14 comments/ 56289 views/ 26 favorites Hotwife Surprise By: geronimo_appleby Foreword: A final submission for the V-Day contest. Malcolm meets Cleo and they fall in love. But Malcolm's been damaged by women before. He has two divorces behind him -- will Cleo prove to be the one? I pushed this out in a day due to the looming deadline for entries. As a result there may be errors remaining, not least in the snatches of Portuguese in Cleo's vocab. I used Google translate, so if it's a complete balls-up, I can only apologise. I have tried to accompany the occasional phrase in Portuguese with an English equivalent, or at least used the words in a context that's understandable. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the piece. Feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading. GA -- Da Nang, Vietnam -- 5th of February 2015. *** "I've been shopping." He heard his wife's words and experienced a stomach-lurching déjà vu. Malcolm's eyes closed while sucking in a deep breath, the associations rising inside him like bile. He gripped the phone, forcing himself to remain calm. Cleo wasn't like the other two. She was better than them. She was faithful. So what, she'd been shopping -- was it such an issue? It had been in the old days, with the others, when it was his money they burned -- although Malcolm already had plenty of lucre; he was filthy rich and making worth more with each passing second. He cooled, remembering this was Cleo, he adored her and it was a reciprocal deal. Malcolm didn't care how much she spent and he didn't begrudge his new wife her heart's desires, it was just a matter of the same old patterns, the sense of history repeating itself. They got their claws in and dug, mining him for his wealth, leaving his emotions piled high, a wasteland of devastation, a mountain of backfill. "What did you get?" he asked. Chuckling, Cleo answered with Latin-American nonchalance. "Oh, just some clothes. A little surprise for you." He could see her doing the little half-shrug and pouting with indifference, as though she wouldn't look absolutely stunning in Just some clothes. Malcolm pictured her pretty face, her beautiful face, the kind of face that attracted men like bees round honey. At the invasive thought of other men buzzing round his wife, Malcolm's jaw tensed. The muscles bunched and his fingers squeezed the phone. Malcolm willed himself to put the past aside. We've been through this how many times? Stop it, just stop it now. He was beyond all that. It was different this time. Malcolm reinforced the mental picture of Cleo in his mind. He could see her smiling, serene, long straight hair unnecessarily lightened with strands of golden blonde hanging from a centre parting which framed her oval face and cascaded down her back. He loved her accent, the exotic inflections in his wife's diction. Malcolm swallowed down on the suspicion welling inside him and focussed instead on what leetle sur-prise she had in mind. "What kind of clothes?" he asked. "What kind of surprise?" She chuckled again. "Oh, just something I saw and liked. I'll show you when you get home. If I tell you now, it won't be a surprise." He played along. "Will I like it?" A pause before Cleo replied with, "I think so. You know it is Valentine's Day, yes? It is something very special, very sexy. I hope you will enjoy what I have for you. "I know you didn't leave me a card this morning but I think you must be thinking of a surprise for me too?" Shit, is it Valentine's Day!? There he was, recently married and he'd missed the day completely. Okay, it might be his third go at marriage but this time it was supposed to be different. "Flowers are on their way," Malcolm said, hoping the gesture would be enough. "Uh," he added, "You are at home, aren't you?" He hadn't framed the question with checking his wife's whereabouts in mind, but old habits... "Flowers, how lovely," Cleo replied, with no traceable tone of sarcasm or irony Malcolm could detect. "Yes, darling, I am at home now." A pause before Cleo added, "I have to get your surprise ready for you. I want it to be perfect. What time will you be home?" His first thought was to wonder why she wanted to know. But then a bell clanged inside Malcolm's head to remind him it was Valentine's Day and Cleo had a surprise. All she's doing is timing it for when you get home. She isn't up to no good. Cleo isn't fucking someone else. "Early," he said, the tension coming out as a throaty croak. Malcolm coughed to clear the blockage. "Six at the latest." His could feel his wife's enthusiasm down the phone. "Goody," she breathed. "I have four hours to make it ready for you." "I can't wait." "I love you, husband. Do not be late." "I love you too, Cleo. More than I can tell you." The emotion clogged Malcolm's chest. His heart swelled with love for his wife. "I won't be late," he said, choked. "I promise." When the call ended he stared at the top of his desk for half-a-minute. Then, shaking himself free of the doubt and uncertainty, the next job was to buy the fucking flowers! Malcolm got straight onto it, thanking the gods for the internet, then, drifting again, he gazed unseeing at the view west from his office, the Houses of Parliament, the big wheel and the Thames snaking away back towards Oxford in the distance. Malcolm thought of Cleo and how they met, fervently hoping he'd got it right this time while wondering what the surprise might be. *** Malcolm had literally tripped over Cleo on the Playa Del Carmen. He'd run to the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico after divorcing the second lying, cheating, grasping bitch. Wounded and hurting he booked a month at La Paradisus resort. Malcolm intended to hide-out, drink beer and tequila -- but not at the same time; he vowed to read some serious books and just keep his head from exploding. Out on the beach, the Caribbean a glittering blue jewel on his left, with his mind wandering, Malcolm had stubbed his toe on Cleo's toned, tanned leg. Rapid-fire invective had assailed him, a machine gun burst of vehemence which left him gobsmacked, apologising profusely, and asking the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen if he could buy her a drink to say sorry. Despite his oath to stay clear of women for the rest of his days, the sight of Cleo in her white bikini was truly jaw dropping. Cleo had sprung to her feet and, fists on her hips, furious as only a hot-blooded Latina can be, eyes flashing with fiery indignation, scoffed and said, "You think a drink is enough for almost breaking my leg? Você está louco?" Malcolm blinked in the face of such sustained ire and meekly replied, "Sorry, I don't speak Spanish." "I'm not Mexican," Cleo had snapped, bending at the waist to rub the site of her injury. "I'm from Brazil." Confused by geography and language but gaping at the full round breasts threatening to pop free of the clinging bikini bra, Malcolm had spluttered another apology. Reeling at the prospect of physical violence from the slightly built yet curvy woman seething with anger he then repeated his offer of a compensatory drink. "Or a meal, if you prefer," he added, wondering what the hell he was saying even as the words came out. She looked at him, pouting, suspicious. "A meal -- nothing else." Malcolm's eyes widened at the presumption. But, thinking about it, he quickly realised she must get a lot of attention, a large percentage of it unwanted. She had those sorts of looks and that kind of body. "I don't mean anything by it," Malcolm said. "I just want to make a gesture to apologise." Later on, months into the future, Cleo would tell Malcolm there was something in the way he said it that convinced her immediately of his sincerity. With typically demonstrative gestures, Cleo had said: "It was like a book on your face. I could read it, Malcolm. I looked at you and saw -- straight away -- that you are a good man; but a man who is hurt. I don't know why," she shrugged, "I cannot explain the feeling. But I had this need to help you. Like a mother." Then Cleo had grinned and added, "But now it is not like that between us. The things we do are like nothing which should pass between a mother and her son." At the time, on the beach, with it all going on around them -- jet-skis bounce-bounce-bouncing; parasails over the water, towed by speedboats; people swimming, throwing balls and skimming Frisbees; with the chaos in the background, Cleo eyed Malcolm for a few beats. Then, with an emphatic nod she held out a tiny hand. "Okay, mister. I take the deal." They met for lunch, with Cleo wrapped in a Sarong, the diaphanous sheet clinging to her body enhancing her appeal. The abrupt and insistent surge of desire took Malcolm by surprise. Meeting Cleo had woken his slumbering libido, the beast rising with a snarl to match the vigour in his cock. His opinion of her shoes was they were entirely inappropriate, the precipitous heels a danger. Those heels and sarong combined had made for an incongruous manner of dress, but one with a profound effect. He thought her exquisite. "I like shoes," she shrugged when she saw him looking. The lunch led to a dinner, with the same the following evening -- and the one after that. It took a week before Malcolm opened up about the disastrous marriages, and even then he brushed his recent divorce aside, claiming he was glad to be out of it. "But you are sad too, yes?" Cleo leaned back in her chair, the cane latticework creaking as she crossed her legs. Around them came the hum of conversation, the bar comfortably filling with holidaying couples looking for an early evening buzz of margaritas or Dos Equis. Malcom's eyes flicked to Cleo's legs when she reclined and settled back into the tub chair and thick cushions. The shape and sheen of her smooth calves drew his attention, his focus shifting to lean thighs all toned from dedication to her gruelling gym routine. For all Cleo had said so far about the mind being the most interesting element to a person, no matter how self-deprecating and even contemptuous she was in regard to her own physical allure, Malcolm couldn't help but think she expended a great deal of effort and some considerable time keeping her body in such supreme condition. He forced himself to look up into Cleo's face, his brain soaking up the detail of the canary yellow dress tight against her flat stomach, his gaze flicking, momentarily, over the tight crease of Cleo's cleavage, the inner flanks of her breasts squeezed together in the keyhole aperture. "Not so much sad as angry," Malcolm said, replying to Cleo's question. "At myself, too. For being sucked in. I'm forty-four and I've been divorced twice..." Cleo's superb legs uncrossed. She leaned forward, reaching for the mojito. "I am thirty-five and never married. I have never found the man." Malcolm blinked at the expanse of décolletage on display while Cleo sipped her cocktail through a straw, lips pursed, her blue eyes, so at odds with her dark hair, fixed on Malcolm's face. A moment later her head canted, the straw slipping from her full lips. "Is this why you haven't made a pass at me? You are wary of women and their motives?" Her candour took Malcolm by surprise. "Uh ... I..." he blustered. A laugh tinkled from Cleo. She regarded Malcolm with amusement lighting her eyes, one corner of her mouth twitching. "Oh, come on, Malcolm. I've seen you looking. At the beach, at the pool ... Me in this dress... "Do you mistrust women so much that you cannot stand to flirt with me?" Thin, precise eyebrows went up to her hair, her expression questioning. "I have had similar experiences, Malcolm. Men have used me in the past. When I was younger and very naive... "I too have felt pain." Suddenly, the atmosphere between them was serious. "I have only two days remaining," Cleo murmured, chocolate/blonde hair shimmering when she slowly shook her head. "You're the first man in years who's shared time with me and hasn't made a pass." For Malcolm, the moment compressed, Cleo's inner beauty coming at him with the force of a hurricane. His chest was suddenly too small for all the organs it contained. He'd known she was leaving soon but had pushed the fact out of his head. He didn't want to get involved; no matter how physically attractive she was he just couldn't risk it. "If you are going to flirt with me, Malcolm; you better start soon." Regardless of the blatant invitation, Malcolm couldn't find the strength or will to engage in banter with the lovely Brazilian. Cleo was gorgeous, absolutely stunning. Malcolm appreciated her intelligence as well as her body. However, regardless of the attraction on all levels, he just couldn't bring himself to flirt with her. Two days later at Cancun airport Cleo had come in close and quickly wrapped her arms around him. She was too quick for Malcolm to step back, hugging him tight, breasts cushioned between them, the fragrant scent of her shampoo wafting across his senses. "I hope you heal, Malcolm," Cleo murmured. A chaste press of her lips against his cheek and she disengaged. Cleo picked up her bag, slipping the strap over one shoulder before opening the flap. "Here," she said, holding a small card towards Malcolm. "My email and number." Cleo paused and blinked, chewing the gloss from her bottom lip before finishing with, "If you want to get in touch...?" She left it hanging, a question for him to ponder. Malcolm stared at her compelling derriere when Cleo abruptly turned and hip-swayed away, heels click-clacking across the hard floor. He held the card loose in his fingers by his side, an aching void of loss yawing in his guts. *** Over a year later, in his office, Malcolm stared across London's dense sprawl. Memories popped into being in a quick kaleidoscope of impressions: Copan Ruinas, Guatemala where he'd found Cleo at work helping restore the ancient site; their first kiss; the first time he'd seen her spectacularly bare, her physical beauty bringing forth a gasp of wonder. "You've got the body of a nineteen year old," Malcolm croaked, marvelling at Cleo's full breasts, their rounded mass suspended in apparent defiance of Newtonian physics. He boggled at the thick, elongated teats in the large discs of Cleo's areolae, licking his lips with lupine intent as his focus moved south to take in the dense rectangular matt of pubic hair. Seeing Cleo exposed caused an arterial burst of absolute desire within him, the border of pale skin between her bush and suntan showing him how brief her bikini bottoms had been. Malcolm gulped and recalled the tiny pouch of those bikini briefs packed with her plump pudenda; he saw the lines of lighter skin high on Cleo's hips where the thin straps had hugged her body, the spectacle making him wonder at how he'd managed to keep his hands off her during their time in Playa Del Carmen. The feminine curve of Cleo's hips down to her taut thighs brought volcanic desire bubbling, the shape of her legs adding to the quick rush of yearning. Cleo cocked a hip and grinned. "Thank you. It makes me glad you appreciate my body so much." The texture when he stroked her skin made Malcolm's cock pulse. Tasting Cleo's lust when he lapped at her opening was a deep, lingering thrill. Cleo's groan of pleasure and gasp of delight pleased Malcolm immensely when he licked her clit, the woman's back arching while she reached for his head and pulled him tighter against flesh slick with need. "Oh," Cleo had moaned, eyes wide, expression awed when she looked up from where her body was accommodating Malcolm's length for the first time. Her eyes held Malcolm's gaze fast. She looked at him as though looking for the love she suspected was there. They gazed at one another, hardly moving but with Cleo's hips never quite still as she rocked gently to-and-fro. "Oh ... Sweet Jesus," Cleo blasphemed, her stomach tensing, torso angled with her weight on her elbows while her legs were folded at the knees. In that position, with Malcolm between her thighs, his cock easing slowly in and out, Cleo had moaned and rolled her eyes, mouth hanging open, face slack, tingles of pleasure rippling outward from her core. "Fuck me," she murmured. "Love me..." Thrilled by the sight and sounds and textures, and after gazing at her breasts shivering and swaying, Malcolm began to thrust, his mouth closing over Cleo's lips, her tongue moving into his mouth. When it was nearly over, with Malcolm grunting a warning, Cleo held him tight and sighed he should flood her with cum. "Let it go," she groaned. "When it comes, I will come too." A few brisk lunges later and Cleo's eyes went wide. "You're coming!" she yelped, forcing herself onto Malcom's spitting cock. "Yes," she gasped triumphant. "Does it feel good, Malcolm? Does it, my darling?" He couldn't reply with words. All Malcolm could do was groan, wall-eyed and gasping as his seed pulsed from him. "Agh," he grimaced, teeth clenched. "Oh God ... Ah ... Cleo ... Oh God, Cleo..." Then she was going with him. Cleo sobbed and clasped a hand to the back of Malcolm's neck. She held herself semi-upright and looked down to see Malcolm deeply embedded, her fleshy labia clinging his girth, the shaft gooey with their combined lust when he finally withdrew. Semen trickled from Cleo's scarlet opening, the sight and sensation of the stuff dribbling along the cleft between her buttocks bringing a lewd chuckle from her before she pulled her lover in for a long, lingering kiss. After that, Malcolm was in love, with Cleo matching his sentiment. Their courtship was complicated by working on different continents, love frustrated by geography and the demands of Cleo's career as an archaeologist and the necessity of Malcolm's presence in England at the helm of the business. But, regardless of the difficulty and pressures peculiar to a long-distance romance, they stuck to it, marrying eleven months after Malcolm had tripped over Cleo on the Mexican beach. And he'd forgotten Valentine's Day. Malcolm worked through the afternoon, so distracted in a meeting he cut it short and prepared to leave his office. He could easily afford a driver but preferred to do it himself, powering the BMW along the M11 motorway out of London towards home in Bishop's Stortford. He was early, the time being a full half an hour before the 6 p.m. deadline. Malcolm walked into the house, a huge former vicarage encircled by a high stone wall, the gate at the end of the drive flanked by two yew trees. "Ah, you're home," Cleo breathed, smiling. "Thank you for the flowers," she added, moving to kiss her husband's mouth when he found her in the vast, gleaming kitchen. "I love you," Malcolm mumbled, pulling Cleo tight so he could kiss her again, reluctant to let her go. She returned the kiss and then slid out Malcom's embrace. "Now I will have to do my lipstick again," she pouted. "No more touching," Cleo added with a waggle of an admonishing forefinger. "It will ruin the surprise." Stepping back, heels pecking at the tiles, Cleo struck a pose and asked, "I bought a suit for the dinner next week -- what do you think? You like it?" Malcolm took in the black patent high heels and blue-grey skirt, the hem of which fell to an extremely flattering point on Cleo's thighs -- provocative but not to the point of immodesty. But, anyway, as far as Malcolm was concerned, his wife had the legs for it. He nodded with approval and murmured, "Nice," his eyes going to the matching jacket-cum-blouse, sleeves short, the hem just above his wife's elbows. "You really like it?" Cleo breathed, obviously eager for her husband's approval. Nodding again, Malcolm said, "Oh yes, Cleo." He nudged his chin at her. "But you're going to have it fastened up properly at the dinner, yeah?" Hotwife Surprise Cleo chuckled, eyes bright as she traced a long nail over the exposed inner flank of one round breast, the top three buttons of the jacket undone to reveal a hint of a dark blue patterned bra beneath. "Yes, of course," she breathed, smirking. "But this is how I wear it tonight. It is also part of your surprise, so I wore it sexy for you now." "Just what is this surprise?" Malcolm asked, intrigued. "In the living room," Cleo replied, pointing. When he saw the slim tripod and camera set up in the lounge, Malcolm blinked in surprise. He looked at his wife, bemused. "What...?" Cleo repaired her lipstick, examining her handiwork with approval through a mirror above a black wood unit. Satisfied, she then walked to a big armchair in white leather, turning to face her husband as he frowned at the video equipment. "It is for you. For when you go away on business or I am working in Guatemala. I want you to watch and remember your wife." Still puzzled, Malcolm shook his head, grimacing as she said, "What? I don't get it, Cleo." "You will," his wife replied, pointing to another chair, the twin she was standing in front of. "But for now -- sit. Sit down and do not interrupt." Malcolm's mouth opened. "But--" "Sit down!" His eyes widened at Cleo's sharp command. He thought about mugging her off and asking what the hell was going on. But in the end, after a few seconds of glittery-eyed stand-off, he relented and did as he was told. "Good, well done," Cleo said, hair shimmering as she nodded briskly. "Now, see what I bought today?" She went to the video camera and switched it on. Next, she took the remote control and pointed it at the television fixed on its bracket on the wall to Malcolm's right. A picture appeared on the screen: the living room with the arm chair opposite him the focus. Malcolm kept his mouth shut despite his growing incredulity, a shocked gasp coming out of him when Cleo walked to the chair and reached into a luridly coloured plastic bag which had lain there unnoticed. "I bought the camera, the tripod, and these," Cleo purred, her smirk sly when she held up two objects for Malcolm's gape-mouthed perusal. "Jesus, Cleo..." he mumbled, agog at the sight of a thumb-sized, hot-pink vibrator his wife held up. "Shush," Cleo said, brow creasing while she pouted at him in disapproval. "Don't interrupt." "Yes, but--" "Wait and see," Cleo interjected, waggling a huge lump of moulded rubber cock at him. "This is your surprise. "No-no," she chuckled, amused when she saw her husband's appalled expression. "It isn't for you. It's for me. Don't worry, Malcolm. I don't want to put this into your ass." Regardless of the shock, Malcolm felt a ripple of arousal as the realisation dawned. She was going to fuck herself with it. His hot wife was going to jam that awful bulk of latex into her pussy. ...And she was going to record the whole scene! "Oh fuck," groaned Malcolm, his cock swelling. "Dear God, Cleo..." His wife grinned at him, eyes like slits, expression feline. "Shut up and watch," she purred. *** With a glance at the television, Cleo hiked the skirt up to her waist and slumped into the chair. She laid the rubber cock on the arm and then, lifting her shoes from the floor, spread her legs. Malcolm was puzzled at first. He looked at his wife and examined the clothing she had on beneath the skirt. At first glance Cleo seemed to be wearing a pair of hold-up stockings and boy-shorts underwear, but further scrutiny finally revealed what was in fact a pair of hose, opaque at the legs but with an integral pattern designed to give the appearance of close-fitting shorts. With her thighs wide, Cleo then twisted the end of the pink vibrator, teasing the indented cleft of her underwear, grinning at her husband while the angry hornet buzz of the sex toy droned in the background, its tone oscillating with each sweep. "Remember me, Malcolm," cooed Cleo, her gaze intent as she stared at the eye of the camera. "Wherever you are, wherever I am, whenever we're apart -- watch this on your computer and remember me. I don't want another man, my darling ... I only want you. I can fuck myself with this..." She picked up the large dildo and held it aloft, thrusting it at the camera. "I can fuck my little pussy with this and you can see it again and again. This is your surprise, Malcolm. This recording will be a little gift to remind you of me." Keeping her attention focussed on the camera, Cleo kissed the big domed head, licking it before popping it between her lips. Malcolm sat there, enthralled, his erection barely noticed while he gaped at his wife. As if he'd need reminding he had a witty, intelligent and beautiful wife, her soul pure. He didn't need to see Cleo lasciviously slurping the rubber cock to know she was the hottest woman he had ever known. Recording the scene was entirely superfluous. But, dear God, seeing Cleo doing what she was doing, hearing her sighs and moans and lewd murmuring affected him on a primal level, bringing out the beast in him. "I can suck this and imagine it's your cock," Cleo sighed, slipping more of the thing past her lips. Her mouth distorted and her cheeks went concave when she sucked. Her lips smacked off the end when she eased it out, with Cleo's back arching, the vibe tight against her body, tickling her clit through the hose. "I like it," she purred, mushing her lips against the latex cock-head, her stare fixed on Malcolm's slack face. "But I prefer you in my mouth, darling. I like to taste you. I love to feel you on my tongue. Your cock is so alive." It went on for a few minutes: Cleo stroking the pink vibrator over her vulva while alternating between long, lascivious licks at the fake penis and sucking avidly at it. With Cleo's ardour rising like mercury in the glass she began to thrust the dildo further into her mouth, slurping at it and mumbling lewdly around its girth. She moaned and gasped and squirmed, the sight of her being so wanton bringing a low keening moan from Malcolm. "You don't need another woman, Malcolm," Cleo breathed, holding the rubber cock in one fist while she stared at the camera. "I don't want another man. I love you, my darling. You're my husband ... You are all I want." She paused and leaned forward, legs closing, feet going to the floor. Cleo placed the dildo on the chair arm and switched off the vibrator, placing the pink cylinder on the table next to her seat. She stood, skirt bunched around her hips. Cleo loosened the remaining two buttons on the blouse and revealed her taut stomach and torso, breasts packed into the blue bra. She flicked her long hair away from her shoulders, caressing her body with sweeps of her palms, hands going down between her legs to where she cupped her vulva, grinning at her husband while watching him for a reaction. "You like this, Malcolm?" Cleo whispered, pouting and blowing him a kiss. Malcolm's throat worked. "God, Cleo," he groaned, "I ... I ... Jesus." His wife chuckled, her hands going to her breasts. She squeezed herself, wincing. "I'm all yours, darling," Cleo sighed. "I'm your wife. You do not have to concern yourself I will cheat. I promise you, I will not. I love you. I am not a prostituta infiel like the others. I will not disrespect you." The blouse came off. Cleo's fingers went to the lapels and she eased the jacket away. Malcolm moaned when his wife's smooth brown shoulders came into view. He sighed and shook his head, gazing at her when she posed for him, hands on the butterfly jut of her pelvis, hip cocked, expression questioning. "You will always be faithful to me, Malcolm, yes?" Malcolm gulped and whined a reedy, "Yes." Cleo smiled, the creases melting from her furrowed brow. "Good," she murmured, nodding in approval. "Excellent. You would not wish to lose this, eh?" Malcolm's wife indicated the front of her lithe body with a sweeping gesture of both hands. Then, before Malcolm could reply, Cleo eased one full breast from the cup of her bra. The man gasped, swallowing heavily before licking his lips, his stare setting fire to Cleo's skin. Malcolm whined when she slowly scooped the second orb from within. "Você gosta dos meus peitos grandes , não é?" she asked, bringing a blank uncomprehending expression to her husband's face. "You like my big tits, Malcolm?" "I love them, Cleo," Malcolm croaked, staring. "I love everything about you. Your body ... your mind ... This..." Cleo blurted a laugh. "Good," she said, nodding quickly. "Think about this if you are ever tempted by some fora, some puta who thinks she can have my man." Cleo pouted at her husband, her tongue then sliding over her lips while she squeezed her breasts and she taunted him with her smirk. "Think about my tits, Malcolm. Imagine what it would be like to lose me. If you ever cheated on me..." Cleo cupped the weighty mounds in her palms and presented them to her husband. "Gone!" she yipped. "You would never hold these again. You would never suck them, Malcolm. In fact I would go to the first man I could find and let him have all of me if you fucked another woman. The first man. He might be young or old, it wouldn't matter. I would let him touch me, Malcolm. I would suck his linguiça. I would suck his sausage and let him fuck me. I would take his cock in my pussy and feel him cum. I would stay the night with this man and let him use me. My pussy, my tits and my ass..." Cleo teased her nipples, plucking at her teats with forefinger and thumb, goading her flesh while Malcolm grunted a promise never to cheat. "I wouldn't do it to you, Cleo," he gurgled, appalled and sickened by the thought of someone pawing his lovely wife. Malcolm's eyes were huge and round as he shook his head quickly from side-to-side. "You know I've been hurt before. You remember when we met? You know what it was like for me. I ... I couldn't," Malcolm retched. "I couldn't do it to you, Cleo." Cleo paused and nodded. "Yes, Malcolm," she murmured. "I remember. I just want you to know I hate cheaters, too. I don't doubt you, my darling, but if any bitch ever tries..." She reached around and unzipped her skirt, hooking her thumbs into the waistband as she turned and presented her profile to Malcolm. In that way, while he looked on in wet-lipped fascination, mouth gaping, Cleo bent and shucked the skirt to her knees. She levered upright, breasts cantilevered over her bra, nipples erect points of flesh. Cleo let the skirt fall to the tops of her shoes and then stepped out as elegant as a dancer, kicking the discarded material away with a flick of one foot. Turning back to face her husband square-on, Cleo ran her hands over her body, teasing her vulva with both palms. She stretched the waist of the pantyhose with one hand, the other delving into the gap. Malcolm watched his wife rub her pussy, the material of her hose bulging and squirming like a sack full of kittens. "My pussy is so wet and hot and itchy," Cleo murmured. She yanked the faux boy-shorts down to show off her bush, her labia visibly glistening through the brown hair. Her fingers slid through folds tacky with desire. She rubbed herself and mauled one breast with the other hand, bringing her sticky fingers up from her pussy to her mouth. She licked each digit clean, sucking at them while staring at her husband's face. Cleo then fingered her sex again, engagement ring and wedding band gleaming on the third finger of her left hand as it moved between her thighs. "Oh God," Malcolm moaned, rubbing his cock through his suit trousers when his wife turned and presented her pert, impossibly tight buttocks. He groaned and squeezed harder as Cleo bent at the waist, fingers coming back to splay those taut cheeks, her sphincter winking at him while Cleo's labia parted with sticky reluctance, her cunt gaping scarlet. Cleo's fingers grabbed at her flesh and she held herself wider open, thrusting her hips back and tilting her pelvis to flaunt herself in an obscene display of female genitalia. Awed by the sight, stunned by the sheer eroticism of watching his wife casually exposing all of herself, Malcolm sat in his seat and gaped at her in amazed wonder. Turning again, Cleo then fingered her sex and massaged her breasts. Then she lowered the hose to her knees and sat down. "Ah fuck ... Jesus, Cleo," Malcolm groaned. "God, that's gorgeous." The sight confronting Malcolm was his wife in the chair, legs lifted with her thighs as wide as she could manage with the restrictive waistband of the pantyhose a band around her knees. Cleo's fingers held her labia apart, the scarlet core of her all hot and glistening. The woman remained that way for half-a-minute, taunting her husband with her sex, teasing him with the lewdest display Malcolm had ever experienced. Cleo mewled and sighed as she slid a finger over the pink bud and probed at her opening. It was obscene, it was disgusting -- and it was the sexiest most arousing thing he thought he'd seen in his life. "My pussy is hungry, Malcolm," Cleo sighed, smirking around her leg at her husband. She levered upright and rolled the hose to her ankles, then rummaged in the plastic bag at the side of the chair, pulling something from inside. Next, she reclined and lifted her shoes from the floor once more, legs parting to expose her cerise core. "This thing is too big," Cleo said, matter-of-fact, patting the rubber cock with the flat of her hand before squeezing some sort of unguent over her pussy and massaging her vulva. "Oh Jesus," Malcolm breathed, eyes fixed on his wife's body as the dildo's cock-head slipped up and down and split the lips of her sex, the folds glistening with lubricant. "Ugh, oh fuck," Cleo grunted, stomach tensing when she took two or three experimental nudges at her opening. "Ooh fuck," she squeaked as her cunt took a full six inches of moulded latex. "My pussy ... Ooh, this thing is so big." More of it slid into Cleo, the woman gasping while staring rapt at the television, her hands easing the whole length slowly in. With the dildo embedded completely, Cleo gulped and snorted a long breath out through her nose. "Aaaah," she sighed, teasing it out until just the bulb remained inside her. "God it feels good," Cleo moaned, her rump shifting closer to the chair's edge as she lifted her legs higher. Her shoes waggled, the taut hose stretched to a diaphanous membrane from ankle to ankle. She was almost horizontal by then, chin on chest as she watched her body accept the terrible length, her pussy stretched by its girth. Cleo went at it, slowly slipping the dildo in and out, the greasy slide accompanied by a liquid squelching which brought a low, strangled moan from her husband. "Come closer," hissed Cleo, eyes glazed with lust. "Come and see. Bring the camera." It took a few moments for the message to sink in, but, eventually, after a good long stare at his wife, Malcolm rose from his seat and unclipped the camera from its mount. "Here," Cleo grunted, pointing to the floor in front of her. "Get in close. I want you to have this forever." There followed a full two minutes of Malcolm recording his wife as she eased the dildo into her body, the slow outstroke distorting her flesh, the tissue between her sex and sphincter bulging. "Ah fuck, Cleo," Malcolm swore. "What are you doing to me, babe. This is too much. I'm going to come in my trousers." Cleo laughed and taunted her husband some more by repeating the action several times, eventually pulling the rubber cock free of her cunt, her body yawing in an obscene gape for a second or two afterwards. "Take your clothes off," Cleo instructed Malcolm, kicking her shoes from her feet and toeing the hose away. "Put the camera back and then come and stand at the side of my chair." It took a minute or two for Malcolm to comply, approximately a hundred and twenty seconds during which there was some frantic and occasionally comedic activity from Malcolm while Cleo fucked the dildo into herself with ever-increasing robustness. "It feels good," Cleo whined, nose crinkled as she stared up at her husband, expression feral, bottom lip curled over her teeth. "My pussy ... My tight little pussy," she gasped, one hand mauling her breasts, the rubber cock sliding in and out. "Never fuck another woman," Cleo panted, her hand going to her husband's erection as he crouched alongside her. "This pussy is yours," she mumbled. "Never fuck anyone else." Malcolm boggled down at her, totally amazed at his Valentine's surprise. "I never will, Cleo," he said, the words thick and treacly, clotted with desire. "God, how could I? Juh-just look at you. I love you, Cleo. Jesus, I love you so much... "You didn't have to do this to give me the message, Cleo. You know how it was for me." Cleo winced, stomach tensing, breasts rolling as she fucked her pussy with moulded latex. "I know I didn't really need to," Malcolm," she gasped, blinking at him. "I wanted to do it, my darling. I want you to look at this whenever we're apart. I want you to remember. "Besides," Cleo sighed, "I'm having such a good time doing it, Malcolm. It's so nasty, so baaad. I am a lady in public and a slut for my husband." The idea came to Malcolm right then. The first inkling about the future he wanted to share with his wife came while Cleo went at herself with the rubber cock and cranked her husband's hard-on with her free hand. It was perfect, the ideal solution to a niggling, on-going, often heated discussion between them. Cleo wanted to work, her career taking her to sites all over the world while Malcolm's business interests were located solely in UK and Europe. There were hoops to jump through to obtain a visa. Despite their marriage and Malcolm's wealth, the bureaucracy involved was staggering: forms and questions and even then Cleo might be refused. One thing they needed was time to prove they were genuinely, unequivocally together as a committed married couple. Malcolm's embryonic plan vaguely forming while the sweet sensations surged through his cock was to sell the business. He would get out of it totally. He had enough money for three lifetimes -- why stay in? Why not chuck it all, take the money and then enjoy life with Cleo wherever her career took her? "I never want to be apart from you, Cleo," grunted Malcolm. His words fell to the floor. Cleo didn't hear them. When the utterance came out of Malcolm, Cleo was using both hands to jam the dildo deep, her orgasm boiling. She squealed and moaned and writhed, one fist working the rubber cock while she rubbed her tight, slippery button. "I'm going to come," Cleo snorted, knees folded, feet dangling, a hand mauling breast flesh. "Oh ... Oh fuck. estou chegando ... meu Deus ... I'm coming ... God, Malcolm ... I'm coming so hard—" Malcolm tugged his cock and stared at the ensuing carnage. His wife moaned and writhed, sobbing, eyes squeezed shut, the cords on her neck stark as knife blades as she snarled and spat obscenities, her orgasm a volcanic eruption. Cleo juddered, thighs shivering nerveless while she pawed at her own flesh, red welts from her clawing fingers across her breasts and stomach. Finally, eventually the chaos faded. Cleo, breathless and shell-shocked blinked at her husband, half the length of the rubber cock hanging out of her. She sat there, gasping as she blinked at Malcolm, the man staring at her, incredulous. "Put it in my mouth," Cleo groaned, shifting her rump so she could rise up and take her husband between her lips. She went at him with her hand and mouth, cranking Malcolm's cock while sucking his knob-end, the dildo still dangling from her cunt. "Oh shit," Malcolm moaned, his attention fixed on Cleo's labia clinging to the latex shaft, the length of it daubed with splotches of creamy residue, evidence of the woman's state of high agitation. "That was just..." he groaned, shaking his head, expression stunned. Hotwife Surprise "You like me this way?" Cleo whined, her fist jacking Malcolm's dick. "It isn't me, Malcolm," she added before lapping his bell-end. "You know me; I'm not so bad..." The woman rose up and took Malcom deep into her mouth. She gommed the big dome and tickled the sensitive frenulum with the tip of her tongue, flicking the banjo string like a serpent tasting the air. "I'm not a whore," Cleo insisted. "But for you, my darling, if you like me to pretend ... I can be the prostituta. For you I will be a slut -- but only for you. It can be a game we play together, in private." Cleo went back to it while Malcolm processed the news. She sucked and slurped and slobbered with her husband gawping at her, his eyes going from her face to her breasts to the awful lump still embedded inside her. "Cleo," Malcolm grunted, the sensations overwhelming him. "Cleo ... Babe ... Darling..." And then, when Cleo fixed her attention on Malcolm's face, the first flick of cum arced from him and described a steep parabola, the dollop a glistening snotty rope clinging to Cleo's hair. Yelping triumphantly, Cleo took her husband's cock-head between her lips. She sucked at the mushroom dome, the muscle at the base of Malcolm's dick pulsing, jizm pouring into Cleo's mouth. The woman snorted and snuffed, air going in through her nose while the outpouring continued, spunk leaking between Malcolm's girth and her lips, the gloop squeezing through the gap like oil seeping through a perished gasket. Finally, with Malcolm groaning and wincing he pulled out, Cleo's mouth like a pelican's pouch. She held the jizm inside for a few seconds and then let it dribble out, a cascade of cum that slid over her chin and spattered onto her chest. Gelatinous spunk glistened close to Cleo's collar bone, thick globules of the stuff clinging to her skin. Cleo squinted at her husband and grinned, going up to suck at him again, coaxing cum from the slit in the end of his dick, the woman moaning in satisfaction of a job well executed. "Happy Valentine's Day," Malcolm's hot wife purred. She scooped up spunk with her forefinger and slipped the digit into her mouth, lips pursing. Winking at her husband, Cleo did it again. "You should turn off the camera now," she said, nudging her chin at the unwinking lens. "I will, babe," Malcolm crooned, a palm smoothing his wife's long hair. "Then we can get cleaned up and have a drink. There's something I want to talk to you about." A day later, Malcolm set about selling off his business, the video clip stored in a hidden folder on an external hard drive he kept locked in the safe at home. It was time to put the old life aside and look forward to a new one with Cleo. He wondered what else she had in store.