I raised myself on my elbows as she started to slump and then caught herself. She peered up at me through a curtain of blonde hair, then barked a short laugh.
“Oh my God, Lucy, I...”
Her words trailed off.
I reached up to touch her cheek, then she dipped her head and we kissed.
“There’s something you should know about me,” I said.
She looked, waiting for me to go on.
“I’m greedy...”
§
Later, when I stole back up to join Jason in bed, I told him what he’d missed.
I told him how when I’d gone down Celia’s pussy was slick from her juices. I’d licked her thoroughly, my tongue sweeping down her inner thighs and across those soft folds. Flicking against the hood of skin that concealed her clit and making her cry aloud again.
“You must have heard that cry,” I told him, his dick in my tight fist.
I’d pressed my lips against her and rocked my head, and she had started to roll her hips in response, riding herself against my face.
“Then I’d felt her pushing at me, and I rolled onto my back...”
Lying there, her pussy was still pressed against my face, and then I felt her touch me. Fingers, sliding and pressing, then the hardness of Celia’s chin, soft lips against my own softness, and then, finally, that delicious darting of her tongue.
I started to lick her again, long strokes of the tongue from clit to opening, pressing inwards and then sweeping on to that sensitive area between pussy and ass.
“I was just starting to wonder... you know... were there any limits, when...”
A pressure against me, further back than her tongue. A finger, pressing against me, exploring that tightest of openings. Pushing. I felt a parting, a sudden give, and then the finger was inside, up to one knuckle, two, driving deeper. And all the time, her tongue flicked against me, a steady patter against my clit.
I tried to focus. Tried to control the sweep of my tongue, not to be too distracted by what she was doing to me.
I pushed my face up against her, my chin against her clit, my tongue deep inside her.
I reached up, slid my fingers against her pussy and my face until they were slippery with wetness, then reached further, found that little, puckered opening and pushed my middle finger inside.
There were so many sensations, then. The flick against my clit, the finger in my ass, the things I was doing to Celia’s clit and pussy and ass, the tangle of our bodies against each other, the press of her thighs around my head, all those hungry, urgent movements.
I felt her body tense and knew she was close.
I drove my tongue deep and held it there. My finger deep in her ass. My chin hard against her clit, barely, imperceptibly, moving.
She bore down and I felt that muscle quiver again, her pussy clamping tightly around my tongue, her thighs hard against the sides of my head.
That was enough for me. That was all it took.
I arched my back and Celia held her face against me, switching from the rapid flicking against my clit to pressing against me with the fleshy upper surface of her tongue. Held it... held it... and then my body jerked upwards, my legs clamping shut around her head. She held her tongue hard against me, and thrust her finger deeper inside me, as wave after wave of climax tore through my entire body, and then, finally, we slumped together, exhausted.
§
He was waiting.
Patiently waiting.
His dick was still hard, clamped in my fist.
I peered up at him.
“Sorry,” I said. “I... I got distracted.”
I squeezed, and he let out a breath.
“I... It was very intense.”
I started to pump, allowing the palm of my hand to slide over the wet head of his dick.
“I think I might need to do it again. Soon. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
He smiled.
“As long as you tell me about it afterwards...”
Tell Me About It
I never thought she would actually go through with it.
That’s what I tell myself, at least.
It was one of those things where you just keep nudging things on a little. Would you go this far? Would you go this far? Well, if you went that far, then maybe you would...?
And she did.
With that guy. The one she’d mentioned a few times in the past. One of her old college friends, the one who gave her that dreamy look whenever she mentioned his name.
Bradley. What kind of a name is that? The kind that’s nearly always attached to a square jaw, an athlete’s physique and dreamy, brooding eyes. Whenever I pictured him it was as that brain surgeon out of Grey’s Anatomy. McDreamy.
So. McDreamy Bradley and Lucy, my wife.
I never thought they would, but then I can hardly claim not to have encouraged it, and I can hardly claim that I didn’t enjoy the thought of it either.
§
It just started as a bit of fun.
We like to share our fantasies. Talking dirty. Getting off on what’s in each other’s heads.
Lucy likes me to tell her about some of my own past exploits. It’s not about the names and identities. It’s more about the scenarios: a genuine scene we can talk ourselves into. So I tell her about incidents like that dinner party where my then-boss’s wife was clearly offering up more than dessert. That initial shock when I realized the knuckles brushing my thigh under the table weren’t accidental. When she leaned into me, laughing at some innocuous joke, balancing herself by slipping a hand onto my thigh. Fingertips pressing in, pulling my pants tight. Squeezing.
There’s a reason that’s the anecdote that comes to mind first of all. There was a moment when we were still around the dinner table and Julie’s knee was pressing against mine. She’d already done the knuckles-brushing thing and the squeeze at the top of the thigh thing, and then the eye contact over her wine glass thing and... well, there was no mistaking the hand placed firmly on my crotch, or the little smile she gave when my response became immediately obvious.
But that moment I’m talking about. It was when her husband looked across and met my eye. Frazier, my boss. CEO of the business consultancy that had headhunted me only a few months before.
He’d raised an eyebrow, smiled, and Julie had slid her hand into my lap again, instantly finding my, by now, towering erection.
He knew. Frazier knew. And he liked it.
And so now that I’m happily married to Lucy and we like to talk rude and dirty, I tell her how all Julie wanted that evening was to get me alone so she could drop to her knees before me while I fucked her face, rough and savage and urgent. How she’d pulled my hands up to her head so I was holding her by the hair. And then how when she’d sensed me about to come she’d pulled away and finished me with her hand so that my semen spat all over her face, covering her in sticky, glistening trails.
I knew she would tell him all about it. That was the thing for them: they both got off on her going out and, well, doing what she did. I wondered how many of the other guys from work had shot their load all over her like this.
And then, one time with Lucy, in the afterglow of a hot and steamy session, I’d told her how beautiful she was, how she could easily go out and pursue her fantasies if that’s what she chose to do. “You could go out there and have any man you like,” I told her.
Maybe that was the seed. The starting point from which everything else followed.
§
It came out of the blue, a few weeks later.
Lucy was away at some trade show or other. Nothing unusual in that. It was a normal part of her work.
The only difference this time was that, purely by chance, she spotted Bradley at the bar one evening and used him to escape a really dull business conversation. It was the first time she’d seen him in years.
She called me that night. At first she only mentioned the encounter in passing, but I could tell she was holding back so I pressed her. She had that
tone of voice that goes with the dreamy expression.
What does that do to a guy, hearing his wife talk like that?
Up until now it had only been fantasy, a bit of talk between the two of us. It’s hot to know that your lover is attracted to other people, that she daydreams about what she might do with them. But it’s only fantasy. It’s not risky. It’s not the kind of scary that makes your balls retract and your breath catch in your throat when your wife is more than 200 miles away and you ask, “So you flirted with him?”
She tried to dismiss it, said they’d just caught up over drinks, so I told her, “It’s fine, Lucy. Really. I’m not precious. I’m not the jealously protective type, you know.” I tried to sound confident and calm. Tried not to reveal how anxious I suddenly was. I’m ten years older than Lucy. She really could go out and have whoever she wanted if that’s what she chose to do. The thought of losing her was terrifying.
“We did,” she told me. “Flirted. Just a bit.”
I had to dig further. I needed to know what they’d said, how far it had gone... How it had felt to be flirting with... another man.
As I started to tease the story out of her the mood shifted. A new tension in her voice, a hesitancy.
How far had they taken things?
I could tell she was aroused as she spoke to me. Was she imagining, or remembering?
“I’m thinking how he looked,” she told me now. “How he looked at me. Hungry for me. Eyes all over me.”
I could understand that. Lucy goes through periods when she has no confidence in her looks, when she’s far too aware that while her friends tend to be thin as sticks she’s a real woman with curves. For some reason she feels self-conscious about that, but when I look at her I always stop in my tracks and count my blessings. I love the lines and curves of her, the feel of her, the shapes she makes.
She surprised me then by asking what I was doing. “Is this turning you on? Where are your hands?”
“I’m holding the phone.”
“That only takes one hand.”
I hadn’t even been aware. Hadn’t noticed the other hand stealing down my body as we’d been talking. Pressing and squeezing at the thought of Lucy’s body. At the thought of another man admiring that body.
I admitted I was turned on, and she said, “Get it out. I want you to play.”
I fumbled at my buttons, then pushed my pants down over my hips. Found the elastic waistband of my shorts and pushed them down.
Liberated, my dick sprang up to lie flat against my belly.
I pressed down with the flat of my hand. My foreskin had rolled back and now my palm glided smoothly across the wet glans. I started to rock my hand from side to side, enjoying the tight pressure between palm and belly, the drag of hard skin against the sensitive underside of the glans.
I wasn’t the only one playing.
“I’m wet, too,” she told me. “Very wet. Two fingers inside me just isn’t enough.”
I wrapped my fist around my shaft and started to pump, forefinger and thumb curled tightly, sliding up over the wet head.
“He kissed me.”
I nearly came.
I paused, squeezing tightly, trying desperately to hold it all in.
“He did?” I managed to say.
“Only briefly. On the lips, mouths closed. He tasted of bourbon and he smelled of musk and citrus. His stubble scraped.”
I pulled my hand slowly up along the length of my shaft, the grip tight. So close...
I closed my eyes, imagining her hand pressing at her pussy, fingers buried deep inside. Imagining McDreamy kissing her. His lean body up against her. Had she made him hard? Had they pressed together as they kissed, his erection against her? Where had his hands been...?
“He made me so, so wet, Jason...”
I grunted, felt that familiar surging sensation, starting deep in my belly. Felt the tightening of my balls and then wet heat rushing up through me. A jet of creamy semen spat up my belly, leaving a trail from my breastbone down to my navel. I pulled again and another spurt joined the pool on my belly.
Just as I started to grow soft, Lucy cried out at the other end of the phone line. Her breathing was rapid, gasping, as climax took her. I gripped my shaft hard and squeezed, milking another creamy bead from that narrow slit at the head of my dick and then, finally, the tension in my entire body started to subside.
“Oh my,” she gasped. “Was that...? Did you...?”
§
I don’t know what possessed me.
We should have left it at that. Some rude fun over the phone while hundreds of miles kept us apart. Nothing more.
But you know that thing where you just keep nudging a little farther? Would you go this far? Would you go this far? Well, if you went that far, then maybe you would...?
I still don’t know if what I did next was some kind of test for Lucy, if I was teasing her, or if I really meant it. It makes me think about that dinner party: had my boss Frazier felt this same mixed up mess of feelings that I was encountering now? A part of him willing his wife Julie on to seduce me while a primal, jealous part of him wanted anything but?
I called the hotel, put on my best drunken slur and said, “Hey! Thank you so much. Listen... This is kinda embarrassing, ya know? I’m up here on the fourth floor an’ I’m a lookin’ at my keycard an’ it doesn’t have a number on it... Can’t even remember what room I’m in. Already tried one door an’, well, guy didn’t really appreciate it, ya know?”
The receptionist was trying not to laugh, I could tell. “That’s okay, sir,” she said. “If you’d just refrain from trying any more doors and come back down to reception I’m sure we can help you out.”
“Sure, sure,” I said. “Must be an elevator hereabouts. Name’s Brad, by the way. Bradley Whiteside. I... Oh, wrong door...”
The receptionist did laugh this time, then said, “Please don’t try any more doors, Mr Whiteside! Look, you’re not even on the right floor. You need to go up one to the fifth, room 508.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, and hung up.
I hesitated long and hard before texting Lucy with the room number. That really was taking things to another level.
Moments later she replied:
You sure? xxx
I was anything but sure, but we’d crossed that line now, the same line Frazier had crossed when he’d just sat there watching his wife feel me up beneath the dinner table. Still hesitant, I thumbed a response:
I am. Tell me about it later. xxx
As soon as I’d pressed ‘Send’ I started to panic. Now understand this: I don’t do anxiety, I’ve never had a panic attack in my life. I’m a relaxed, laid back kind of guy. So all this was very new to me. Up until then I’d never understood how close fear and excitement can be. They’re both adrenalin-fueled feelings. Both involve that thumping of the heart, the knot in your chest, a dryness in your mouth and a struggle to breathe as you battle to keep them under control.
So I sat there, my body sticky with my own drying juices, my mind racing with all kinds of mad thoughts, and I realized I was becoming aroused again.
They say pleasure and pain are closely related, but now I knew that fear and arousal were, too.
I wanted to call Lucy again, but I didn’t know if I would tell her it was a joke or if I’d be hoping that when she answered she would already be on her way to room 508.
I picked up my phone, then put it aside.
I closed my eyes, but immediately I was visualizing her. Them.
I stood and went to the bathroom to wipe myself down. My dick pointed ahead of me as I walked, just below the horizontal. Rubbing myself clean with a hand-towel made me get harder again and I bunched the towel and pressed it against me.
I knew exactly what she would do. I knew how she would lock her gaze on his so he couldn’t possibly look away. She would drop to her knees, hook her fingers into his waistband. Maybe press her face against him, feel his growing erection through the fabric of his
pants before, slowly, she would undo him.
She’d suck him in and hold him deep, squeezing with her throat around the head of his dick. It was a delicate thing she did, but guaranteed to make you go weak at the knees.
Then she’d start to work him, going through her moves, trying everything to see what worked best. Pumping him in a tight fist while she held the head of his dick in her mouth. Bobbing her head up and down on him, hard and fast. Delicate flickings of the tongue. Dragging him slowly between her teeth. That turn of her head as she sucked and pulled away. A hand on his balls, fingers pressing further back. Dragging clawed nails down his body...
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, couldn’t believe I was so hard again so soon, just thinking about my wife with another man.
Knowing that it was no longer a shared fantasy. It was happening right now.
I reached down, took my shaft in my hand again and started to pull long, hard strokes along the length.
What had I got into?
I closed my eyes, picturing the scene of Lucy on her knees before him. Bradley. Watching as her eyes moved from him, and she looked across at me, making eye contact as she dipped her head down against him, taking his full length into her mouth, and then...
Over, so quickly... That surging sensation again, a rushing of hot fluids and then I watched in the mirror as a creamy jet spat out across the bathroom.
I staggered, one hand against the wall to catch myself, and I thought, Oh Lucy! And I didn’t know if it was fear or excitement sweeping through me so intensely, so all-consuming.
§
When Lucy came back she told me everything, and I felt that same mix of responses. The fear and possessiveness, the excitement. The way all those conflicting responses seemed to amplify each other.
Now she was home and the last dick she had sucked had belonged to another man. Her last orgasm had been teased out of her by Bradley’s tongue and fingers. The last dick in her had been his.
I didn’t know how I felt, but the physical response was obvious.
“Oh my,” she sighed, as she took me in her hand and squeezed, exploring that hardness as if for the first time.
“Tell me,” I gasped. “Tell me all about it.”
The Complete BBW Hotwife Page 4