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The Charming Wife

By: Fun_PA_Lady



The party was being hosted by my husband's new boss. Kevin had recently taken a new position in his company, and this was the first time we were going to socialize anyone with the new gang. I wasn't looking particularly forward to it, but I can do the "Isn't your wife charming?" routine when I need to.

I wore one of my favorite dresses – it's sleeveless and ankle-length, and has buttons from the high collar to the hem. I knew Kevin would enjoy our game of having me unbutton a button every time we got stopped at a red light. Underneath I wore the bra and panties he had gotten me for Mother's Day. He loved getting me something "maternal" from the kids and something decidedly non-motherly from him. The bra was black, but extremely sheer. The matching thong was equally flimsy. I love getting dressed in front of Kevin so he knows exactly what he'll uncover later on. I made a point to play with my nipples a little so they stood out clearly through my dress, the almost non-existent fabric of the bra doing little to mask them. On the way over, he couldn't keep his hands off my breasts, and I just leaned my head back against the headrest with my eyes closed and enjoyed. He was rolling one of my nipples between his thumb and finger, and I was squirming and moaning when I opened my eyes to see a particularly evil grin on my husband's face. We were pulling to the curb a few houses down from our destination, plenty of cars lining both sides of the road. Looked like there was going to be a pretty good-sized crowd. 

"I think those panties are probably pretty wet," he said.

"I think they probably are," I answered agreeably.

"It's not a good idea to wear wet clothes," he said. "Why don't you give them to me."

I grinned back, and sliding my hands up under my dress, lifting my hips and wriggled out of the tiny strip of black fabric. I handed them over and he sniffed appreciatively before tucking them in the pocket of his jacket. 

"Maybe I should see how wet you are?"

"See or feel?" I asked.

"Both."

The skirt of my dress was soon up around my waist and I waited for him to slide his thick fingers inside my pussy and perhaps relieve this arousal he had created. He just sat there.

"Put a finger in," he said after a moment. "Two, if you want." I was horny and happy to oblige. I slid forward in my seat, and started the finger-fuck myself. I was getting close when he said, "That's enough." I couldn't believe it. He took my wrist and guided my hand to his mouth, and slowly sucked my fingers, his tongue sliding between, reminding me of other experiences I'd enjoyed with that tongue. He was not doing much to make the situation better for me. I thought about rubbing my clit furiously with my other hand, seeing if I could cum quickly, but two things stopped. First, and primarily, he had said "that's enough" and my submissive nature understood an order when I'd heard one. The other was more practical – I was probably going to be shaking hands with is boss in a few moments, and it stuck me that a hand covered by pussy juice was probably not one to offer. I thought irreverently about how in Young Frankenstein, Gene Wilder and his fiancée rubbed elbows, but thought his boss might not get that reference. At any rate, thinking of Marty Feldman is usually a pretty good way to get your libido under control, so I was calm and breathing normally when we got out of the car a minute later.

When we arrived, I dutifully met the new boss, Gene, and his wife, Paula, who seemed genuinely friendly. I would have been a wreck with so many people in my house, but I guess when you can afford to hire a caterer, your worry level is considerably less. I went into "charming" mode and the abbreviated interlude in the car was (mostly) out of my mind as we circulated and I was introduced and we made small talk.

It seems that often at these things, the women tend to congregate in the kitchen or living room, while the men migrate elsewhere. That night, there was a college game on, and Gene apparently had quite the man-cave, with a flat panel TV and the sports package on cable. Since I genuinely like football, I stayed with my husband as we first got ourselves a second drink (another vodka for him, another bottle of beer for me) and got an update on the score. 

I was watching the game intently, my hands on the back of the couch, not realizing that in that position, I was accidentally enhancing my cleavage. The dress was not exactly low-cut (it was a business party, after all), but it had a V-neck. I hadn't realized that as I leaned forward to watch a particularly impressive throw (and illegal hit afterwards), my arms were pressing my 40Ds together so that I was nearly over flowing. Not everyone in the room was as intent on the game as I was, however, because after seeing the replay of the throw (and the hit that led to the roughing the passer penalty afterwards) twice, I looked around to see a man looking intently at me – and not exactly making eye contact.

I noticed the direction of his stare and looked down myself, and, startled, dropped my hands and stood up straight. His moved his gaze up and he did make eye contact, but without any sign of shame. He was, I guessed, in his 50s, and had an air of quiet power and containment that I found extremely sexy. He was wearing the uniform the evening – blazer over polo shirt with Dockers-style pants, but his looked more expensive. He had closely cut salt-and-pepper hair, still mostly pepper, and rimless glasses that made him look intelligent. No, that wasn't right. His eyes were intelligent. The glasses were just a prop. Smart and sexy. I was intrigued. I realized that Kevin had left my side and remembered he'd murmured something about finding the bathroom. I turned my head to look out through the door to see if I could see him, but my husband was nowhere in sight. As I turned back to the TV, I saw Mr. Salt-and-Pepper making his way toward me. 

I weighed my options. Stay here and engage in flirty banter with a man who, with each passing second, I thought I would screw in a heartbeat, or flee. I'm a great flirt, but not when I genuinely want someone. In those cases, I prefer to just be honest. My husband and I have a relationship that would actually have supported either option, as long as he got all the details later, but in his new boss's house, I didn't think honesty would be the best policy, so I chose flight. I looked him once more in the eye, and then slipped out the door. Not sure where I was going, I headed down the hallway, and found myself at door that led outside. I thought the cool night air might cool me down some, so I opened the door and stepped outside. I found myself on a small patio – to the left and up couple steps was their large wooden deck. Light from the kitchen window was streaming out onto the deck, but it was where I was standing. I leaned back against the wall of the house and took a long drink from my beer. Then the door I'd just come through opened.

He acted with quiet efficiency, in keeping with the character I'd imagined. First his drink was set on the deck, then his glasses were folded and slipped into the breast pocket of his jacket. He looked at me, quietly watching him, and still without a word, took my bottle, and set it on the deck next to his. Then he stood facing me. He wasn't asking permission, but he was clearly giving me my last chance for an out. I could have chosen the flirt option at this point, and we could have pretended it was just in fun. I looked up at him, and involuntarily licked my lips. 

His placed one hand on either side of my face, and tipped my head up, then one hand slipped down to rest against my throat—no doubt feeling my racing pulse—while the other slipped around the back of my head, tangling in my hair. He was clearly naturally dominant. Did he act that way with everyone he wanted, I wondered. I didn't have time to think after that.

His kiss was completely demanding. The placement of his hands completely determined the position of my head, and he was devouring me. His tongue moved in my mouth as though he owned me, and his hand tightened in my hair, pulling slightly. I love this, and moaned. In response, he pulled harder and somehow kissed me even harder, deeper. My arms, until this point simply at my sides, slipped around his waist, drawing his hips into mine. For a briefest moment, I was able to get a sense of his level of interest in this encounter as well – and it was a long, hard interest. 

He stopped kissing me, and straightened up. He took a wrist in each hand and detached them from him, and then brought them around my back, squeezing them gently to give the order that they were to remain there. 

He unbuttoned the top two buttons of my dress, his lips and tongue swirling over the newly exposed flesh before making his way up to my neck. In fact, my neck is the most erogenous spot on my body. As his mouth pressed into that particularly sensitive spot that betrays me every time, I jumped. He laughed softly, and returned his hand to my hair, not at all gently this time, and tilted my head to the side to give himself better access.

He and I both knew that he had complete possession of my body at that point. My brain was just along for the ride. He stopped once again to look me in the eyes, this time to make it clear he was going to do whatever he damned well felt like. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he slowly opened the next few buttons of my dress, and then suddenly yanked the shoulders down, pinning my arms and exposing my tits. 

His mouth closed over my left nipple and I felt teeth. I winced. My nipples are extremely sensitive and for a moment I regretted how sheer the fabric of my bra was. He moved his mouth to my right tit, and sucked what was now a rock-hard nipple, while he squeezed by left tit, pinching it hard. I tensed, and my moan was a mix of pleasure and pain. He relented, and moved his mouth back for another one of those soul-claiming kisses.

He grabbed a fistful of my dress in each hand, telescoping the fabric up and up until it barely hung below my waist. His slid his hand under the dress and his fingers met my bare, very wet pussy. I had succeeded in surprising him. The skirt of my dress fell back down to my ankles. 

He spoke to me for the first time, a sensuous whisper in my ear, "Wherever are your panties, you naughty girl?"

"In my husband's jacket pocket," I whispered back.

"You're even more interesting than I had guessed," he replied, his breath hot in my ear, pausing to run his tongue down my neck before continuing, "And what would he think if he knew what you were letting me do to you right now? If he knew what you were doing... and so obviously enjoying?"

"I'm suspect he'd be sorry to have missed it. He enjoys seeing such vivid displays of my nature."

"Hold your dress up for me. I want to be able to see." I gathered up my dress, holding the hem bunched in my hands, just at my waist. In the moonlight, he couldn't really see that well, but enough to see my closely shaved pussy, and, based on how wet I was, perhaps a glint of moisture, as well.

"Spread your legs further apart." I complied, and was rewarded with two fingers slipped deep inside me, easily sliding in thanks to my arousal. 

"What's gotten you so wet, you little slut?" he asked rhetorically. "You like having a stranger play with you, tease you, finger you?" He was working my pussy hard, not plunging in and not, but flexing and pressing against my wall rhythmically. It felt fucking fantastic. 

I was panting, my head thrown back, my eyes closed. He started massaging my clit with this thumb and I moaned loudly. 

He withdrew his fingers suddenly and slapped my exposed pussy sharply, twice. My head snapped forward and I looked at him with a "what the fuck" look in my eye. I usually love that as part of foreplay, but not once I'm that far along.

"I asked you a question and you chose not to answer. That makes you a disobedient, naughty slut. If you were my slut, you'd be punished quite a bit more for not responding to a question."

"I'm sorry – I missed the question. Please, repeat it." I was desperate to feel his fingers back inside me. 

"I asked," he said with exaggerated patience, "whether you like having a stranger play with you..." he pinched my nipples, "...tease you..." he inserted just the tip of one finger inside me and it was all I could do to not hump it, "...finger you?" and he gave me one quick thrust, in and out. God, I was so hot, I needed more.

"Yes, I do," I whispered.

"Sorry, I can't hear you," he said back in a normal tone, he tongue again on that spot on my neck that me weak in the knees.

"Yes, I do," I said more loudly this time.

"Yes, you do what?" he taunted, pressing his thumb on my swollen clit and nipping lightly on my neck. 

"Yes, I do like the way you were fingering me. Please – let me have it again." I was desperate.

"I think I may have left a mark on your neck," he said conversationally. "What will your husband think about that?" Then without warning, three fingers were jammed back inside me dripping cunt. But he just left them there – no flexing, no thrusting. It was all I could do to not grab his arm and rub myself on him in a frenzy to get off.

"Neither of us mind marks on me. PLEASE!" I wasn't sure how much more I could stand as he continued to nip and suck on the side of my neck, his fingers deep inside me but doing nothing to satisfy my desperate state.

"Please what?"

"God! Please finger me again like you were. Please... my cunt needs to be filled." I didn't care what I sounded like any longer. I just needed him to resume what he'd been doing. 

He began to massage my clit with his thumb again. It was a good complement to the fingers in my pussy, but still not enough.

"What would you really like me to fill it with?" he was back to whispering. "You want me to finger you to orgasm? Or would you like some nice, hot cock in that nice, hot cunt?" Finally, he began to slide his fingers in and out, but agonizingly slowly.

"Cock," I panted. "Please. I want to feel your cock."

"Normally, I'd want to feel your mouth on me first," he replied, "but you've got me pretty hot. I think I'm ready to use this sweet, hot pussy for some relief of my own." 

He put his hands on my waist and turned me to face the deck, the floor of which was just lower than waist-height from where I stood, and pressed gently but firmly on my back to bend me over. With a quick movement, he flipped the back of my dress up, and I dropped the front so I could brace myself on the deck. I heard the sound of a foil packet being ripped open, and moment later, felt the tip of a rock hard cock pressing against my pussy.

"Ask nicely," he said, although I could hear the arousal in his own voice by now. I knew he wanted it as badly as I did, and I briefly considered a bratty response instead of simply doing what I knew would get me what I so desperately wanted. I waited to long, and was rewarded with two hard slaps on my ass. 

"You are undisciplined, aren't you?" Smack, SMACK! Two more, balancing out the sting. "Much as I'd enjoy a lovely session with you over my knee, I think we both have a more pressing need to attend to. Now are you going to ask nicely, or not?" Two more blistering smacks followed.

"Fuck!" I said. They really stung! No erotic spanking, this. He meant business. 

"That's hardly asking nicely, and I'm losing patience." He hard cock was still pressing against my pussy, and I thought just grinding back against him.

I felt him raise his hand again and I quickly responded. "Please. Please fuck me. I'm asking nicely. Please! I need it."

He entered me with such force that if I hadn't braced myself on the deck, I would have stumbled forward. 

"Nice," he said. "You have a very nice, hot cunt here. I'm going to enjoy masturbating in it." He proceeded to simply pound into me, hard, rough – exactly how I like it. Knowing there was a party in full swing on the other side of the wall – and knowing that anyone who came out onto the deck would get an eyeful – I tried to keep my volume down. If we'd been in my bedroom, I would have been screaming. 

If possible, his rhythm got even faster, and I could hear a change in his breathing. "Do it!" I hissed. "Jerk off in me. Use that hot cunt to make yourself cum. Let me feel it!" 

With a groan and final jerk, he came, hard, then leaned over me, both of us breathing hard, and kissed the back of my neck.

We straightened up, and he carefully wrapped the condom in his handkerchief. "Not the sort of thing we want Paula to find in the morning," he said. 

He rearranged himself, and looked at me, still breathing hard. "You okay?" 

I nodded. "More than okay." 

He carefully buttoned up my dress and fixed my collar, then kissed me on the forehead. His glasses back on, he retrieved both of our drinks, and handed mine to me, and then clinked his glass with my bottle. Then he took my hand and led me off the patio and up the steps to the deck. We sat on one of the benches, silently sipping our drinks, my hear rate returning to normal

Within only a few minutes, Kevin and another man walked out on the deck.

"Oh, there you are!" he said when he saw me. "I thought I'd lost you." Then he noticed my companion. "Paul! I thought I saw you when we stopped in the den. Hon," he said to me, "Paul is my new vice president." He grinned, "So I hope you've been being nice to him."

"Oh, she's been very nice," said my new friend. "Your wife is charming!"

The Charming Wife Ch. 02



If you think that parties are more fun than what happens afterwards, then you don't know my husband.

A few weeks before the party I'm referring to, my husband Kevin had taken a new job within his company, and based on this first encounter, the socializing with the new gang was going to be a LOT more fun than with the old lot. 

I'd just met Kevin's new boss, Gene (who was nice enough, if a tiny bit on the dull side) and his wife Paula (who was something else!), as well as most of Kevin's other new coworkers, at what proved to be a memorable party at Gene and Paula's house. 

Memorable for me, anyway, since I'd found myself being fucked in the moonlight by a guy who turned out to be the vice president of Kevin's new group, Gene's boss, Paul. It was more than a slightly surreal experience, which only continued after our al fresco encounter as we sat on the deck at the party.

First, I should let you know that my husband and I are of the same mind when it comes to my sex life: we both enjoy the fact that I have a completely slutty nature and enjoy as much sex as I can get. Our attitude is that as long as it's safe, sane, and consensual – with no lies – it's all good. Or really freaking great, usually.

So as I sat at that party, on the deck with Paul, whose name I'd just learned, on one side of me with my husband on the other, Paula came out. She came over and gave Paul a kiss on the cheek and sat down heavily beside him. The party was in full swing and was being carried on its own momentum, cutting down on her hostess duties. 

"How's it going, twin brother?" she said with a wink. She must have seen my surprise, because she quickly added that they were not at all related, and the joke was simply due to their similar names. "And," she added, "rather than sharing parents, we share Gene – though he spends more waking hours with my husband than I do."

She turned toward me. "Now that Kevin is part of Paul's empire, be prepared for him to spend a lot of time on the road. I'm not sure what they guys do at night when they're away, but I think I'm personally keeping the stock price in the battery companies up." She laughed and sipped her drink, while I tried not to choke on mine.

Paul squeezed Paula's knee. "Sweetie, you know I made sure he was home with you at least one week of the month."

"Sure, Paul – and it always seems to be 'that' week of the month when it happens!" she retorted. Everyone laughed, but my eyes just got very wide.

Oh my God, I thought. Is she drunk? And, more worrying, is Kevin really going to gone that much? 

"Oh heavens," said Paula, "We're scaring the new girl. Sweetie," she leaned across Paul to pat my hand, "don't form a lasting impression of us based on tonight. We're really quite sane, but a huge project that involved a gazillion hours over the last several months just got wrapped up, and the spouses as well as the employees are just really fucking relieved it's over." I was pretty sure Kevin's prior boss, let alone his wife, never used the word "fuck" in my presence. This was definitely a more interesting group than the prior one.

"And I hope Gene takes you to Paris on that bonus," said Paul. "I know he worked his butt off over the last few months, but you paid part of the price."

"Paris?" she deadpanned, "He said it was only five hundred dollars. Are you implying there's something he's not telling me? Maybe he's hording the rest to take his mistress there instead?"

"Jesus, Paula, you're too much sometimes," said her husband, suddenly making an appearance. "You know darn well we're using that bonus to pay off your car. I'm not taking my mistress to Paris."

"And besides, she's left-handed," said Kevin, referring to the old joke. Paul cracked up, and then had to tell the joke to the people who'd never heard it – about the man whose dying wife asked if he would ever remarry, and the man said he thought he would, so she asked if he would let this future wife live in the house they had shared, and the man said he couldn't see why not, and so she asked if he'd let her use her custom-made golf clubs, and he looked surprised and said of course not, (pause) she was left-handed.

Once Paula heard the punch line, she laughed loudly and told Kevin that he'd fit right in. "But we might need to call 911 for your wife. She looks a bit faint. C'mon honey, loosen up. We're just joking here."

It's an unusual situation when I can't keep my own at a party, but I was still a bit distracted by the continued throbbing in my pussy, and my desire to tell Kevin all about my encounter. One thing I can count on is that whatever I get outside of our bedroom, he'll match that and more once we're alone together. 

"Oh, I'm just fine," I smiled. "Just figure it's better to keep my mouth shut and be thought a fool than open it and remove all doubt."

Paula laughed again. "Anyone who can quote Mark Twain on command is no fool, sweetie, so don't pretend. But you may want another drink. And don't you worry, we 'road widows' find ways to amuse ourselves when they're away." I wasn't sure if that innuendo was for me or the guys, so I just ginned and shook my head.

The conversation for rest of the party was a bit more mundane – at least, I didn't catch any further references to sex, veiled or pointed. But it was fun, and I got my groove back pretty quickly, returning to the role of charming, witty wife. Both Kevin and I enjoyed the rest of the evening a great deal and were a bit sorry to leave, but also quite eager to be alone again.

As soon as our seatbelts were on, I turned to him. "Oh God, baby, I have the best story to tell you."

"Hmm," he said with mock casualness. "Does it have something to do with you begging Paul to fuck you like a bitch in heat, and him doing so?"

"Oh baby! How did you know?"

"When I came back to check on you, you were gone, so I headed down that hallway and came out the same door you must have gone out. I missed the prelude, but got there in time for the conclusion of the first act and the grand finale. Very hot, baby, very hot." He looked at me in appreciation. 

"Why didn't you tell me how sexy your new veep is?" I couldn't resist teasing him a little. 

"Paul has the equivalent of Gene's unit in four different offices, and he travels around between them a lot."

"He may have the equivalent of Gene, but I bet there's no match for Paula!" We both laughed. Our hostess had continued to be a source of entertainment for us and the rest of the guests, clearly enjoying being a foil to Gene's taciturn nature. 

"Anyway," Kevin continued, "Thus far, our encounters have been more centered on business matter than whether he'd be a suitable stud for my horny wife." As he spoke, he reached over and unbuttoned the top buttons of my dress. "And you're over-dressed."

***

As we were pulling in the driveway, I got myself back together and Kevin stayed in the car to drive the sitter home. I checked on the kids and then headed down to our bedroom. One of the smartest things we'd done since we moved in was convert the family room downstairs that we never used into a master suite, as the kids got old enough that we didn't have to worry about waking up in the middle of the night and needing us. It gave us a nice sense of privacy, and frankly, I didn't have to worry about always muffling my cries of pleasure quite so much.

Our sitter than night lives pretty close – and no, don't get any ideas about Kevin and the sitter – she's 16 and a sweetie – so I didn't have long to wait. I knew he was in as much of a hurry as I was.

A few minutes later, his tongue sliding over mine. I love the way my husband kisses me, with his arms wrapped tight around me, one hand cupping my ass and pulling me hard against him, the other wrapped in my hair. He changed the kiss, his tongue thrusting in and out of my mouth exactly like he would later be fucking me, or so I hoped. I was moaning and grinding my hips into his, even more excited when I felt how hard he'd become.

He broke off the kiss and asked me if I knew where the sewing kit was.

"Wha...? Yes, of course," I answered, dizzy with lust and confused by the question.

"Good, then I don't have to feel guilty about..." he paused, "this." He grabbed the collar of my dress and yanked, buttons flying everywhere, and I stepped over the final few buttons. 

"Get it off!" he said firmly, referring to the one stitch I was still wearing, my sheer bra, which I hastened to do. He draped his jacket over a chair, and from the pocket, he retrieved the panties that he'd had me remove before the party, when we were still in the car. 

He spun me roughly around and shoved my panties – still musky from our play in the car – in my mouth as a gag, and bent me over the bed.

"My slut wife," he said, his hand caressing my ass before he pulled it back to give me two resounding slaps on each cheek. "My naughty, slutty wife." He repeated the pattern, and I moaned in deep pleasure. There is no type of foreplay I enjoy more than a sexual spanking like the one I hoped I was I store for. He gently kicked one ankle, a signal I should spread my legs. He had me stand that way for a moment, supporting myself with my forearms on the bed, bent over, with my soaking pussy completely on display for him. 

"Oh, dear. Now I'm distracted," he said with deceptive mildness. "Maybe I should fuck you first and spank you after. Would you like that?" 

"Fuck you?" One slap on each cheek. "Or spank you?" Two more on each side. I could feel the glow starting. "I admit I want to FUCK" (smack) "you" (smack), "but naughty sluts could always benefit from a ... good... hard... spanking!" Each of the pauses was marked with an increasingly hard slap. I was raising up on my toes to meet each one, my ass glowing, my pussy dripping. "So... which... comes... first?" He continued with his unique method of punctuating his words. 

What a choice! A continuation of this delicious spanking or hard fuck. Which first? Damn, he shouldn't leave these types of decision up to me. And he didn't. "Oh, these pants need to go to the cleaner's anyway" he muttered. I heard the sound a zipper, and without any preamble, my husband's cock was deep in my pussy. 

He leaned down and gently bit my shoulder. "I do love your body," he whispered in my ear. "I love everything about it. I love the way you respond to my touch –" he slapped the side of my thigh, not very hard, but it was so unexpected that I jumped. "– I love how wet, how deliciously wet, how sopping wet, how only-a-total-slut-could-get-this-wet wet you get." 

He moved to my other shoulder and bit again, harder this time, sucking the skin hard enough that I was sure he'd leave a mark. I whimpered. "But do you know what I love more than anything else about your body?" he continued. I shook my head. 

"I love that it's MINE." With that he stood up, and started pumping me as hard as he could. I rocked forward on my toes, all but screaming into my makeshift gag. He continued, "Mine to fuck. Mine to savor the view as I watch another man play with you, knowing that it's MY toy, MY plaything he's enjoying with, and that at the end of the day, it's coming home with ME!" With each of these phrases, he slammed into me. The rough material of his slacks, still fastened around his waist, rubbed against my pinkened ass, scratching in a delicious reminder of how they had gotten that way. I was so wet that the sound of his moving in and out of me was more like splashing, and the scent of "fuck" was heavy in the air.

He yanked the panties out of my mouth. "Tell me," he said harshly, "Tell me what nasty, naughty thoughts were going through your mind out there."

It's hard for me to talk when I'm getting pounded like that. I love it so much that most of my usual adept verbal skills seem to consist of "Ohh" and "God!" and the occasional "Oh fuck, YEAH!" But he deserved this. "Oh God, Kevin. It was so hot... He didn't even talk to me... Just kissed me... umph... I could tell he was okay... urghh... he would have stopped if I'd just said a word... OOohh!... but he was so sexy... oh! yeah! God!... I loved knowing he was... FUCK, baby!... getting off using me, makes me feel so... GOD! Yes! Oh yes, please! More!... so powerful, knowing I can do that to him. They think it's..." the next sound I made wasn't even a word, just a guttural, animalistic grunt as my husband held my hips in a vice grip and pinioned in and out of me. I tried to continue. "They think they're the ones in control, but ... I ... know... I have... the power."

"You think you have the power now, baby?" he grunted out.

"No, not with you. For you, I'm ... all... YOURS," and the final hard trusts left us both flat on the bed. His cock still inside me, he ground down. 

"Get your fingers on your clit. Masturbate for me. I want to feel you cum with my cock inside you." We rocked in unison so I could slide my hand underneath, my entire pussy completely soaked with my juices and his starting to leak out. My clit was huge, encouraged, infinitely sensitive. I pressed two fingers against it and within a few seconds of my favorite circular motion, was bucking hard up against him, milking his cock as my orgasm flowed through me.

Kevin kissed my shoulder, and stood up to undress as I arranged myself under the covers. 

"Baby, I'd love to give you that spanking you deserve for being such a good little slut, but I think I have to pass out now instead," he said, as he snuggled up against me, and we both drifted off in a deeply contented sleep.



The Charming Wife Ch. 03



 Chapter 3 – While We Are Parted

I was asleep when the phone rang, but to be fair, it was 1 a.m. Kevin's new job did involve a lot more travel than the old one, and I missed him. I enjoyed our good night phone calls, even when different time zones made them a bit late for me.

The disparity in our alertness was clear from the opening exchange. 

"Baby, God, I wish I were in bed with you right now. I want to taste you so bad!" was his opening line.

Mine was "Umph."

"I would lick your sweet slit, swirl my tongue around your clit... squeeze those luscious tits...I want you so much, babe."

"Uh huh," was my witty reply.

"Babe, wake up!"

"Trying," I mumbled. "What's got you so hot and heavy?" I was waking up now. "Not that I mind. But usually you start out by asking about the kids, or telling me that you love me and miss me."

"Hon, I love you, I miss you, how are the kids, and are you naked?" Oh, he was in rare form.

"Seriously... what's got you so hot? You sound like you have a story to tell. Did you just catch a glimpse of the hotel maid's boobs or something?" He was a big boob man. I mean, he was big into boobs, not that he loved only big boobs. Although, come to think of it, he does prefer bigger boobs, but that was fortunate, because mine definitely fall on the "sizable" end of the spectrum.

"Not the maid. It was the waitress where we had dinner tonight."

"She had a nice set, did she?" I'm a shameless voyeur. I'm not very interested in other women's breasts myself, but hearing their effect on my husband would be fun.

"Tell me you're naked and I'll tell you more," he said. "PS – I am. Naked, I mean."

With Kevin in Seattle, I had gone to bed in my sexiest ensemble: one of his t-shirts and a pair of purple sleep shorts with little Tinkerbell pictures on them. "Give me a moment," I said, and peeled them off. "Okay, we are now in a similar set of nakedness. Tell me what's up." 

"The waitress... man, she had on this short, tight skirt and this white tuxedo-style blouse, but clearly no bra..."

"I take it you weren't at Applebee's," I said dryly. 

Kevin laughed. "No, the client took us out. Can't really remember the name of the place. Great Italian food, though. Which reminds me – I have to have my tie dry cleaned when I get home." Unseen over the phone, I rolled my eyes. 

I wanted to get the story back on track. Hearing about spaghetti stains on his tie was not nearly as interesting as sexy waitresses as a bedtime story. "And you know she had on no bra because...?" 

"She had about four buttons undone, and did a lot of leaning over as she took our orders, or set down the plates, or cleared the plates... you wouldn't believe how often she filled our water glasses. I'm telling you, we could see clear down to her nipples!" Kevin sounded like a 15-year-old how had just found his first issue of National Geographic.

"Gene must have loved that," I said, laughing. Gene was Kevin's immediate boss, and was one of the most conservative people I knew. (At least, I thought he was. Appearances can be deceiving. After all, I look and act like a typical soccer mom in public too.)

"I'm not sure Gene noticed our server was female! Janet did though!" Janet is Kevin's partner at work and they work as a team with most clients. I loved her. Janet made a point of introducing me to her partner, Allison. ("I like the wives to know that I'm not sleeping with their husbands when we're away," she had said with a twinkle in her eye.)

"Ooh! I'm telling Allison!" Allison, Gene's wife Paula, and I had formed the "Road Widows League" and got together on Wednesdays while our spouses were away. It worked out well for me because the kids were with their dad on Wednesdays, as well as every other weekend. So... that would be tomorrow night. Or tonight, really, I thought, glancing at the clock.

"Just was no looking, no touching!" my spouse assured me. "Though the invitation to do more was clearly there."

"As if I'd care! It would make a better story for me. But tell me about her 'invitation to do more.'"

"Well after dinner, we went to the bar in the restaurant. And Candi – that was the waitress's name..."

"Oh bull," I interrupted. That's her 'waitress' name. It gets better tips than her real name, which is probably Ethel."

"Babe, with those pink nipples of hers on display, she didn't need any fake name for a big tip!" he retorted before adding with mock sternness, "And stop interrupting!"

"Yes, sir," I said, trying to sound meek, but smiling broadly. With the windows cracked open, the night air was cool on my naked body. All this talk about nipples was having an effect on mine. With the phone in my left hand, I used the palm of my right hand to make slow, wide circles on first one tip and then the other, enjoying how they hardened under my touch.

"So Gene, and Janet, and Pete and Maurice – they're the clients – and me, we all go to the bar, and Candi says she's getting off shift herself, and can she join us, and of course, we don't want to be rude..."

"No, of course not," I agree, oh so agreeably.

"Again, with the interruptions," said Kevin. "Are you touching yourself?"

How could he know that? "Uh, yeah, a little," I said. "Are you psychic?"

"No, just hopeful, so I don't feel like a pervert being the only one stroking myself in this conversation. Are you wet?"

"Actually, I hadn't moved that far south yet."

He properly inferred where my hand must be. "Ah... pinch them for me, would you? Like I would if I were there with you. Both of them!" I cradled the phone against my shoulder so I could have both hands free, and cupped my breasts, my thumbs stroking the now-hard tips. "Are you doing it? Are you pinching them? Tell me about it."

My nipples are perhaps the most sensitive on the planet. What is pleasure for most can be painful for me until I'm in a pretty high state of arousal. I pinched them oh-so-gently, and even at my own touch, moaned slightly. "They're definitely getting harder," I told him. 

"Do what I wanted to do to Candi," he said. "Pinch them hard enough to make them stand out, roll them between your thumb and finger for me." I did, letting out another little moan. "Describe them for me."

"Hard... standing out now. It's cool in here, and the breeze from the windows... well, I'm feeling it." I closed my eyes, and imagined my husband's tongue swirling over them. He likes to bring them together, so the nipples are almost touching, and flick his tongue rapidly over both. It never fails to make me weak in the knees, and wet slightly higher up. 

Although I love dirty talk when we're together – really nasty, dirty, salacious words, it's oddly embarrassing me for to talk this way over the phone. I screw up my courage and tell him what I'm thinking. "I wish it were your tongue instead of my fingers. The way you do play with them both at once, licking, then sucking..." Once I'm really turned on, he'll even nip a little. As I talk, the pressure from my fingers becomes firmer, really toying with them now, enjoying the pleasure-pain of being pinched, squeezed. I can feel how wet I'm getting, and my hips start to move from side to side. I spread my legs wide, imagining him watching and giving him a good view of my arousal. 

"Mmm," said Kevin, "I want to picture exactly what you're doing. I want you to pinch them hard enough so you can pull your whole tit up from your body, then release them." My moan confirmed for him that I was doing so. "Again." His voice a getting husky.

"Oh, I want..." I started to say.

"No, keep your hands away from your pussy. I'll tell you when." He could read my mind. "Do you have your vibrator handy? Get it."

"Which one?" It was a legitimate question. We enjoy our toys and there are more than a few. I rolled over and opened the bottom drawer of the bedside table on his side.

"The egg, I think. Just get it out. Don't turn it on yet. Don't use it."

"You suck, sometimes," I growled in frustration.

"You know darn well you like it when I do, and the feeling is mutual." How typical of him to turn my comment into innuendo. "You can touch yourself anywhere, any way you want, except your clit – and not even indirectly." It would ruin the game for me to just say, "Screw it" and do what I really wanted to do, so I reluctantly kept my hands above my waist. There was no point in venturing near the promised land if I couldn't stay and play.

"So here we are at the bar, and Candi sits on the stool at the end, and that short skirt of hers rides up, and the next thing I know, she pulls a Sharon Stone."

"A what? A Sharon Stone?"

"Yeah, like in Casino..."

"Wait, what? She had a hissy fit and threw things at Robert DeNiro?"

"No, shit... not Casino. Fatal Attraction."

"That was Glenn Close. Are you saying she killed a rabbit?"

"Jesus – Basic Instinct! You know what I mean! Remind me to spank you for being so bratty when I get home."

"Yes, but it's so fun to be one up on Mr. Movie Trivia."

"Look, Mr. Movie Trivia got teased by a fabulous set of tits for two hours tonight and is full of thoughts of you lying there naked and wet. I'm so hard that I could drive nails with my cock. You're always telling me I can only think with one head at a time. Give me break here."

"I apologize," I said with mock contriteness. "Can I play with my clit now?"

"Not yet." The man can be so frustrating sometimes. I kept squeezing my tits. One hand ventured down, avoiding my clit but rubbing that sensitive area just above it. "So, anyway, Gene is apparently concerned for my virtue, 'cause just about the time she does the no-panties, oops-my-knees-opened routine, he asks loudly about whether I've talked to my 'charming wife' on our trip so far."

"No shit. Gene asked about me?"

"Babe, how many other wives do I have, charming or otherwise? But no, he didn't give a hoot about you – he wanted to make sure Candi knew I was married. Why don't you turn that egg on now?"

I did. I started it on low, and pressed it between my legs, my pussy lips now together so I could feel the humming through to my clit, but not touching it directly... yet.

"Your big old honkin' wedding ring didn't proclaim that for you?"

"Oh, you know Gene. Belts and suspenders, you know? So he starts going on and on about you, mentioning the word 'wife' about twice per sentence, and Candi gets the message and turns her attention to Pete, who made a point of using the phrase 'recent divorce' about twice per sentence..."

"Oh, poor hunny-bunny! So you never got to taste the Candi after you drooled over it in the display case."

"No," he said trying to sound sad, but not succeeding. "But I do wish I were tasting you. I think I said that already. Do me a favor, taste yourself for me."

I moved the egg to the side, spread my legs wide again, and ran my middle finger along my slit. I was nice and wet. I brought my finger to my lips and made a point of sucking loudly, so he could picture exactly what I was doing.

"Ah, shit. I fucking want you so bad right now. I don't suppose you can catch a red-eye to Seattle?"

"I think Child Protective Services may object to my slipping out of the house right now, actually," I said with a grin. I returned the egg between my legs, which were still spread wide. The throbbing started at my core and pulsed through me. "Oh, God, baby... this feels so good."

"Tell me. Tell me what you feel right now."

"Mmm. The egg was just the right choice. It's still on low, but... oohh... so nice." I closed my legs around it, feeling it continuing to hum against my clit and just at the entrance of my slit. In halting words, I described it to Kevin. I'm not particularly articulate when aroused, but I'm sure the words "want you to fuck me so bad" were among those uttered. 

"Turn it up a notch. Really feel it, babe." I did, and then flipped over on my stomach, using the mattress to press it even harder against my sex, grinding down on it. My breath got more ragged, and I could tell from his voice that he was stroking himself. 

"My turn. Tell me."

"Oh, babe. I thought I was hard when I called you. You should see it now." 

"God, I wish I could. I wish I were there to lick you, suck you... run my tongue along it... wrap my hands around your fabulous cock..." as I got more aroused, it was easier for me to talk this way. My grinding was turning into humping. I didn't really want to suck him. I was past foreplay. I wanted him to be fucking me. "And I want you inside me so much. I want ... oh I want you to be using this incredibly horny pussy to be stroking that cock, not your hands. I want you to know how wet I am for you because you can feel it, not because I tell you about it... Oh, I just... WANT you!"

"Not half as much as I do, babe. All I can think about his how much I want that too, to feel how wet you must be. How ...hot and ...tight." His breathing told me how close he was to coming.

"Ah, fuck, Kevin! Come for me, please! Let me hear you." I had tossed the egg to the side and was rubbing myself furiously with my fingers, picturing him coming inside me, and not 3,000 miles away. I heard his groan, my self-imposed cue for my own release, and I followed a moment later.

We were quiet for a moment, or more accurately, we didn't speak. A tape of our heavy breathing would have been prized by obscene callers.

"I'm going to have to leave the maid a big tip, I think," he said finally.

"Make it big enough and maybe she'll forget to wear her bra to work too. Then we can do this again." 

"I'm still going to spank you for being such a brat about the Sharon Stone comment."

"As long as you fuck me first," I said agreeably. 

"No worries there. Maybe the kids can be at a sleepover Friday night when I get home. I'm having lovely thoughts about what I'd like to see you wearing when I walk in the door, and it's not what they're wearing to the soccer games this season." In fact, I'd already picked out my outfit – heels, stockings, garters... and an apron. A man needs a welcome-home meal, after all.

"Good new for you. It's a dad weekend. But I'll try to leave you with enough energy so you can be upright and ambulatory to greet them Sunday when they come home," I said, adding mischievously, "but I don't promise."

"Sweetie, you know, I DO miss you and I DO love you."

"Likewise." I smiled into the phone. "Come home soon."