10 comments/ 116461 views/ 15 favorites A Cajun Hotwife Memory By: Sir Edward Sherrie stood in the doorway of my bedroom. Her jet black hair was matched by the thin black nightgown she wore. It covered her, and concealed nothing: She had a perfectly formed body. She stood not more than 5 feet tall, her skin like alabaster, her dark eyes flashing. She looked like a three-quarter scale Venus "My husband said to make you feel comfortable, you know," she said in a slight voice, her Cajun accent so strong it took me a few moments to register what she was saying. Her beautiful face brightened into a smile. "When he said anything in his house is your...he meant anything." And she moved across the room toward me, languidly, sensually, a female creature too good to seem true. It was a complete surprise when, for the first time in my life, I met a Hotwife. It was her husband who gave her to me, and it was such a delightful sexual time that I remember like it was yesterday. It was, in fact, a little over 40 years ago, when I was in my early 20's. I had never known about Hotwives. I doubt if that term was used back in those days. Today, the Internet and a generally more permissive view of sex has made the term much more well know. A Hotwife is a married woman who has sex with other men, with her husband's knowledge and permission. A Hotwife does not consider herself a cheating wife, and neither does her husband. There is no "affair." The husband not only knows of her sexual adventures, he likes the fact that she is a sensual creature, enjoying her female sensuality. I did not even think for a moment that such a thing existed. It was the mid 1960's. I was in Louisiana, doing a series of stories for the Baltimore newspaper where I was a reporter. The town was called Houma. It was then a smaller mostly fishing community in the Bayou country. I checked into a smaller motel and made it a point to ask the desk clerk where I could hear some good Cajun music. She mentioned a nightspot within walking distance, and added a warning: "You better have you dancing shoes on." It was a rustic spot, rather unpretentious. There was a bar along one side, and one big open room. To my surprise, there were no individual tables for two or four people. All of the tables were communal ones, seating probably a dozen or more. Several of the tables were half or mostly full. The music had apparently begun earlier, but the musicians were on a break. I moved to one of the empty tables and sat down. I was aware that I was out of place. I was the only man in the room wearing a jacket and tie. All of the other men seemed the rugged he-man type. Jeans, and not very new ones, and open shirts, mostly flannel and mostly patterned. The women were of a wide variety...all size and shapes and ages.but dressed fancier than their men. If there was on thing I noted about the physical appearance, it was that the general height of those there was someone shorter than I was used to. At 6 foot even, I stood taller than any other man in the room. I had not been seated more than a minute when a male voice boomed out from a nearby table. "Hey, Yankee!" I turned toward the voice, and chuckled. "I guess you have me pegged," I said. The speaker was a man who seemed to be in his early 30's, if you judged by his eyes. But his skin was tanned and weathered. There was no gray in his dark, wavy hair. And he was smiling. "Take that tie off. Take that jacket off. And come sit over here with some friendly people. No one here will eat you," he said. I almost certainly would have joined him and his friends anyway, but the extremely attractive female sitting beside him was an added inducement. She looked a little younger, and not weathered at all. Her eyes were as black as coal, her hair also raven, and long, wavy, in a style like that of a 1940's movie star. She was very pretty. I will not dally with the events there at the dance hall, except to say the music was fast and furious. Zydeco it is called these days, although I understand there are differences between Zydeco and more traditionally Cajun music. The dancing was also fast, and so was the drinking. Herb was the guy who had called me over. Sherri was the pretty thing at his side, and his wife, he said proudly, for the last 7 years. Herb, like most of the men, was drinking beer. Budweiser. Sherri was having a Brandy Slush, which I was obliged to taste, enjoyed, and managed to finish a couple of glassful's of. The dancing was, if anything, faster than the drinking. Though they varied, each number seemed to have a specific step of steps, all of them extremely complicated and extremely fast. I was made to try, and became the butt of good-natured kidding when I could not even begin to keep up. There were some slower numbers, ballads. I could understand little or nothings of the French Arcadian dialect, but was informed each was about some form of love gone wrong, or a cheating man or cheating wife. I had designs on dancing with Sherri, or one of the other attractive wives, but no such luck. Each of the husbands made certain that when a slow number began, they were the one holding their wife on the dance floor. Well, friendly enough to a stranger, I thought...but not that friendly. I was to find out differently. It was toward midnight when Herb, having learned my life history and my reasons for being in Louisiana, asked where I was staying, and for how long. When I told the name of the motel, he let out a whoop. "Naw, buddy, you ain't," he said. "Lets go get your things. You're coming to stay with a Cajun fisherman!" Herb said he lived in a little community named Cocodrie. "Just down the road a piece, closer to the water." He turned to his wife and told her he was bringing me home. She looked over at me and smiled. It was a smile that would have melted an iceberg, and it certainly warmed places I like warmed. We three drove to my motel in his car....I got my stuff loaded quickly in my car, and followed along a winding road through what looked like swamp country to their house. "I built it myself," Herb told me. It was sitting on what looked like dry land, but it was raised on stilts. I could see the moonlit water very near. Once it was determined that I was not hungry, or needed anything more to drink, Herb showed me to my room. I was asleep in moments, drifting off to the sound of bullfrogs and, I thought, the muffled sounds of two people making love in the next room. The sun was not up when I awoke suddenly, being shaken by Herb. "I'm goin' shrimpin'," he said. "You wanna come with me today or another morning?" It had been maybe 4 hours since I fell asleep. I managed to say I would like to do it another day. "K, buddy. Rest easy. And as my guest, anything in my house is yours." With that, he was out the door. A few hours I began to stir. The smell of fresh coffee brought me to life. A cup of black coffee sat on the bedstand. I could hear someone moving nearby. After a few moments, I called out: "You have any sugar and milk for this coffee." "It's considered a sin to put that stuff in good coffee. Try it first." Her voice was silvery and light. I was not unaware that I was alone in the house with a beautiful woman. The black coffee tasted surprisingly sweet. Some sort of tang to it...like perhaps chicory or another nut. Then she appeared in my doorway, clad in that short, lacy black nightgown. It was thin, see-through, and she looked like an angel. I had been erect upon waking. Now it stiffened even more. Sherri walked toward me, smiling, and reminded me of what her husband had told me in the wee hours of the night. When she reached me she leaned over and kissed me, sweetly. It turned into a kiss of heat and passion. I pulled her down on the bed and we continued to kiss, now with our hands searching. She broke the kiss and leaned back slightly, and lifted the covers. Her eyes move to my cock, and again she smiled. "The first thing I better do is take care of that," she said. Her mouth moved toward my cock. First she just barely licked it with the tip of her tongue. As I moaned, her mouth moved to engulf it. This was an erotic dream come true. She knew what she was doing, and my excitement grew quickly, especially when she was able to move her mouth to the very base of my penis, to deep throat it. She did not gag, but kept her mouth there for what seemed like an eternity. The sensation of having my cock buried to the hilt in this beautiful young wife was incredible. "God, how can you do that?" I said. She pulled away at last, releasing my cock but still holding it with her sweet little hand, moving back and forth slowly. Again she gave a little laugh, and a toss of her head. "We Cajun girls are expected to learn how to do that," she said. "Herb could have had his choice of almost any girl around here, but he said he married me because I could take all of him down my throat." She moved to suck it again, but I held her shoulder, showing her not to proceed. "Wait, " I said. "I want to fuck you." "There will be plenty of time for that. I'm here for you to have anytime you want it. But I want to feel it, too, and first I want to relieve all that pressure built up in your balls. Then we can do other things." I did not stop her again. You know there are some women who are just better at cocksucking than others. Sherri must have loved it, and it showed. This many years later, I still remember...can almost feel again...the heat and passion. As I grew close to cumming, I told her. She did not stop or slow down, but continued to lick along the shaft, paying special attention to that sensitive spot just below the crown. When I did begin to cum, moaning and, I believe, shouting, she made little mewing sounds of content and sucked it up like a baby. It has been over a week since I had cum, and she swallowed twice, then a third time...and after moving her mouth away, and licking her lips, she bent over again to claim the last few drops that seeped out. She rested her head on my shoulder as my breathing slowed. "That was wonderful," I said, when I could finally speak. "Thank you, sir. Glad to please," was her reply. "Do you welcome all guest like this." "Pretty much. Sharing is sort of a tradition here." "Nice tradition," I said, "I'd like to see you, Sherri. Will you take off that nightgown?" She rose, stood by the bed, and slowly removed the thin sheer clothing. She was indeed a beautiful woman. "Would you like some breakfast," she said. I pulled her toward me. Breakfast would have to wait. End of Part 1 * For those who wonder, all of my writing is based on true events. This happened many years ago, and I am sure I do not remember every detail accurately, but this is a true story as best as I can recall and recreate. A Cajun Hotwife Memory Ch. 02 (The readers appreciation of this story will be enchanced greatly by reading Part 1 first) Chapter 2 Sherri lay there beside me, quiet, still, beautiful. She had offered breakfast, but more importantly, she had offered herself for my sexual pleasure. More accurately, her husband had offered her. "Everything in my house is yours," he said in the pre-dawn hours as he left to go shrimp fishing on the Louisiana bayou. Sherri was a dream come true. Not more than 5 feet tall, she was built like a scale model Venus. Long dark raven tresses cascaded. Black eyes flashed with spirit and a delightful attitude. Lips were soft, red, eager. "You see," she said as we both stretched out nude in a bed where she had just sucked me off with skill and passion. "Some of us like to play. Well, some of the husbands like us to play." "All of the wives around here?" I asked. "No. Just some. I do not know all, because we girls really do not discuss it. " Sherri moved to press her succulent body against me, her head resting on my chest, one hand moving to cup my balls. As she continued to explain, her hand moved languidly, caressing, playing....from time to time reaching up to gently stroke me. "It did not happen before we were married," she went on. "Cajun men are very jealous of their girlfriends. "But just before we were married, my Mom came and sat down with me, and explained that the sharing that is a big part of the life of the people here often included wife sharing. "For the first time, she told me she was a shared wife. "I was shocked, of course, but she went on to explain it did not involve a lack of love. It was just something that seemed natural to many husbands. "She advised me to never bring the subject up, and not to talk about it with other wives or with my girlfriends," Sherri continued. "Soon after we were married, Herb had one of his friends over. As I was getting ready for bed, he came in the room and just told me his pal, Jean Luc, would be joining me in bed, and to make him welcome. Herb left, Jean Luc stayed, and it was wonderful, exciting, and I was doing something for my husband and for his friend. "I never had any guilt, I never had any trouble in my mind. Some of the wives might have, but not me. "After that, whenever one of his friends stayed over, I was expected to entertain him, to pleasure him." Her hand continued to play with my balls, and the other one moved to hold my cock, once again erect. "There was never any discussion between Herb and me about it. From the first time, it was just something he expected me to do, like a good wife. "Most of the men he gives me to are married, but a couple are widowed. Those men get me more than the others." She looked down to watch her hands moving on me. "Hummmm...that sure looks yummy," she said, then moved over me and slid down on the rigid member. She let out a deep sigh as her very wet pussy felt me inside her, and then began to move. Her hips thrust forward and then back, riding me. At first she did it slowly, her eyes locked on mine as she fucked. But within a few moments she was grinding her body down on me and began to move more forcefully, more rapidly. Soon her tiny body seemed to have gone wild. She fucked with abandon, riding like a wild thing, the juices within her beginning to spill out onto me. I could feel the warmth and wetness flowing out of her and across me. "Oh yes," Sherri said in a soft voice, slightly louder than a whisper. "Oh yes," she said again, a little louder. Rocking back and forth, thrusting down, her long black hair tossed wildly as she flung her head back and forth in rhythm with her body, she began to cry out in moans and whimpers. "Oh my god!" This time she was much louder, shouting. "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God." And then I felt the very depth of her pussy begin to clutch me, to pulsate, again and again. The muscles of her vagina clutched more strongly with each pulsation, until she was no longer in control. "Oh fuck...yes...yes...do it. Give it to me. Please, please, please." She did not know what she was saying, where she was. Sherri just knew she was a woman in the midst of sexual bliss. My cum shot out of me, up into her, and her eyes met mine again, opening wide in a look of pure astonishment. "I love it!" she shouted, and then froze. "I'm cummmmmmiiinnngg," she yelled, and a blast of hot liquid burst forth from between the lips of her cunt. Her body shook, and another dose of her juices flooded me. Her body seemed to relax. Her hands, which had grabbed my shoulders, relaxed. Her head dropped to rest on my chest. She gasped for breath, but within a few moments her breathing slowed. Silently we held each other. The whole act had happened quickly. It seemed like hours of fucking, but I knew it had not been. Nonetheless, we were both covered in sweat....and now cum, hers and mine. She did not raise her head, but said: "Holy s--t." Then seemed to collapse, her whole body stretched out against mine. ----- It was some time later when we stirred. "I hope you did not mind that I squirted," she said. "No, no. I have heard about that, but never actually had it happen," I told her. "It does not happen every time," Sherri said. "And by the way, it is NOT pee." She giggled, and the sound was like a hundred tiny silver bells tingling in the wind. I watched her move to leave the room. What a vixen, I thought. Thin, but not skinny. Beautiful almost beyond words. Breasts that would have been lovely on a larger woman, but on her smaller body thay looked amazing. Round, with pert pink nipples that pointed slightly upward. Unlike many girls today, she did not shave her pubic hair, and the jet black patch there was full and, to me, exciting. Just walking across the room, naked and glistening from a wild sexual romp, she was sensual, her natural motion a symphony. Her bottom looked like that of a statue....smooth, firm, round, bouncing slightly. She went to the bathroom, demurely closing the door, only to return a few minutes later, bouncing across to my bed like a schoolgirl at recess. She leapt into bed and kissed me passionately. "May I call you Edwardo," she asked. "It can be my pet name for you." "And what will you call this," I asked, pointing between my legs. "My fuck machine," she giggled. Without waiting to ask permission, her head dropped to my cock and licked it, cleaning off every drop of cum. "You like that?" She raised her head and continued to lick me. "Oh yes." "Not all women do," I said. "Silly girls," was her only reply. When she had finished her task, I kissed her lips. "Some men won't do that, after I lick them off," Sherri said. I made no comment but kissed her again. Despite the fact I had climaxed twice in the past half hour, I felt my tool stirring again. No wonder. Here was a stunning woman, and a married one, who clearly loved sex. Not the least inhibited, and as succulent as could be. "I have some questions," I said. She told me to ask away, and I did. Some of what I learned surprised me. Sherri and Herb did not consider themselves swingers. They had never gone to a sex party, or even played with another couple in the same house. She was well aware that Herb was often granted the same sexual privileges with the wives of his friends, but he did not brag about it, or even mention it to her. None of the men who bedded her with her husband's permission ever made the slightest effort to do so at any other time than when Herb told them to join her. Herb had never joined her and another man in bed. She once asked him about that, but he said he would never be comfortable in bed with another man. Sherri thought she might have fucked 25 or 30 men so far, but had never had sex with two men at once. "I think that would be fun," she told me. But she would never ask for it, and did not expect it to ever happen. And I was the very first man from outside her husband's circle of friends and fellow shrimpers she had ever been told to give herself to. ----- Sherri got dressed, sort of. All she put on with a frilly little apron. Her titties were visible, especially from the side, and it was short, so as she moved the thick black pubic hair could be seen. I watched her move around as I sat at a plain wooden kitchen table, drinking extremely strong coffee...with no sugar or milk, because that was the way Cajuns drank it. Her bottom looked delicious. "I'm gonna make you some counch counch for breakfast," she said. "I thought I just had some of that," I said. She laughed. "This is a special morning dish." "So are you." We teased back and forth as she worked over the stove. She was as natural and relaxed as if she had been doing so at a county fair....except for the fact that she was practically naked in a room with a man not her husband, a man she had just royally fucked. What a wonderful combination of elfish sprite and carnal woman she was. She told me about breakfast. "This is a traditional Cajun meal, but every woman does it a little different...well, puts different spices in, lets say. "You take some corn meal and fry it up. I use bacon grease, but only a little." The mixture browned on one side, then crumbled into smaller bits as she flipped pieces of it over to brown the other side. She put it on the table with a bottle of cane syrup. It was sweet and delicious. I had not realized how hungry I was until I finished the last bite. Sherri sat down with me and we talked about the Cajun lifestyle, including the history of how their people had come first from France to eastern Canada, then been forced out of that country. "Some went to Maine, but most came all the way down to Louisiana," she continued. "We try to keep the old ways." She asked me about my job, being a reporter, and we talked on about other items, including the hard work of her husband and others who caught shrimp or fish in the waters of the bayou country. Then, tilting her pretty head to one side, she asked: "You want some more pussy before Herb gets home?" "Why, you won't do me when he gets back?" She shook her head briskly. "Oh, no. That wouldn't do. I'm all his when he gets home. He does me most afternoons, anyway, but knowing I've done you will make him horny as hell." I reached out, took her hand, and led her back to my bed. Chapter 3 Sherri and I moved into the bedroom. The musky odor of our earlier lovemaking was prevalent, combined with the sweet smell of magnolia blossoms on trees outside the open windows. She lay back on the bed, still wearing the small black apron trimmed in white lace, and nothing else. My cock was already hard, and for a moment I planned to simply climb on and fuck the hell out of her. But then the odor of her moist pussy hit me. I leaned over her, first kissing her lips, then moving down to lick her nipples, and then without great pause moving to place my face between her legs. The smell was intoxicating. "Oh my," Sherri said. "You really wanna do that?" My answer was to bury my face between her thighs and begin to softly lick on each side of her mound. Along the left crease beside her pussy lips I stroked my tongue as she reached down with her hands to gently hold my head. "Oh, my," she said again. I moved my tongue to the other side, again just missing her clit and concentrating instead of the area just beside her lip. She uttered a sound like a deep growl of satisfaction, and moved slightly. I did that for quite awhile, moving to lick just above her clit, under it, beside it...but never actually touching her clit, or delving into her pussy. She moaned, and moved beneath me, pressing upward in a clear sign she wanted to feel me work her clit. Still I held back. "Please, please," she sighed. "Oh god, lick me there. Please lick me there." At last I touched her clit with just the tip of my tongue, and she jumped. When I made one long slow lick upward along the swollen clit, she let out a sigh. "Yes," she said, and it was the last recognizable word she uttered for a very long time. On and on I worshiped at the alter of a woman's thighs, licking, sucking, flicking. When I slipped my tongue into the deep moist hot crevice of her pussy, Sherri let out a loud sigh and came. She continued to do so, bucking beneath me as I held her legs down and continued to dart my tongue in and out. "Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh," was all she could say as her body continued to convulse in pleasure. When I slowed and gently moved my tongue in and out, tasting the sweet salty liquid, her climax slowed. But if she thought she was released, she was surprised. I did her that way again, this time taking even longer to bring her up to a peak. The third time, I could not control her. She began to cum the moment my tongue slipped back into her crack, my hands beneath her bottom, holding her the way one would hold a dish, pressing my mouth against her now sopping wet cunt. She was breathing deeply now, her eyes unfocused. Once she had calmed from her third oral climax, I moved upward and thrust my sheath directly and forcefully into her, not even trying to be gentle. I was as close to being a raging bull as I had ever been with a woman. I felt her juices still on my face as I pressed it into her shoulder and just fucked. I fucked hard, stroking without finesse, but with a passionate rage of lust. God it felt wonderful. This hot young beautiful woman welcoming my thrusts, her legs open...then reaching them upward to wrap around me as I pounded into her...on and on. I wanted to cum. I wanted not to cum. I wanted to feel this wild sexual creature, to plump the depths of her, to bury my cock inside her and move it out, then thrust it deep, deep, deep up into her again. This was what sex was meant to be...unbridled passion, lust out of control, a man as animal, a woman as the recipient of his wild desire to deposit his hot seed in her. I could feel Sherri rolling and moving, throwing her hips upward to meet my thrusts, to get every inch of my cock hitting deep inside her. I could feel her climax, not once, but several times. I lost count..or, in truth, was not counting, I was racing to cum, to spew that white liquid inside this woman. When I did, Sherri said "yes" just once, and climaxed with me, her body again racked with pleasure, her pussy tightened tightly around me, releasing suddenly and then tightening again. Completely spent, I lay silently atop her. One of my last thoughts before I drifted off was that her apron was still on her, bunched above here breasts. When I awoke later, she was singing in the kitchen, preparing lunch, and Herb was home. Lunch was "boudin rouge"... a fresh sausage made with green onions, pork, and rice. Herb and I sat at the table as Sherri served, then joined us. Served with it was something she called "mock shoe," although I later learned it was spelled differently and was actually french. It was another corn meal mixture, but tasted quite differently from the corn meal I had for breakfast. Sherri was no longer wearing just an apron. Her sundress was bright and colorful. When she stood in front of a window, the outline of her lithe frame was visible. Her tits, firm and erect, bounced slightly as she moved. Apparent was the fact that she wore no underwear. Herb and I talked, but I had trouble concentrating. Almost as soon as lunch was over and we two men moved to sit in wooden rocking chairs, I must have dozed again. Herb has gotten much less sleep than I, but the late night and vigerous activity of rollicking with the lusty young Sherri has taken a toll. It was late afternoon, but not yet dark, when I awoke. Herb was reading a newspaper. Sherri sat on the sofa, her legs dangling, doing some sort of cross-stitching. "Did you enjoy your day?" Herb asked. "Greatly," I replied. I noticed that Sherri was blushing. Herb turned toward her. "Sherri, take that tablecloth back over to your mom's." When she had left, Herb spoke again. "You like her?" "She is a wonder. I like her very much." Then I was quiet. "We don't talk much about such things, normally," he said, then paused. "But there are some things I wanna know, and I couldn't ask any of my friends." "Go ahead." "Well, for one thing, do you think we are weird?" "Well different, that's for sure," I replied. "But not weird. I just find it almost unbelievable that I should have such an experience." "Is she good?" "What?" "Is Sherri good in sex?" "Oh my god, yes. She is beautiful, of course, but she also knows how to please a man. Herb, for whatever reason you invited me to your home, I can only thank you a thousand times. I find your tradition of sharing fantastic." I paused again, then continued. "In fact, let me tell you something. I have never even thought of sharing my wife, of having her go to bed with another man. That is, until today. I guess I am a typical jealous husband, or was. Now, I would like it if she had a lover." "We do not consider the other men as lovers," Herb said. "OK. I misspoke. Lets just say let other men have sex with her." "Will she do it?" I admitted I was not sure at all, but I told Herb I thought it would be thrilling. I added that I would especially like to watch, but not be seen. "I've done that, although Sherri doesn't know," Herb said. "A couple of times...well, several times...I have stood outside after dark and watched her doing it. It is thrilling. I wish I knew why." And that was the ultimate question. All these years later, I am one of those who love having a shared wife. I do find it thrilling beyond explaination. But I am hard pressed to explain why I can enjoy it, and accept it without jealousy. Herb and I talked on into the evening, discussing various aspects of having a shared wife, or being a male sexual creature, and of the other forms of sexual experimentation, few of which he thought he would like. When Sherri came home, after dark, our conversation about sex ceased. We watched television on a tiny set with a round screen, the image fuzzy, since the station was some miles away. There was no such thing as cable television. Later that night, as I reflected on the hot, wild sexual events of my day, I heard unmistakeble sounds of a bed creaking in the next room. I heard Sherri cry out "yes!" just once, and I knew the husband was using his wife. Despite the fact I had cum three times that day, and fucked myself into a stupor, I found my hand moving on my cock. I wanted her again. To be continued. A Cajun Hotwife Memory Ch. 03 Chapter 3A My adventure of spending several days in a Cajun home in southern Louisiana, enjoying great food and a hospitality that included having sex with the wife, was something I never expected, and it is thrilling even now to recall it. But I wish to pause just a bit in my narrative to talk about Sherri, her beauty and her way of life. In bed, she was a wild and uninhibited sexual creature. She was wonderfully responsive, vocal, and completely free and open about how much she loved sex. But even though we had wonderful sex often, it did not occupy ever moment. Sherri was much shorter then me. I remember asking her height, and she said she did not know, but it was about 5 feet or a little more. "My Mom is just a little shorter than me, and she is five feet," she said. She was built like an alabaster statue. The greatest sculptor in the world could not have fashioned a more beautiful, more beguiling creature. Sherri was perfectly proportioned, with breasts that were firm and pointed just slightly upward at the nipples. They looked almost as if they were shouting, "Look at me." Her dark black hair was worn long, cascading in waves and curls down her back. Equally black were her eyes, which flashed with fire when she was aroused. Just moving across the room, in a simple summer dress, was like watching a ballerina. Her movements were unabashedly sensual. It was not that she put on airs, or even attempted to be sexy; it was that she was naturally a woman, and moved like one. She blushed when I told her she was beautiful. "Now Sherri," I said. "Certainly other men have told you that?" "Yes," she replied, "But usually just before getting their way with me. I take it as just something a man says to a woman he's gonna play with." She paused. "I guess I ain't bad looking, exactly. But I sure ain't something special around here." But she very much one. In one corner of the living room, the largest room in the simple wood frame house, stood a loom. Sherri said she made almost all the clothes she and Herb wore. "Something store bought is kinda unusual." She pointed to some brightly colored cloth partly finished on the loom. "That's cotton and wool together," she said. "I'm making some jeture de laine for a coat for Herb." She pointed to a nest of woven baskets in one corner. "I wove those, too, 'cept by hand. I used grass, let it dry first." Sherri also made the sheets, blankets and tablecloths in the house, using natural dyes made from indigo or berries, At other times, when not tending to our mutual passion for each other, she would spend hours ironing. She was always singing, but in that French Creole lingo that no Frenchman would have understood, and certainly not me. One song she sang over and over she told me was called "I always do my collars first." She had learned it as a girl, and it was a lesson in verse on how to iron properly. Another song she sang she translated for me. It cautioned a married woman at a dance on being labeled wild because she danced too close to a man not her husband. But there was one song I remember to this day. She wrote it out for me, and I still have it, yellowed and torn, in her own fine handwriting. Une jeune fille de quatorze ans, Z-ah oui, grand Dieu, quelle belle brune. Un jour elle dit à son papa "Papa, je veux me marier." "Fille jeunette, now taisez-vous Vous n'avez pas-t-encore quinze ans Vous n'avez pas-t-encore quinze ans, Z-a pour-e-plaire à-t-un amant." It is the sad story, she said, of a young girl in love with the wrong kind of man, and she is obliged to abandon him and return to her family, never to love another. Sherri told me that almost happened with her. "Me and Herb was doing the deed while I was still young. Mostly we'd do it on a mattress in the back of his pickup truck. "Somebody saw us, and told my Dad," she continued. "He was so angry he threatened to put me in a convent, and he could, too, and I would have gone. No choice. "I was crying and begging and my Mom was sitting there listening, very quiet. "Then she spoke up to my Dad, something she seldom ever did, and certainly not in front of us kids. "She just said 'Henry, can't you remember?'" "Dad looked at her and said 'Yes, I do remember" and smiled the biggest damn grin. "He asked me if Herb was gonna marry me, and I told him he already had asked me, but I'd told him to wait a couple of years. "Dad told me I wasn't waiting at all. We got married the next Saturday, in the church, and the priest did not ask any question. "We didn't even get a license until the next year, but to everybody around here, we were married." She put the iron down and looked at me with a twinkle, still wearing just the short, sheer apron. "You know what Herb called me then, and does now? He calls me Bonsoir Catlin." "What's it mean?" "It means 'sassy little girl' in our language," Sherri replied, then turned and shook her delightful bottom, uncovered, bare, lovely. "Come here bonsoir catlin," I said. She did, and we rolled together again in heat of the early afternoon, hurrying to finish each other off before time for Herb to get back home. To be continued A Cajun Hotwife Memory Ch. 04 I had stayed two nights at Herb and Sherri's Louisiana Bayou home. To my astonishment and pleasure, the sexual services of Sherri had been given to me. Still in my mid-20's, it had never occurred to me that a man would willingly surrender his wife to another man. Oh, I knew well about swinging, and cheating wives, but not about what we today call a Hotwife... a woman who has sex with other men with her husband's knowledge and permission. I had met the two in a small town called Houma, west of New Orleans, at an Arcadian bar and dance hall, and been invited...well more like kidnapped...to their home in a small fishing village nearby. Herb left to go fishing before dawn. Sherri came in with coffee long after the sun was up, and proceeded to make certain I knew that sharing their home meant sharing her. She was beautiful. Small, perfectly formed, she had a delightful, sparkling personality. Sherri was happy to rollick in the bed with me, joyful and totally unrestrained in lovemaking. But, of course, it was not love...she loved one man, but that man followed a seldom-discussed tradition of hospitality. She had been given to many friends of her husband, but never before to a stranger. Not only was she pretty, highly sexual and very bright, Sherri was a great cook. I got to enjoy a variety of meals, all of them great. Herb was a shrimper. His boat docked only a few yards from his front door. But he also did some trapping of animals, a bit of hunting...mostly for his own table ....and his fishing would extend to oysters and fish when the supply of shrimp was low. He and I talked frequently in the early evening, and he told me the advent of the gas and petroleum industry had changed things around the bayou country. "Got two brothers working over at the refinery," he said. "Make a hellva lot more money than me. Built themselves new fancy homes. And I don't see as they are all that much happier." After my second night there, and one full day of playing with Sherri, I figured it might be time to move on, but the morning was again spent with me naked and her as well, most of the time. It was the second day Sherri and I played, and at my rather youthful age I was as randy as could be. Sherri welcomed every chance to touch and feel...and after the very first time, when she had sucked me to completion...every time we touched, we wound up fucking. When Herb got home in the afternoon, I began to give my thanks and move on. Herb stopped me in my tracks. "You got so much that's dammed important you gotta leave?" I said no, but expressed a desire not to overstay my welcome. Herb turned to his wife. "Sherri, you want him to stay a couple more days?" She looked first surprised, then her expression changed to a broad smile. "I'll say!" "Settled then." Herb said briskly. "Now what's for dinner?" It being early summer, dinner was done before dark. Herb invited me to take a walk, and began to tell me about the house. "My granddad built this place with his own hands. 'Course he had help from the other men." The structure was a wooden frame, raised off the ground by about four feet. I suggested that was because of high water. Herb nodded, but continued. "Yup, but it also keeps the wood dry. All the ground around here is moist all the time, except for a drought time. And it helps keep insects and things from getting in." Herb was especially proud of the fact that his house was bigger than some others nearby. His grandparents had several children, and as the family grew, so did the house. A second floor had been added, and a front porch, with the roof continuing out over the porch. The windows were spacious and open....really open. There was no glass, just shutters to close if the temperature dropped. The lighting was kerosene lamps. There was no electricity. Or rather, they were not tied to the grid. A small generator was used, mostly to power the television, which was already old at that time. In front of me, Sherri and Herb spoke English, with the occasional French-tinged word thrown in. But when they were alone in their bedroom, I could hear what I took to be Cajun. Herb explained a bit about his fishing...mostly that it was "damn hard work." We had crawfish that night, and I learned to "suck the head." Once you got used to it, the taste was delicious, although considerably less spicy than I had always believed Cajun cooking would be. Back inside, Herb stood in thought for a few moments, then reached for a jacket from a peg on the wall. "I'm headed over to Chuck's," he said to Sherri. "Gonna help him with some stuff. I won't be back 'til morning." And with that he was out the door. I was dumbstruck. He was leaving Sherri and I to spend the night together, to play sexually again, this time until we feel asleep. Sherri looked at me, then walked toward me, threw her arms around me and kissed me deeply. Already my cock was rising. Without backing away, her mouth next to my ear, she said in a soft voice: "He gave me to you for the night." The rule had always been that no matter how often he shared her with other men, when he was home, all her attention, sexual and otherwise, was to be on him. "He has never gone away for the whole night," Sherri said. Her body was pressed close to mine. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss me again, and reached down with her hand to rub against my crotch. I was hard now...really hard. She rubbed and kissed, passionately, then turned and led me to the bedroom...my bedroom, not theirs. It took only moments for her to disrobe, since she wore no underwear. I stood transfixed, once again stunned by her beauty. She moved toward me, pushed me down on the bed still clothed, and worked my zipper down, carefully. When my hard member sprung out, she laughed. "Why, look at him. He wants me again," she said, and began to lick up and down along the shaft. I shuttered in pure pleasure, and after a minute or two of absolute bliss as she worked her hot mouth up and down me cock, licking the head of it then moving down again to engulf me, I clutched her shoulders and started to pull her upward. "Not yet," she said. "I love doing this to you. Please, let me suck it more." Who was I to refuse such an offer? I undoubtedly had no idea even then how long she worked her oral magic on me, but I know that after awhile I had to fight mightily to keep from cumming. When I told her that she needed to stop, or else she was about to get a load, she not only did not stop, she attacked my cock with greater zeal. Still I held off, and then rather forcefully told her to stop! Now! She did, but with reluctance. "But I wanted it," she said, her pretty face in a pensive pout. "Yes, but I want to fuck." I stood up, undressed and stretched out on the bed. My open arms welcome her as she lay on top of me, with me facing upward, she facing down, our lips locked in a kiss that was pure lust...hot, wet, seemingly never ending. Sherri moved her hands downward and lifted herself up. She wanted to insert me into her. But I knew I would not last long if I started fucking right then. I flipped her over, quickly, easily, and pinned her. "You just wait, you hussy," I said. She said nothing, so I kissed her again. This time it was my hands that moved lower as our passion built. I moved one hand between us to touch her most sensitive area, and dripped one finger, then two, between the lips of her pussy. Gradually the kiss ended and I shifted to her side, but did not remove my fingers, which now moved to search inside her. I knew that Sherri had a G-spot, and I knew just where it was. Both fingers curved upward inside her very wet cunt, reaching toward the front wall. It was no secret when I found it. She cried out and began to move with me, welcoming this intrusion into her. Without stopping, I moved myself lower in the bed and placed my mouth right over her clit. When I licked it, she jumped, almost trying to move away. I held her down and continued to lick her clit at the same time my fingers strongly massaged her g-spot. "Oh God," she said, her body writhing. "Too much, too much." But then she began to climax, and again a stream of hot clear liquid gushed out of her hole and onto my face. I slowed....continuing to stroke inside her but more gently now, and her body relaxed slowly. I slipped my fingers out of her and moved upward so our heads were side by side. "You seemed to like that," I said. She smiled. "I'm gonna have to change your sheets again," Sherri said. Her arms went out to surround me and pull me close. "What am I gonna do when you go away," she said, and for the first time I recognized a tinge of sadness. "But you get more sex, more men, than most women in this world...married or single," She nodded." True, but it is not like this. Not even close. This is like the first times Herb and me did it." With the mention of his name I remembered a question. "Why did he leave us alone tonight? Did you say anything to him?" "Not a word. He just seemed to sense it was the right thing to do.and wow, was it!" Sherri arose and got a towel. She first wiped her juices off my face; lovingly I must say, smiling. Then she put another one down on the bed, covering some of the wet spot she had created. When she got on the bed, I lifted her to her knees, turned her around and moved behind her. There was no headboard, so I pushed her toward the wall. Her hands reached up to brace herself. When my prick parted the lips of her pussy, it felt like heaven. She was bent only slightly, and despite her short height ( I was a full foot taller) the length of our legs made no difference in that position. I fucked her. I know of no other words that sum up the carnal, forceful, wild bull kind of sex we had together. Darkness fell at some point, and we were in the dark. Neither of us wanted to stop to have light. From kneeling on the bed behind her, we moved to other positions.....missionary, thrusting like a steam engine into her and hearing her moan and growl; her flipped over, me riding her tight tiny bottom as she stretch out on the bed; doggie style, on the bed, and then her kneeling on the bed with me standing behind her, always thrusting. It was like that, her bent over, her perfect tits bouncing beneath her, me roaring in white hot passion, that suddenly I knew I could not hold it back this time. My body shuttered and I must have said something, but I did not know if it was words or just sounds. I froze. She yelled "Yes" over and over and her wet cunt clasped me and my cum poured out into her, inside her, some of it rolling out, joined by her own juices. Then something happened that had never happened to me. The normal subsiding of passion, even if only temporary, did not happen. My cum poured out, but my cock stayed stiff and rigid and after only a momentary pause, I began to move again, to stroke, to fuck. Sherri said something in French, or Cajun. I could not speak. Winded and exhausted, I was still not spent. The beautiful sensations of fucking a beautiful woman did not lessen, nor did my ardor. With hardly the slightest of pauses, I continued to fuck I held her waist, pulled her backward onto the floor. Now she was on her hands and knees, me behind her on the floor, fucking like the beast with two backs. I have no idea how long we fucked like that, only that I amazingly came again, this time I suppose with less volume of sperm, but with strong blasts of it into her already full vagina. We both collapsed onto the rug. A few moments later she spoke. "The best, the best," she said, her voice strained. "Oh God, when you go away." Somehow we struggled back into the bed, and fell asleep. ---- At some point in the night, I awoke to the sounds of crickets. A lone bullfrog, very close by, croaked his baritone mating call. Sherri was near the foot of the bed, my cock in her mouth, she performing gentle care and pleasure. We spoke not a word. When my cock was hard again, I moved her up to me, turned her around and slipped into her. We cuddled like spoons, and I did her again. This time it was not raging passion, it was sweet sweet love, although neither of us would have admitted it. She came for me a couple of times. Less harsh, less wild thrashing about when she did, but climaxes nonetheless. There was moonlight now, and I could see her beautiful face and lush body. It was very close to paradise. ---- Herb came home at some point. If he looked in the house, he would have seen his wife sleeping in the arms of another man. I knew he had returned because his boat was gone. After breakfast, with Sherri again clad only in the black and white frilly, tiny apron, I drove into town, into Houma, Louisiana. They had no phone, and I was missing in action. My City Editor was understanding....to an extent. I told him I had met a woman. He congratulated me, and informed me I was on my own time now. I promised to write some interesting stories, and he said if they were publishable, he might reconsider. While I was in town, I noticed a small jewelry store. I decided it would be a good idea to buy something for Sherri. The storeowner showed me several small lockets and such. When I picked one out, he asked casually if it was to take home to my wife. "No," I told him. "A very nice couple took me in for a few days, fed me and treated me like a friend. I thought it appropriate to get the wife something nice." Without a word the man reached over the counter and took the pendent from my hands. "Mister, around these parts you do not give something like this to another man's wife. In fact, you do not give them a present of any kind. It would be an insult." I thanked him, and left. ---- I did not make love to Sherri again. I spend that night in blissful sleep. Herb delayed going out in his boat the next morning, and Sherri wore not that sexy apron, but a sheer colorful summer dress as she fixed us breakfast. I kissed her demurely on the cheek as I left, and she stayed inside as Herb walked me to my car. "You are welcome back any time," he told me. He paused and I knew he wanted to say something more. "Actually, not too soon," he added with a smile. "She had a wonderful time. She told me. But she also felt some emotion for you, and that bothered her." "Did it bother you?" Herb nodded. Yes, but I am not sorry you came to stay. You are welcome back, just wait awhile." Then he leaned toward the car window as I sat inside. "By the way, her name is not actually Sherri. I was calling her 'Cheri.'" "And what is her name?" Herb gave a short laugh. "Better you don't know." I also realized that I did not even know their last name. As I drove away, Sherri stood in the doorway of the house. She waved, and gave a sad little smile. The End This is a true story, although from many years ago. I am sure it is not accurate in every detail, but it is the best I can recollect. I never saw or heard from Herb or Sherri again, although I left my address. Those times when I got back to Louisiana I avoided looking for them. I am not sure why. Those few days changed my life. The idea of having your wife fuck another man grew to an obsession, and before long my wife and I were swingers. Although she would from time to time do another man without me along, it was not something she seemed to relish the way I did. We grew apart and divorced. She was, and is, a wonderful woman, but as I said, we grew apart. Now I have a new wife. She is called Vixen, and she is a Hotwife. I write about her here on Lit. During my many trips to southern Louisiana over the decades, I have spoken with many people...from swingers to professors to men and women native to the region....about the custom of some Cajun men to share their wife sexually. None has ever heard of such a thing.