

  She didn't make anyone wait for long.

  “Now,” she said, and her voice had a dominant ring to it. “I think a lot of people would be very interested to see something like this on the internet.” She was strutting now, to Marcel's amusement. “A successful chef, soon to get his own TV show...so unprofessional, so...” her eyes drifted to Marcel, who was rising up to his full height like a mountain forming in a tectonic plate shift. She left the statement in the air, telling its own story. So nearly gay, in a coun
try of macho men.

  Sandro looked like a tiger, ready to pounce.

  “I wouldn't,” Summer warned. Her voice was sharp and she let this warning tell its own story as well: she was covered in his cum, filled with his cum. Everyone had seen enough Hollywood movies, enough TV dramas to see where she might be headed. She was a respectable and beautiful wife and mother of two, and Sandro was a testosterone-hyped playboy chef who wouldn't take no for an answer. “Anyway the disc has been tucked away somewhere safe.” It wasn't, but it seemed like a prudent thing to add as she unpacked her blackmail surprise.

  What was she doing, I wondered. Now the game seemed dangerous, but I was too excited to feel any real fear. Summer, too, seemed to hold the whole elaborate plan in her hands, like an expert knife juggler. She had her dead-calm voice on now.

  She didn't give Sandro too much time to think. She let her words wash over him quickly, once, backing him into a corner. He was getting flushed with anger now.

  My cock could barely take the pressure that was building up. I didn't dare move; it was part of her plan. Stay where you are until I tell you to come out.

  “Now, Sandro,” she purred. “I wouldn't want to ruin your life. That's so...tasteless. A sex scandal,” she tisked. “I know you're Italian, but I don't think what just happened here is anything you'd want to get out. So let me see...” she ran her hand along the shiny table. “I need to go back to my husband. You remember Ben, don't you? I love Ben. I wouldn't want Ben to know how naughty I've been, you see.” She looked over at Marcel. “Darling, if you want to leave...it doesn't concern you.”

  Marcel shook his head. He was thoroughly amused. He chuckled a low laugh, and then he crossed his arms, leaned against a table, and crossed one ankle over the other. He had found his pants and put them on in some act of graceful magic. He was staying for the finale.

  She set the camera down, as though it were useless, as though to back up her claim that the disc was somewhere else entirely. She moved closer to Sandro.

  “So I think,” she said, catching a lone chair with her foot and pulling it close to her, “that we can work something out.” She sat down, and spread her legs open. “I think, that if someone could clean me all up, then Ben wouldn't notice anything, and I could probably just...” she glanced at the camera, and shrugged, as though it had fallen out of her hand.