DarklyEverAfter (9 page)

With her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, she began to hump my body. At first, I thought she had snapped and I was soon the victim of some crazy sex act. Once she started to scream for me to fuck her, I knew it was only just a last come session before we got out. I obliged.

After some desperate fumbling to get my dick shoved in her pussy, I felt that sweet comfort of her velvety lips sliding down my dick. She moaned a little when I hit bottom and the two of us stood there in full contact. Sexy wrapped her arms around me, placing her full weight on my body, but also shoving her nipples into my chest. Bouncing as fast as she could, I thought there was no way I could hold out long enough for her to orgasm. I bit my lip. I thought about starving children in China. I even began thinking about this year’s taxes, but nothing would penetrate that soft feeling my groin was shouting about. All was almost lost until she began to nibble on my ear. First, it was gentle and enticing, making matters worse, but as she approached that delicate moment, the Bomb began biting harder and harder. The mixture of sheer pain and pleasure kept me balanced until the Sex Bomb exploded in a rash of moans and guttural sounds too incoherent to explain. As she orgasmed, my mind took control and persuaded my dick to release. The two of us finished our last dance in a chorus of sounds we dared not repeat in public. When we had finished, she asked for a little privacy to clean up a bit.

In the quiet of the room, I heard the unmistakable sounds of a woman in complete ecstasy, “Oh shit. Harder. Harder. Deeper. Oh, shit.” It was my wife. In the room next door to where I just survived one of the most erotic acts I had known, my wife was riding some not-yet-named cowboy to similar heights of joy. I knew those screams. Life was good.

Now that I knew the night was a success, I could relax a bit. There was not going to be an inequality to the evening. Sex Bomb and I walked down to the hall to join a few of the couples that had already completed their mission. I offered her a drink and we sat by the doorway waiting for our respective spouses to return.

Her husband, a kindly man with a great sense of fair play when it came to his wife, asked how I liked the shower. I hardly had words to describe the event, but I chose a few I thought more appropriate than the real thoughts floating in my mind.
Holy shit, she is amazing!
might not have been taken in the manner I had intended. He invited us to dinner one night and I thanked both of them for their hospitality as they exited the hall.

In the moment my wife entered the room, I knew she did not get her wish. The short stubby guy following her couldn’t possibly hold a candle to the hung fellow we had seen earlier. When I asked how things went, she smiled and suggested we go home for some alone time. Once was never enough for her. Three times might be too many for me, but I would try.

In the car, I asked Susan if she was disappointed about her choice of keys. She smiled, speaking eloquently about a cowboy’s way of life. The metaphor did little to explain her situation, but I continued listening.

“You see, honey, it’s not the length of the barrel. It’s how the guy handles it. And my guy’s tongue performed much better than his gun.”

“He’ll make a good lawyer some day.”

The two of us rode down the street near our house. The chit chat felt a little awkward, like we had been away for months and now we were trying to find common ground.

“So, the guy’s dick didn’t find his way home?”

“Well, it served a purpose,” she said while looking out the window.

The phrase bothered me a little. Not that she hadn’t every right to screw him, but she had said his tongue was better. What else could she have meant?

Leaning in my direction, she whispered loud enough to be heard outside, “Some men are better in the mouth than the pussy.”

“What is that supposed to mean? I don’t take blow jobs well?”

Nothing in our past had ever indicated that I was a poor blow job partner. I usually just lay there and let her do all the work. I warn her before ejaculating to give her time to pull away, prepare to swallow, or whatever move she might want to make.

“It’s not that you are not courteous. You just don’t force the issue like he did.”

“Like what?”

Some questions should never be asked, especially about what others have done sexually. I didn’t need to know that this guy jammed his dick down her throat. Neither did I need to know that he forced her to swallow every drop of semen. The more I found out, the harder it was for me to continue the conversation.

There was no way, however, that I was going to park this car until we straightened this problem out. I turned left and headed to the community pool. At that time of night, even the teenagers copping a few feels would be gone. In the cool of the evening, I rolled our windows down and turned the car off.

“I’m too nice? I thought that was what you wanted.”

“Not always.”

“You complained when I forced you to let me come in your mouth.”

She looked confused. “When was that?”

I thought for a minute. “I don’t remember exactly. We were still dating.”

I knew the minute I said that, it was wrong. Twenty-some years ago, she didn’t even like to be touched below the waist. Things had changed. I had not.

“I’m sorry.”

Having cultivated the poor puppy dog look over the years, I rolled my eyes in her direction and poured out my heart in one look. She could never resist that face.

“So, what did you find interesting this evening?” she asked.

I pondered my thoughts for a moment, making sure not to make the same mistake every guy makes, bragging about how great the other woman was in bed. The moments passed rapidly while I tried to formulate the best answer. My wife’s few harrumphs in my direction signaled her impatience. I had to speak soon.

“Oh, the strap-on felt a little weird.”

Nothing could prepare a guy for the look on his wife’s face when the discussion comes up about strap-ons and their husbands.
Shock and Awe
would describe her face. It was if I had asked her to grow a penis and start her own kink festival in our living room. Perhaps I should have kept that one for later.

“What else did the little slut do?”

The first bit of luck came my way when I remembered the shower. I didn’t have to mention the blow job or the other stuff. I could simply say we cleaned up and got dressed. As the news of normal swinging behavior seemed to calm my wife, I searched my brain for other normal activities that would carry me out of trouble.

“Did you come more than once?” she asked more sheepishly.

“No, heaven’s no. You know better than that.” The little lie seemed more appropriate than the truth. Just the mention of her sucking me off in the shower could have caused another round or fever. I was sick enough.

As we talked, I noticed my wife was absent-mindedly running her fingers over her nipples. Not so anyone could notice it, but she would drag a finger gingerly over it and return her hand to her thigh. For the first few minutes, I thought it was accidental, maybe some Fruedian moment that came from some deep seated childhood need to be angry. It just kept happening, first one hand and then the other. I was about ready to write the whole process off until I caught her slipping her hand under that sexy little skirt.

She was quick. I almost didn’t see it. Those finger crawled under her skirt, made a fast blitz to her pussy and pulled out, all to the rhythm of the radio and are harsh words. Looking up as if nothing happened, she continued grilling me on what that other Bombshell did. In an instant, the smell of a woman in heat drifted passed my nose as if someone had just sprayed an arousal room freshener. She was hot for the story.

“You know, I think I remember her bending over in the shower and letting me see that large clit wink at me.”

That vivid look of acute tension crossed Susan’s face. Her stoic look would have normally fooled me, but I was on to her tricks and I knew how to handle this. Facing the outdoors, I strained my eyes to see her crotch as I pretended to be as angry as she pretended. There, before my watchful eye, she slid her finger back under her skirt. A small noise escaped her throat as she pulled her hand back out again.

Her other hand was now circling her right nipple with a fever pitch. She thought it was hidden in the dark, but the side mirror gave me a clear view of her actions. I loved how she pushed and pulled, eventually grasping it between her thumb and finger for one good squeeze.

I couldn’t resist. I slid my hand under her skirt to find a sopping-wet, hairy pussy. It surprised me so much that I never even questioned where her panties were. Burying my finger two-knuckles deep, I stroked her favorite spot with ease.

“Don’t you dare,” she said with vibrato. “Don’t you dare make me come, here.”

I never listen to women talking in vibrato. It seems so pointless. They never tell you what they really want or desire. I kept the finger rolling on her g-spot while I leaned in to kiss her. Our tongues met in a twisted accident of knots in her mouth before pouring over into mine. Soon we were trapped into a mind absorbing rush of fingers, tongues and passion so deep that we hadn’t even noticed the police car pulling up behind us.

With a rap on the fogged window, the officer got our attention. “All right, kids. Come out of there.”

Withdrawing my fingers from her pussy, I rolled the window down as Susan straightened her skirt. “Hi Officer.”

“Hi Officer,” she echoed.

“Folks, you know you shouldn’t be out here.” The more he shook the night stick at me the more I wanted to hide in the back seat. “Ma’am, you should button that shirt up. You might catch cold.”

As he walked away, I thought how much I hated this scene when I was a teen. The thought of having my parents called at this hour at my age seemed more punishment than I deserved.

“Yes sir. We’re leaving.” As he drove off, my wife flashed him her bouncy tits and stuck her tongue out at the officer.

“That’s just plain childish,” I said, starting the car.

I pulled the car into the driveway next to the house. The kids were all gone somewhere, perhaps our daughter to her boyfriend’s house and our son to his bud’s apartment. Whatever, we were alone. I looked at my wife for the first time since our event in the parking lot, and I really looked at her. I could see the fire still glowing in her eyes, and her rosy cheeks cherry-blossomed from all that flustered sexual tension released from her body. She was gorgeous.

“He doesn’t know what a lucky guy he was to have you tonight.”

She smiled. “Who? What do you mean?”

“No one will ever get that chance again. You are now all mine.”

“We’ll see.”

For the first time in years, I opened the door for my wife. As I lifted her from the car and shut the door, I pulled her to my body and wrapped my arms around her in the tightest embrace we have done in years. I held her close as she stared into my eyes, partly surprised at my actions and partly hoping for some real action.

I cupped her chin in my hand, pulling her face to mine. Our lips touched, gently at first, but the fire in our hearts welded our lips together as my tongue searched the reaches of her mouth. I held her close with one hand on her head and one lowered to her butt. I felt her push her groin to mine. Just like in the first days of dating, I slid my hand under her dress, finding her panties missing. All I could feel was a sticky spot here and there and a smooth leg attached. She moaned as I slid my hand around her thigh to that one spot between her mons and hip that always makes her crazy when I lick it.

Susan forced her face away from mine. Giving me more room for my hand, she leaned back on the car door, smiling broadly, her eyes closed to the world. I took the hint and ran my hand across her furry triangle. My finger followed the widening gap between her legs, tracing the lines of her pussy lips until my finger struck a wet spot. The sound of delicious pleasure coming from her mouth told me I was at the right spot.

My middle finger wandered down her lovely slit. until my other knuckles rested on her lips. With a
come-hither motion
, I began to stroke my wife slowly and methodically. An exhaustive rush of air exited her mouth as she rolled her head back against the car. Her hips had begun to gyrate clockwise. She felt swollen and full as she motioned around and over my hand. A sudden rush of liquid rolled out of her pussy onto my hand. There were several moans and a lot of squirming before my beautiful wife of many years settled back on the car. Grabbing my hand, she licked my fingers one-by-one, smiling and cooing as if she was eating the best tasting frosting in the world.

“You’re not done, yet,” I said as I knelt down in front of her.

The fragrant odor of her cunt was overwhelming. I barely kept my cool as I slowly edged my face to her raven hair. A little nudge to her clit with my tongue made Susan jump. The small squeal was delightful. I licked again, this time with more force and with deliberate strokes circling the swollen button. The smell of her essence flowed from her like she was trying to make me crazy for her. It was working. She twitched with each stroke, but she held me tighter to her, encouraging me to return to her clit.

I lifted her leg over my shoulder so I had better access to her slit. My fingers found their way back to that rough edge just inside her vulva and I began my now-famous finger stroke again, teasing and egging her closer to orgasm. Every dozen licks or so, I glanced at her face staring down at me. I wanted to see the pleasure in her eyes. I wanted to know she was enjoying this. I wanted most of all to know I could do her better than that other guy.