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Sketches

By: bigpapabare



She wandered through the garden, breathing in the beauty surrounding her. How she loved to come here, to be engulfed by nature's canvas, and filled by the sound of its music. This was Sally's favorite escape from the turmoil and tensions of everyday life. 

Her flowing white skirt brushed against her silky legs as she slowly traveled the rows of roses. Every so often she stopped briefly, leaned her curvaceous figure forward to take in the soft sensuality of a half-opened bud. The scent filled her senses and her mind. Such a flower caught her eye, as she settled onto the soft grass beneath the shade of a large magnolia tree in full bloom. She pulled her skirt over her knees and adjusted her sketchbook onto her lap, ready to try and capture that beauty for her own collection.

So absorbed in this world she was, Sally was left oblivious to the stranger observing her from across the garden's stream.

His eyes had caught her as soon as she entered the garden. He watched as she made her way among the blooms and foliage. The bright sun seemed to sparkle off the dark tresses that tumbled over her shoulders. The waves that framed her face drew his attention to the exquisiteness of her fair skin, and her dark rose-colored lips.

Sam had never before been overcome with such feeling, such emotion. Immediately he longed to touch those full lips, to trace them with the tip of his finger, and to feel them press their softness to his own. But most intoxicating to him were those dark eyes. As soon as she looked up from her drawing he noticed their intensity. He felt the instantaneous warmth spread through his senses. He could only imagine the passions those ebony eyes were windows to. How he longed to gaze into them, to be lost within them as he reached the heights of those passions with her.

All this ravaged Sam's mind and senses as he watched her. When she finished her sketch, and began to gather her belongings, he knew he must catch this lovely creature before she left. The idea of letting her slip away before having the chance to just speak with her suddenly terrified him. To lose that chance, though sure to be slim, at sharing in such fervor was something he would not do.

Still oblivious to the man with her among the flowers, Sally collected her tools to head back to her dreary apartment. How she hated the city, its dark streets, shuffling shadows and gray demeanor. This garden set apart in the center of it was her only escape. She had promised herself long ago that someday she would flee its monotony for the flowing meadows of the country she had grown up in. Goodness that seemed so long ago, but she still had not lost hope of returning. The gloom of spending another evening alone there though made it even more foreboding. Lost in these thoughts and memories.

Sally did not hear the man approaching until she felt his presence almost right next to her. Startled, she whirled around to find him standing only a few feet away, simply gazing at her. Frightened a bit by his closeness and unnerving gaze, she backed a few steps away and stumbled over the roots of the tree. Quickly his hand shot out to catch her arm before she tumbled down, then softened his grasp as she steadied herself.

The soft smile and kindness that now sparkled in his blue eyes relaxed her a bit, and some of her fear drifted away. His eyes were so blue, matching the clear oceans of the tropics, and sparkled in the afternoon's rays. Sally returned his warm smile, then realized she was still staring into those eyes, and quickly pulled her gaze away mumbling a soft thank you.

"I'm sorry to have frightened you. I should have spoken sooner, but I was so enthralled as I watched you...I mean observed you drawing. Your passion for the beauty here simply radiates from you." Sam removed his hand, though reluctant to break the touch—the electricity he felt between them strained to hold him there. It took all he had to not reach out at that moment and brush his hand against her blushing cheek. God she was beautiful, was all he could think.

"I didn't realize anyone was here with me. Not many people come here, that I have noticed anyhow. But then it seems I become so absorbed in the surroundings, I don't notice the people moving about within it." She was still blushing, trying desperately not to get lost back into that gaze again. She had felt the surge of desire when he had steadied her earlier. Instantly her body had reacted to it and still she felt the warmth travel through out her.

The sculpted features of his body captivated her; it had been so long. So long since she had felt such yearning, and she longed for it. Sally trembled a bit from the thoughts that overwhelmed her mind, the sketchbook dropped from her hands. At once they both leaned down to catch it, and their hands met on the paper.

As they rose from the ground his hand did not leave hers. Gently he caressed the top with his thumb, and the look in his eyes revealed to her his ache to stroke other parts of her body with equal gentleness. With the registration of this in her mind, she realized her own hunger to have that touch, to have his touch.

Instantly Sam sensed the submission in her body, and he knew he had to have her. To share in the passion he had earlier observed. His hand traveled from the top of hers, over the soft satin of her lavender blouse, up to those full lips. He traced them gently, memorizing them with his fingertips. A soft sigh escaped her, making the touch of his finger even warmer. She let her eyes flutter shut, to fully absorb this soft touch.

Sally felt his lips before they actually touched hers—felt their heat as they neared—and a sudden hunger shook her body. She let her hands softly trace the outline of his body through his shirt. Their kiss deepened as the hunger grew, and their bodies pressed together as their breathing deepened with it.

Unable to stand the barrier of the clothing, Sam gently laid her onto the soft ground. His hands found the buttons of her blouse and took their time opening each one. He savored each new revelation of her flesh, the softness, heat and creaminess of it. He longed to taste her, the sweetness he knew she held within. Her body quivered as his lips left hers, making a trail between her breasts as he moved down her body.

She slipped her own fingers beneath his shirt, anxious to feel the fire he was offering to her. Each removal of clothing gave them more flesh to explore, and they relished in it. Tasting and caressing each other, drunk in the desire that engulfed them both.

When their clothes lay scattered around them, their naked bodies entwined such as the climbing roses that surrounded them from the busy outside streets. Once again their lips met, more fervently this time...their tongues danced together in a lover's tango. She pulled his hips to hers, letting him feel the moisture he had created. The heat of her honey against his throbbing need overtook him.

Sam plunged into her, his cry of passion carried away by the late afternoon breeze. Her womb enveloped him, clenching around him as he moved further into her depths. Their kiss breaking. Sally's own cry of pleasure floated away with his. Her muscles clenched onto him as he filled her; and over and over he drove into her.

Both of them became lost in this moment of pure ecstasy, their bodies building to ever expanding heights. Their movements so in sync with one another they could have been long-time lovers. Perfectly they fit together, each touching the most sensual spots of the other, until they soared together. Once again their cries united with the wind—moans of mutual release flowed from them. Their bodies embraced together as the explosion ripped through them from the very core.

Sam embraced her as their bodies began to relax. He pulled her over to lie with him on their sides gazing into each other's eyes—still joined by the softening member between them—they held the moment. As he stroked the damp hair from her cheek, they knew if nothing else, they would hold this passion between them in their memories forever.

Sketches: At the Raceway



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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is another sketch: a self-contained story written on a lark. I had so much fun writing the first sketch that I had to write another. If you read "Beads & Pearls," you'll find this is simply a variation on the theme. The characters and situation are similar, though the setting and outcome are different. Call it a narrative exercise: I'll exercise my writing while you exercise whatever comes to mind...

Your part, dear readers, is to share your reactions. Rate it and leave a comment if you can. I'm still getting used to the first-person format so any observations (good or bad) are appreciated. And remember that "theme" mention from above? This story starts with a couple's exhibition as an "enabler" and explores the ever-controversial loving-wife/slut-wife crossover a bit deeper. If the last story was "light and airy," this one gets a little edgier.

...And to show your comments really do make a difference, a sequel to "Beads & Pearls" is underway.

Thanks,

Wilson

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My wife and I were on a month-long driving vacation, just touring the states, and we saw a sign for a car race. We probably wouldn't have noticed but Jill recognized one of the sponsors – she did occasional "booth babe" work for them at trade shows. The race was an obscure little circuit and it would go on 'till tusk. We'd never seen anything quite like it so we pulled in to check another thing off our life's to-do list.

Tickets were cheap and we joined the herd moving through the entrance. It was a beautiful, twisty track, surrounded by rolling hills and a forest on one side. I'm no racecar ace but it seemed like it would be a lot of fun to drive. Once we had an idea of the layout, we hoofed it out to one of the lesser-populated bends.

We found a couple of bench seats behind a concrete wall, far away from the grandstands of the straight-aways. From the look of it, Jill was the only girl within 300 yards of our little corner. While the hardcore fans were back toward the grandstands, we were in a pocket of guys just looking to party and enjoy an afternoon away from the world. Behind us, a tiny grass hill was sprouting a party with a portable barbeque already fired up. From the sound of it (and the coolers they'd hauled in), they'd gotten an early start.

There was a beer kiosk not too far away and the few folk sharing our benches were friendly. We were there in time to catch the pace lap, then all those older racecars (Triumphs maybe?) opened up. It was festive, the cars were cool, and of course, there was the ego trip of having Jill on my arm.

We were already a few beers into the race when the guy next to us worked up the nerve to introduce himself. Tim. Nice guy. We managed to carry on a conversation between the scream of passing race cars.

Behind us, the group was loud, fun and just rowdy enough to sound like my friends back home. Then somebody got just drunk enough to shout "show us your tits!"

Jill was the only girl within shouting range and she just rolled her eyes. It wasn't surprising: most guys don't have the balls to walk up and say "hi" to her until they've had a good dose of liquid courage. I checked on her and she was cool with it, going so far as to glance over her shoulder and tease them with a flirty "you never know" look.

I caught Tim looking too, wondering if she'd do it. Busted, he gave a helpless shrug. At least he was honest: "Well, not like I'd mind..."

A minute later, one of the group came down to apologize. "Ma'am, sir, we're really sorry about him..."

Sir? We're definitely not any older than these guys. I give him a pass. "No, that's okay. It's like being back at the Brickyard."

"Oh, thank god. Bill gets a little drunk and I just wanted to know if we were going to have to call him an ambulance."

I turned to my wife: "Verdict?"

Jill was used to it and shook her head. "Boys will be boys."

Tim piped in first. "Cool! If you want to do test runs on me, I'll be your guinea pig."

Jill patted his arm. "Thank you, dear."

After enough beer and a few nudges from me, Jill was up for spreading a mass case of blue balls. Tim had to stand to let her out (well, he didn't really have to but he was a gentleman) and she slid past him. He tried to be polite, God bless him, so she pushed back as she sidestepped, brushing her butt over his crotch.

He looked at me like a deer caught in the headlights. Jill's a natural flirt and I kind of encourage it, so I disarmed his fears of pummeling with an eye roll. He was practically chewing on his knuckles as she stepped into the aisle. She looked back, a paragon of innocence, and batted her eyelashes. Let me tell you, it was false modesty. She had on a pair of low-riding, hip-hugging Capri pants that revealed slender ankles and showcased a J.Lo-quality ass. It was cruel and unusual punishment as she walked away, her hips swaying enough to charm a snake.

She was gone for about ten minutes. Tim and I talked about women, racecars and the similarity of the two. When Jill came back, she was wearing a men's Raceway tank top knotted at the bottom to show off her near-washboard abs. Even from 30 feet away, I could see she was sans bra. The tank was loose to begin with, designed for 300-pound guys that work out with 12-ounce curls, not 5-foot-9, 119-pound women that lived on a Stairmaster (or, in her case, a "Staremaster"). As she sashayed toward the bleachers, all I could see was an approaching titstorm. The sweep of the neckline featured deep cleavage and the narrow shoulder straps showed off firm outer boob curves. It would look cheap if she didn't look so expensive wearing it. 

Jill brushed past Tim again, and he was staring over her shoulder – straight down her tank top. "Somebody is excited..." She teased. Tim hunched over, suddenly nervous, and glanced at me again.

"Bad girl," I wagged my finger at her. "He's not dead you know."

"You sure? He felt a little stiff..."

Tim got in the swing of it. "Still alive... But I think I felt heaven for a second there."

Oy. "Suck up, much?"

Tim glanced at Jill. "Only on special occasions."

The cars went roaring by, saving us from terminal sappiness.

Not ten seconds after they passed, we hear the same drunk from before. "Show us your tits!"

Fully prepared this time, Jill pressed her boobs between her arms, accentuating cleavage and bent toward the crowd. The tank top fell away a couple inches and I saw nipple from the side, so I know they saw nipple. We heard a holy chorus of "Oh My God!" Did I mention Jill has great tits?

I glanced around to see if any of the other folk in the area were offended. Nope. Very interested, though.

A minute later, the same diplomat comes down the hill with a couple of bottles in his hand. "Hi, I'm Nick, and we're donating two of Bill's beers to you two. Obviously, he doesn't need them anymore."

"Well, that's mighty kind of you," I answer. I could tell by the community chest that they weren't exactly 'Bill's beers', but it's the thought that counts, right?

"Thanks Bill!" she called back.

He gave her a salute and I have no doubt he would've offered a own flagpole, too.

We drank and the brew lasted another few laps.

A different guy came down with a couple of fresh bottles and Jill accepted them for us.

"That's so nice!" She purred. "Are you guys trying to get us drunk?"

"No, ma'am," the guy mumbled. "Why? Are you drunk yet?"

"We're working on it." I answered.

"Us too."

Jill couldn't hold back a giggle. "You seem pretty drunk already."

"Actually, I meant... um... yeah. We are."

The cars went screaming by and the bottles were drained pretty quick.

Yet another beer delivery monkey came down and actually took our empties but he couldn't quite muster words in front of Jill.

On the latter half of the bottles, the whole group united in one chorus: "Show us your tits!"

I give her a nudge. She was excited: I could see her nipples tenting the tank-top but Jill suddenly demurred. "Oh, I could never do it myself..."

I shrugged. "Okay, turn around."

She did and I'd guess she knew what I was about to do. I think the guys were prepared for another cleavage-and-more shot when I grabbed the knotted tank top and slid it up. There was a bit of resistance and I had to give a tug to pull it up over her boobs. The yank left her boobs wobbling and the guys erupted into one sustained holler. Jill was into it, shaking her chest like a burlesque dancer. The guys were running out of air.

Tim was staring, not a foot away, and hollering right along with them.

When I pulled her shirt back down, Jill turned with a knowing smirk on her face. She winked at Tim, then gave me a big, wet French kiss. She was definitely feeling good. Makes sense: even the biggest starts got a rush from a standing ovation.

Another delivery guy stumbled down with our fourth complementary round and made bowing motions before Jill as he backed away.

I had to look around again, just to make sure we weren't pissing anybody off. It would suck to get thrown out. Fortunately, the area was all guys and at this point, horny guys.

The cars made a couple of laps, we drained the bottles, and like clockwork: "Show us your tits!"

Tim prepared, pulling out a digital camera. What happened next was so fast, you'd never notice if you didn't know what to look for. Jill glanced at the camera, a little unsure. She made a living on her looks and image was important. I could tell she wasn't completely against it though; she would clam up if she didn't want her picture taken. Instead, she glanced at me for a ruling. By the look in her eyes, she was turned on by it. I was too, but this would cross a threshold. I gave her a shrug and a nod. And that was it: some guy would own shots of my wife flashing her boobs in public.

The guys up the hill were still mid-tit-howl. Jill glanced at her fans then looked back at me and batted her eyebrows. Translation: she didn't mind flashing, but she didn't want to do it herself. Coy little bitch, wasn't she?

Okay, fine. I reached around her back and thought about different ways to do it. The guys could see where this was going and they were cheering. Creativity failing, I just popped her shirt up like before. Jill gyrated like an exotic dancer, her hips circling in a way that just begged somebody to stand behind her. I did – and her ass rubbed across my crotch like I was a pole dancer's pole.

The cheers were cresting as she gave me a professional-quality dry-hump. She shook her boobs for the crowd and whistles were coming from all over the hill. The dry-hump/boob-shake took coordination on her part and restraint on mine; I wanted to peel down her Capris and fuck her on the spot.

Tim captured the whole thing on his camera. After a dozen pictures (this guy doing a pictorial?), she turned to him. Her shirt was still up and I didn't know what to expect. For a split second, I thought she was going to tell him to back off. Instead, she leaned back into me. Her arms were in front of her, not blocking her boobs but artfully cradling them. Another picture. With a lean toward the lens, she cupped her boobs and offered them to the camera. Another picture. She held her nipples in a pinch and blew him a kiss. Another picture.

Jill had tunnel vision: she was doing a photo shoot. I snapped out of it – it was a soft porn photo shoot – and I pulled her shirt down before we got kicked out. Reality came crashing back on her a second later. She spun, suddenly mortified, and buried her face in my arm. The whole crowd was still whistling and clapping, looking for an encore I think.

Tim put his hand up and we slapped a high-five. Why did I just do that? I was fiercely protective of my wife, instantly ready to flatten... everybody. Jill, with her face still buried, put her hand up and got her own high-five from Tim. Translation: she was self-conscious but still into it. I laughed to myself as one thought popped into my head: the little slut. Any anger I had melted under wanting to push her just a bit further.

We traded email addresses and Tim promised to send the incriminating pics our way.

From behind, the last guy of the group – Bill himself – finally stumbled down the hill. He managed to hold on to a couple of bottles and handed them over, staring at Jill's barely covered boobs the whole time. He was slurring and I was surprised he could actually stand.

"I jush wanted to shay thansh!" Then he pointed at her chest. "Whah month were you?"

She knew exactly what he was talking about. Jill shook her head but she had big smile on her face. "I never had my own month but I was in a 'Girls of the Big Ten' once."

"Oh, god, I knew it." And Bill fell flat on his back.

We were a little concerned but he was definitely still breathing. A minute later, two guys from the rest of crew came down and dragged him back up.

Ten minutes later, the leaders roared by on their last lap. The race was pretty much over, some people already making their way out. Of course, we got a parting call: "Show us your tits!" One call turned into a dozen calls all over the hill for boob by popular demand.

Jill turned, expecting I'd be there again to complete the deed. Instead, behind her head, I nodded to Tim and made a lifting sign. His eyes bugged, then he swallowed and reached around. He slipped the shoulder strips down her arm and she was surprised. She gave a Betty Boop "Oop!" – but her eyes were wild and her smile wide. She cupped her boobs again, this time for the whole crowd. Even Bill woke to whoop it up.

I wasn't sure how she'd react, but I stage-whispered toward Tim: "You only live once."

He took the hint, sliding his hands under hers. I heard the guys hollering but I was watching Jill. She looked straight at me as his hands cupped her tits. I gave an approving nod and she lifted her arms higher, striking a statuesque pose. Tim took it as permission for full fondling. She was still looking at me as he rolled her nipples. The crowd went nuts.

Her arms high over her head, she brought her wrists together as if she were helpless against it. There had to be five seconds of groping already, an eternity when you've got that much adrenaline, when Jill started dancing. She gave her human bra the dry hump of his life. She was acting like such a slut, I had to grab Tim's camera. He fondled her tits as she looked into the lens. With Tim's hands squeezing her boobs, she blew me a kiss – and I captured it on camera.

I was turned on, but shouts were turning into crude requests. "Alright, let's go..."

Tim slowly pulled the shirt back up, reluctant to let go. We were all in a sexual buzz as we gathered our gear and headed for the exit.

With a long walk though the park to get out, there was no escaping our crowd of beer-swilling boob lovers. There were a lot of high-fives to both of us and offers to go out as a group. I'm sure they were thinking gangbang by now. Tim was in the crowd right along with us and he was all for having a beer. I'm sure he was thinking gangbang, too. Frankly, so was I but I wasn't sure what to think about that. Jill was coy but she dialed back the flirting and that seemed defuse the pressure. The guys were polite and appreciative and we started to separate as we went to different gates.

Tim, however, stuck with us. Not a problem, I guess; after sharing a public fondling, we'd obviously crossed some sort of social barrier. I wondered where it went from here.

The raceway gates had 10-foot chutes that led to big turnstiles. It was a crush to get out so I led the way, Jill pressed in behind me and Tim brought up her rear. Strangely, I felt knuckles brushing on my back. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Tim had slipped his hands inside her tank top, stretching the already-wide armholes. His palms were locked on her tits.

Jill just shrugged and threw up her arms. "I'm innocent!"

I rolled my eyes and he took it as permission, his hands resuming full grope under the flimsy fabric.

Honestly, I couldn't sort out what the fuck I was feeling. I'd granted permission back in the stands, even encouraging him. Hell, I took pictures with his own camera. Still, I figured it was for that moment, not for "the rest of the night."

I pushed my way out through the 1-person turnstiles and spun to see how Jill handled it. He was waddling right behind her, actually cramming himself into the turnstile with her. She was getting poked and they stopped halfway through. I wondered if she was going to turn and slap him. Instead, she pressed her ass against his crotch for another dry-fuck. The little slut. The two of them got whistles and a few cheers. It was like watching two strangers and the voyeur in me wanted to see them fuck right there in the turnstile.

Something deep in my beer-soaked imagination snapped: from trade shows to catalogs, Jill thrived on being a sex object. She'd wear some branded string bikini and strut around in some booth at a convention center. She'd come home insatiable, excited after teasing men all day long. For once, I wanted to see her follow through. I needed to put her on her knees and use her like the whore she pretended to be. She needed to be bent over and so thoroughly fucked that she couldn't walk straight. Sanity settled in a second later.

The two popped out of the turnstile and brushed themselves off. Their audience was still clapping and hooting. They whistled even louder when she fell into my arms and gave me a deep, wet kiss. Tim actually had to stop for a second before he could continue and I gave him a high five. What the hell did I just do? I reached deep inside and tried to counter my perversion with a prayer. I hoped my wife just made this guy cum in his pants. It was the only way to avoid the inevitable.

Instead, we staggered away from the gate as a trio. I thought about leading us to the parking lot, but we were all too buzzed to drive. I pointed us the opposite way and we headed toward the neighboring park. Jill's shirt was stretched out, on the very edge of legal, but the same buzz left us too relaxed to care (except Tim, who cared a lot).

Our amateur photographer led the conversation, asking Jill where she modeled. What an utter suck up. Still, he played to her ego without eating out of her hand. Smart. Within a minute, Jill was wondering aloud what it would be like to do a porn shoot. He told her we already had, it was just softcore. She was nodding as we headed into a grove of trees.

The evening air was cool but we were still glowing from all the sun we'd gotten. At the edge of the park, almost private among the trees, I fell onto the long grass and looked at the night sky. Jill flopped down beside me.

Tim fell on the far side of her. After a moment of silence, he blurted out: "Sorry, I kind of took advantage."

Jill "tsk-tsk'd" him playfully.

"Thing is," he continued, "I really want to keep taking advantage."

The ball was in my court. I knew where this would go: I pictured him crawling right between her thighs and fucking her. It turned me on but I couldn't give a simple green light. Why? Would it be over too quick? I lolled my head to the side to answer: "What? Don't have enough pictures?"

His eyes lit up. I know it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear, but it was enough to keep hope alive. He reached for his camera. "Can I?"

I nodded and he turned to Jill. She turned to me and I gave her a suggestion: "Lose the shirt."

Jill sat up and pulled off her shirt. Completely free, her globes were magnificent. She looked around though, suddenly worried. It was dark enough that we could see distant light from the parking lot, but not much else. She went to set the shirt beside her, then looked at Tim and his camera. Instead, she threw the tank into the shadows to get it out of the frame. A second later she realized she couldn't see it anymore. No safety net. Instead of looking for it, she shrugged and rested back on her elbows.




Sketches: At the Raceway



I rolled away, giving the model her space. Tim took a few shots of "Jill in repose." The flash bulb was shockingly bright in the dark and I'm sure she was blind as a bat after the first picture. She smiled as he walked around and she gracefully caressed her tits. He took a couple more shots.

I egged her on to take it all off. It didn't take much. She peeled off her Capris and her g-string all at once. She laid in the dark grass dressed only in her tennis shoes. The shoes actually made the rest of her seem that much more naked. Her cantaloupe-sized tits weren't defying gravity, but they were lusciously firm. Her bush was trimmed to a little triangle, like an arrow pointing the way to good, dirty fun. With her hair mussed, it looked like she'd already been fucked.

I couldn't help it. I moved in, pulled her to her feet, and cupped her boobs. Tim took another couple of shots. I spread my fingers, revealing her hard nipples to the lens. I left one hand between her boobs and sent the other one south, cupping her mons like a pair of hand panties. I felt like Botticelli and Jill was my Venus. Tim got the picture.

I split my fingers, revealing her split underneath. Even in the cool night air, she was hot and damp. She went with it, slowly gyrating under my touch, but she kept eye contact with the lens. She was seducing the camera.

I stepped away and took his camera. He hesitated like it was too good to be true. Maybe it was, but I waved him toward her. Jill looked at him, silent, gently brushing a nipple with the backs of her fingers. He slid behind her just as I'd been.

His hands went naturally to her tits. She leaned back, pressing her tight ass against his crotch. There were no Capris, no panties between them as she started slow gyrations again. Sure, his pants were on, but I could tell by her motion and his face that his cock was right between her cheeks. Now that was pure torture and I had to take a couple of pictures.

Kissing had unusual rules for us and I knew she wouldn't initiate. I looked and them and gave a little advice: "Dude, you've felt her up and she hasn't even gotten her a kiss."

It was seminal moment, so to speak. Her eyes closed, her chin tilted – and he closed to seal their lips. It was sweet for a few seconds, then spicy as tongues began to play.

"She needs a pair of panties, too."

He reached south and she touched his hand. She didn't brush him away, just felt his hand as he cupped her damp mound. There was a pause – then he slipped his fingers between her wet folds. She closed her eyes and I snapped another shot. His hand tilted and he plunged a finger deep inside her. I took another picture; a close up of his hand, his finger buried to the knuckle. I pulled out and got a picture of them both. Jill's lips were parted in ecstasy as she was finger-fucked by a man not her husband.

Tim looked at me, the question in his face obvious. I nodded.

He dropped his pants and I raised his camera. Jill bent over at the waist and arched her back, simply waiting to receive. My brain reeled at how submissive she was. She looked into the camera – at me – surrendering as this stranger slid his cock between her thighs. Her mouth dropped open as his shaft brushed her pussy. Her eyes – still locked on mine – went wide as he pushed his cock into her. With a click, I captured the moment my tease became a slut.

He started thrusting and I took a dozen more shots. The camera had a video option and I used it, capturing their rhythm. Under my protection, she let go; let herself be used as a whore. He expression was a mix of ecstasy and relief. Her tits shook with every thrust, and she moaned in the softest voice. She was taking pleasure giving pleasure.

Tim eyes popped open like he'd been hit by lightning. "Your tits! Can I cum on your tits?"

She popped his cock out and spun around, dropping to her knees. He straddled her as she hefted her tits, thrusting his cock between her globes. She held them together, giving him deep pillows and his cock disappeared between them. He got a few strokes and splattered cum from her cleavage to her neck.

When it seemed he was drained, she took his still hard-cock into her mouth. I moved closer, getting a shot as she buried her nose in his pubic hair, her drizzled chest swaying beneath. There was pool of cum reflecting lights right at the top of her cleavage – and I snapped a picture of it. I got closer still and took a shot of her face; her eyes sparkling as some stranger's cock slid between her lips.

I couldn't stand it.

I tossed Tim his camera and stepped up to my kneeling wife. It was my turn. She leaned over and I could make out the cum glistening on her chest. The slut. I don't know why it turned me on but I was so hard it ached. The camera flashed as Jill wrapped her mouth around my cock. Her lips were so soft that they seemed to melt around me.

The camera captured her sucking the cock of her husband – but cum was already on her. The slut. Globs of jizz shook across her chest, dribbling down her tits as she bobbed up and down. It was live porn – and this starlet was mine.

Oh, God, did it feel good. Her mouth, wet and warm, was drawing it out. Releasing it. My balls tightened and my knees bent and I saw the world go purple between Jill's lips. My first pulse went deep in her mouth and I almost collapsed.

I pulled out and stroked, painting her cheek with another pearly jet. It felt deeper, like it meant so much more, but I couldn't put it words. I didn't need to: it was all there, in a white spray across her cheek. I pulled again and she let the cum dribble from her mouth. The flash snapped in the darkness, capturing another strand as it landed across her nose and in her hair.

We celebrated the bonding, taking another shot with both our cocks against her cheeks, then another with our cocks on her lips, and another with the tips of two cocks in her mouth. And suddenly, the camera was out of memory.

Just as well.

Three days later, in our inbox, we got a series of shots...



Sketches – Beads & Pearls



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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a sketch: an unpolished story. I'm used to writing in a 3rd person omniscient voice but the genre really lends itself to the immediacy and intimacy of 1st person so I'm trying it out here. The first time around, I wrote this bit in present tense – which was fun to write but just a bit too distracting to read. The one bit of editing has been to slow it down into past tense. Beware... it's possible I missed a few edits.

My request for you, dear reader, is that if you bother to read this story at all, take a moment to rate it and leave a comment. Tell me how the first person strikes you, the tone of the narrative, even the ever-controversial loving-wife/slut-wife crossover content.

Thanks,

Wilson

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I'd never been to New Orleans but my wife had when she was younger. Now we were both in our early thirties; older and smarter, but not necessarily wiser. I work in a cubicle for one company and Jessica works as a receptionist for another. She got the front desk of a fairly flashy image conscious group, so she keeps herself in shape. With pouty lips and big boobs, it wouldn't matter if she couldn't remember her own name, she'd be perfect doing what she's doing.

My cubicle toiling had scored a pretty significant bonus and we both had some vacation time, so I thought it would be good to celebrate with the biggest of celebrations: a trip to Mardi Gras. It was either that or a trip to see her parents in Detroit. Yay. I talked up the Big Easy with all the Dixieland jazz, the smooth booze and – I had to be honest – the boob flashing. She rolled her eyes and protested how unfair that was. I told her to get into the spirit of it and that made her think a moment.

"Okay... you wouldn't get upset if I lifted my top?"

I stalled, flashing her a big smile. I admit, I do have a jealous streak but I was also raised on porn: the idea of seeing my wife excite other guys got me cranked up. Trophy thing? Maybe. Maybe it was just breaking through the familiarity that settles on a relationship. Who knows, but we'd certainly had a few fantasies and she'd gotten plenty hot and bothered. She was always reluctant to kick it off, but by the end, she'd come a dozen times playing the slut. I don't think either of us ever thought about extending that into the real world, but hey, you never know. Finally, I gave a smarmy wink and told her: "Jess, you'd look great in beads but better in pearl necklaces."

That got a look.

Two weeks later, we were headed east on a big jet airplane.

After Katrina, Mardi Gras had grown up. Like Vegas, it shed its "fun for the whole family" approach and went for the adult crowd. That much was apparent when we were handed flyers at the arrival gate: NOPD notes about the dos and donts. While they didn't explicitly say they'd be looking the other way, the impression I got was no blood no foul. I'd be seeing a lotta boob this week...

On our very first night, we went bar hopping on Bourbon Street. Luckily, it was a very warm night. She was in a white tennis skirt (very short) and a tight red t-shirt. Under the skirt, if she was on a bar stool, you'd see a lacy white g-string underneath. Wonderfully scandalous. As for me? Who cares. Okay, for what it's worth, I was in shorts and t-shirt.

We raced to the first stop and had one big drink in a charming little pub. Big drink. It was enough to get us both started, then we blasted out to sample the town.

She got some catcalls and turned, looking to see how I was handling it. I looked at her like 'what are you waiting for?' and it was all the permission she needed. She flashed her demi-cup covered boobs and actually watched me more than them, which was funny 'cuz I was watching them watch her. In the corner of my eye, I could see the relief in her face as I hollered right along with the crowd. She got her first necklace of the night and we scurried away.

I leaned over, ironically, to have a little discretion. "You should probably lose the bra."

She looked at me a little surprised. After a moment of consideration, she unhooked and pulled the D-cup mouse ears out of her sleeve like Houdini. Then the challenge started: where to put it.

I saw the problem and asked her: "Is it expensive?"

"It was a few years ago but it's falling apart. I really need to get another one."

"Okay, good," I nodded. "Here, I'll take it."

She handed it to me and I yanked it in two before properly disposing of it. That dropped her jaw. I capped the move with a perfectly innocent smile. Not twenty feet down the road, she got more catcalls. She flashed them – and I swear to God, seeing her tits swaying in public gave me instant wood. Street – Strangers – Wife's Tits – More Strangers... So different and so hot and so cool. Wow. She played to the audience, but still stole a glance at me as she arched her chest.

I gave her a wink and cheered her on. She wasn't so nervous about baring her boobs, but what my reaction was to it. Second batch of necklaces and me showing my enthusiasm (not beating anybody up), and I think she was starting to relax.

When another girl lifted her top, I was going to toss her a necklace. Instead, the girl steps over and bows her head – with her shirt still up. My lucky day. Well, if I'd been flagging since Jessica's first public exposure, this shot me back to life. Her boobs weren't Jessie's, but she was still pretty and they were still sexy boobs. It was my turn this time, keeping peripheral tabs as I gave this girl all my appreciation. I didn't detect any jealousy per se, but I did get just an inkling of my wife's competitive edge. Now that would make it fun and just a little bit dangerous.

We settled into another bar, this one a rowdier road-house, and she got several more necklaces before walking out. She got a lotta calls. Great tits, go figure – and her nipples were beacons under her tight t-shirt. I egged her on every time. To me, it was... surprisingly exciting. I've seen her boobs for the better part of a decade, I know their every curve. They're great, but I've been there. Until tonight, I'd never seen her shake them in a crowd. I see everybody else getting excited and it gets me excited all over again. Visual Viagra. Now, out in the street, I was seeing her tits in a whole new light (so to speak). They're fresh again, like I'd never seen 'em before, and she'd gotten me excited. By those nipples, she was pretty excited, too.

We looked around for another bar and headed toward a place that looked jam-packed. On the way, there were hoots and hollers but she had a drink in her hand. She handed it to me and flashed her tits to a balcony full of guys. They showered her with beads. She gave me a kiss but "let" me hold on to her drink. Great.

Actually, it was pretty good. She was in the mood now, flashing half a dozen folk on the way to our third bar. A couple of guys even had cameras and she was all for it, posing with her magnificent tits out and a coy look on her face.

She whispers into my ear: "Check when we get home."

"What?"

"You just know they're all going to wind up on the web."

I give her a nudge. "With your set? Of course – but they're all front-page pictures. You've haven't done anything worthy of the members-only gallery yet."

"Yet?"

"Hey, the night is young."

A couple more drinks, a little Dixieland jazz and she was roaring – actually giving me beads from her collection to give to other girls. That was a blessing and a curse alike. I'd never seen so many tits in person in my life. It was just this steady stream of wonderful jiggling: wide, narrow, big or perky, it was fantastic. The downsides? It was all hands-off and My God, I just wanted to reach out and touch. Second, I was sure that by now, my dick was going to be permanently imprinted with a zipper mark.

Jessica, by now, was just another glorious addition to The Boobs of the World. At some point, though, she'd decided to get my attention all over again. On one particular request, she lifted her shirt and – as she stared at me – actually brushed her nipples to make them pop out. Necklaces granted, laughs had, admirers stagger off.

I nodded with a big shit-eating grin. "Whoa, fondleage? How are you going to top that one?"

She didn't; at least not right away.

It was getting late and we both decided it was time to hit another bar. We were smart, though: we'd hit the john before we hit the street. On the way out the back entrance, we edged past a thick crowd when she got another request.

By now, I was only watching half her flashes – there's plenty of boob out there. In a dark corner, though, with only so many guys in view (all of whom were just short of bowing before her), she lifted her shirt. I heard gasps (did I mention she's got great tits?).

She made sure to catch my eye on this one. With her shirt lifted, she gave them the obligatory shake – then cupped and hefted her globes with her nipples sliding between her fingers. This got some admiring oohs and aahs (including mine) and that appreciation sparked boob squeezes like she was an exotic dancer. She rolled her nipples between her fingers, then pinched and pulled them for a very appreciative group of guys.

On the way out, she bit her lip. It had to be 1 am, her chest was pressed against me and I felt her nipples through her shirt. Her voice was a bit shaky. "Did I go too far?"

"You're right here."

"You know what I mean."

"For me or for you?"

That one stopped her. She thought about it, then blinked. "For you."

"You didn't go far enough."

She rolled her eyes, almost dismissive my bravado, but she was biting that lip again.

We made it around front and looked for our next place. With all the alcohol, we were ready to coast on the buzz for a while.

As we walked, we took a shortcut past a slightly out-of-the way old house that had its own party going. On the upper front balcony, there were at least a dozen guys – and when they saw Jessica, we heard a chorus of pleas.

She went to hand me her drink. I handed her mine instead and I flashed the group. That got a good round of laughs. While I had the momentum – and she had the drinks – I stepped behind, grabbed her shirt and practically lifted it over her head. Tag-team flashing. She was a little surprised at first then I could tell she really got into it. Her shoulders relaxed, she leaned over and gave them a burlesque-quality shimmy.

I, of course, couldn't shut up. "Oh, come on! Give 'em a REAL show!"

With the green light, Jessica gave them the full cupping, nipple-rolling floorshow. They went nuts, tossing beads like they were in the primate house.

"There. See? One set of boobs among thousands and you just made their night."

She gave me a big kiss and led us off on our merry way. "You really think I made their night?"

"Yes and no. They'll all have to jack off, but they'll all jack off thinking of you."

"Are you saying I'm a tease?"

"Yes, a terrible tease."

The streets were stumbling drunk by now. It looked like a Girls Gone Wild video – we saw dozen little group gropes in the shadows, strangers welcomed in for a friendly feel. We saw titty taste-tests going on in a couple of the crowds, educating us on where the "slippery nipple" drink got its name. At first glance, I'm guessing most of the guys that got mouthfuls weren't the girl's boyfriends. That mere thought gave me a charge, though with my own dumb luck, I get an invite for an outdoor nip-lick. Then there were the girls that were so good and drunk that they didn't mind taking a taste themselves.

I didn't have any problem with it but honestly, if I walked around with this erection any longer, I was going to have permanent damage. I wanted to throw Jess (or any of about a dozen girls) into the bushes and fuck the daylights out of her. With any luck, I had just enough alcohol in my blood to balance out the hundred tits I'd been teased with. Maybe I could last long enough to share the orgasm – maybe not.

We brushed through some bushes on an obvious path and she stumbled behind me. She burst through staring at me. She had a cocked eyebrow with one of those coy smiles. "Is teasing really so terrible?"

I grabbed my crotch and pointed. She nodded, able to see the outline my now-permanent erection. "Didn't jo momma tell you it ain't nice to tease?"

"Isn't that what Mardi Gras is all about?"

My brain took flashing to its logical ends: one big, giant world-wide orgy. It really was the ends of logic, but hey... "Yes and no."

We stumbled into the next bar. With air travel, alcohol and age, we were winding down. The crowds are getting sloppy and we were getting tired – though my cock had enough strength to drag us both back to the hotel. There was no liquor at this stop, just some bottled water and a little coffee and a little small talk about New Orleans architecture.

I felt a little too grown up as we headed back out.

Retracing our steps, we stumbled across the primate house again – and the same set of guys was still out there with their beads and cameras. After a few affectionate hollers (they recognized us), Jess lifted her shirt. Mid-shake, I stepped over and started fondling her. The guys went bananas. Jessica was feeding on the energy – and she started sucking her thumb like it was a cock (all while I'm groping her for the cameras). There was a moment of silence as flashbulbs went off then they went nuts again. When she started alternating between thumbs – as if sucking two cocks – I was sure their porch was going to break.

A couple of the guys disappeared, I'm sure they were going to invite us in. Jessica was still giving imaginary head as my brain started puzzling out exactly what would happen if we went in. I saw a flash image of Jessica on her knees surrounded by a dozen frat boys, her tits out, face frosted in jizz. And that would be...? Bad? In the same flash, I watched the impromptu taping of "Mardi Gras Bukkake Babes." Yeah, that would be bad. I grabbed Jess's hand and we got lost in the crowd.

We made it a couple of blocks before I dragged her into a dark and mostly-deserted alley. She was giggling as I found a recessed doorway and she didn't shut up until I locked my mouth over hers. Even then, her giggles turned to moans as I lifted her shirt and started fondling her again. I really couldn't stand it. I lifted her shirt right off and dropped it on the ground between us.

She took the hint and knelt on the shirt. I pulled my cock out and she wrapped her lips around it in three seconds flat. I was going to melt in her mouth. It was awesome, absolutely fucking awesome. I felt her warm, wet, velvety tongue and just enough pressure from lips that were born to suck cock. I watched her bob on my shaft for a minute and I knew a hundred guys were fantasizing about trading places with me right that second.

"Stand up, babe."

She looked up, doe-eyed. "I thought you wanted me to wear a pearl necklace!"

"I do. A ton a' pearls. Later. Right now, I want the Grand Prize."

I spun her around, flipped the tennis skirt up and tucked it into her waistband. I pulled her g-string halfway down her thighs and felt for the promised land. She was wet. Been-excited-all-night-long wet. I slipped in and pounded away. We were practically sloshing in that little alcove – and I was just waiting for the door next to us to open. And a thought popped into my head: she was sloppy seconds wet.

I don't know if she picked up on my vibe, but she egged me on. "My god, you're hard! Are you thinking of little wifey shaking her tits for all those guys?" I grunted something and she recalled what we'd seen not 20 minutes ago. "Did you picture them fondling my tits?"

I felt my cock jump inside her.

"I take that as a 'yes'." She arched her back, her jiggling tits thrusting out. "Would you like to see that?"

I pounded hard. I couldn't answer with words. We did this kind of thing all the time in the bedroom, but there it stayed. Asking out in the night air, in another city, after she'd just flashed the planet? I didn't know if she was playing or not. I know I wasn't.

With her free hand, she steadied herself against the wall. She circled her ass, pushing back into me, then she looked over her shoulder: "Am I your little cumslut?"

I lost it.

I think she was coming too, but the whole world was inside my balls. I tensed, then came so hard I was surprised it didn't squirt out her ears. I exploded a hundred fucks worth of cum into her. She was vocal, her hand on her clit, and I felt her go rigid and shudder around my cock.

I was surprised we came so quick, especially after all the alcohol, but after five hours of foreplay? I was surprised I didn't cream my jeans.

For a moment, I didn't want to leave the shadows. I didn't want her to get dressed, I just wanted to worship her for the goddess she was.

Instead, we zipped and buttoned and headed back into the crowds. Somehow, seeing her boobs in that tight shirt made them seem a little different now. They felt fresh.

One hail for a cab and my dear wife was asleep on my shoulder before we got back to the hotel.