Be Mine

Valentine's Day is for lovers, or so they say. Personally, I beg to differ. It's been five days since that crazy night when my husband and I planned a date night to celebrate the lovers' holiday at a romantic getaway. When the special day arrived, we immediately left after work and drove to our destination.

Upon arriving, we wheeled our luggage in as if we were staying for a week. Our bags were filled with kinky clothing, the naughtiest of sex toys, and a bag filled with snacks and alcohol. Not going to lie, the thought of being away, if only for a single night, excited me and my hungry pussy.

Okay, so about me! I'm 50 years old, a mother, a wife, and a slut for my husband. I'm 5'7", with long dirty blonde hair, and my breasts are a beautiful 38DD--bountiful, supple mounds made for tit-fucking. I'm a former amateur hosiery model, and I'm told I have a pretty face and a very sexy set of legs and feet. What's intrigued my husband and those fortunate enough to see me in pantyhose is that I sport a full retro, '70s-style porn star bush. Yes, it's 2025, and I have a full hairy bush. Quite frankly, not only do I love the way it looks under sheer silky nylon, but it also drives my husband crazy with lust.

So, back to our date night. As soon as the key touched the door lock, I rushed in, jumped on the bed, and expressed just how much I needed this diversion from our real everyday life.

We both went through our bags, put away our toiletries, hung up our clothes, and then went out onto the balcony. Our deck, covered with melted snow, overlooks a loud, running waterfall. Appreciating the view with hubby's arm around me, I noticed an older gentleman two decks over, admiring the romantic view as well.

Assuming this man wasn't alone, in the spirit of the holiday, I wished him a Happy Valentine's Day, which was drowned out by the roaring sound of the waterfall. Finding what I said difficult to hear, as the gentleman came closer, my husband released his hold and went inside. The gentleman introduced himself. The smell of his cologne or aftershave was quite inviting; he was dressed in a pair of slacks, a shirt, a sports coat, and nice shoes. I mention the shoes because their size looked awfully big, making me think to myself if it's true what they say: "If a guy has big feet, he has a big cock."

I'm sorry, please excuse me, for it's been a long day. My name is Chele, I introduced myself. "My name is Eric," he said. His big hand engulfed mine as we shook, the scent of his masculine cologne lingering on my dainty hand.

Before I could ask, Eric stated that he was staying at the hotel because he's attending a conference about an hour away, and all the hotels were booked. He said it was a last-minute decision to attend, which is why he's staying a distance from the conference.

I excused myself, expressing that it was a pleasure, for I needed to go inside and get ready for our celebration of the evening. "Nice to meet you too, Chele," he said as we parted.

Totally losing track of time and running late for our reservation, I didn't have time to take a shower, though I did shower earlier that morning before work. I slipped off my heels, took off my top and bra, and dropped my pants. Walking around the hotel room in just a pair of pantyhose, I picked out a sexy red dress, sheer black seamless pantyhose, and a pair of red fuck-me heels. I stripped off my pantyhose, tossing them on my suitcase, and went into the bathroom to change.

My husband, dressed in a pair of designer jeans, a Robert Graham fitted shirt, and a matching sport coat, looked so very fuckable. When I came out of the bathroom, my husband was sitting on the end of the bed with his jeans and bikini briefs around his ankles, stroking his cock while sniffing the pantyhose I had just slipped off. "Excuse me!" I said.

"Oh, sorry, babe. I spotted them on your suitcase and couldn't resist a sniff, and fuck, to find the crotch all wet--mmmm, well, you know!" he said. "Did your friend next door cause you to get all wet?" he asked with a light laugh. "Maybe," I said. "You look incredible, absolutely fucking hot," my husband said as I sat alongside him on the bed while I slid into my heels.

"I bet he probably went inside and fucked his wife after speaking to you outside." "Actually, no," I said. "He probably dropped his pants and stroked his long, fat dick." "Alone?" he asked. "Yes, he's all alone and single." "Wow, aren't you lucky?" hubby teased.

I've never given hubby reason to think such, let alone reason to doubt my loyalty, for we're both very happily married. Like most couples, we have role-played, teased, and fantasized about such situations and others.

Be honest, what guy hasn't ever fantasized about seeing his wife or girlfriend fucking another guy, let alone a guy who's hung and Adonis-like? My husband has shared such fantasies with me, and quite frankly, it's seriously fucking sexy. He's so secure with himself and our relationship that the mere thought of such is kinky, sexy, erotic, and extremely taboo.

In the past, he's fucked me with sleeves, dildos, and harnesses, pretending to be another guy or even several men in a mock gangbang. Honestly, we packed several toys to use this very evening.

After slipping on my heels, we grabbed our coats and headed to the restaurant, which, thank goodness, was within walking distance on the property. While waiting for the hostess to seat us, I realized I had forgotten my cell phone. My husband, being a true gentleman, offered to go back and get it and suggested I grab a drink, and he'd meet me at the bar when he returned.

I told the hostess that I was waiting for my husband and that I'd be at the bar. Shuffling through the couples celebrating the evening, I came across an empty stool, ironically next to a gentleman with his back to me. After I ordered a drink, he turned, and I realized it was Eric, our hotel neighbor I met earlier.

"If I may say," he said, "you look absolutely lovely this evening." "You may, and thank you," I said with a giggle. What seemed like hours, we chatted like old friends when it came up that he's a widower. "So sorry," I said, as I nonchalantly placed my hand on his thigh. His big hand covered mine as he began to reminisce about his lost love.

A tear ran from his eye, which at that very moment made him extremely vulnerable. My heart broke for him, and I invited him to join my husband and me for dinner. He strongly declined my request and suggested that we should go enjoy dinner and that he invited us to join him for a drink at the bar after dinner. "It's a date," I said. Why did I say those words? I don't know; it's very possible I felt for this man and wanted to ease his sorrows.

Making my way to my husband, who was now at the front of the crowded bar, I took his hand, truly appreciating his company and the love we share, and we were seated at our table. Sitting in the dimly lit dining area, the flames from the fireplace danced off the glass of wine in front of us. I couldn't ask for anything more. As we sipped our wine and embraced each other's company, I slipped off my heel and rubbed my silky nylon foot under the cuff of my husband's pants up his ankle.

As the night drew on, the wine flowed, and I was now feeling a very good buzz. Dinner was just about complete, and I slipped off my other heel and put both my silky nylon feet in his lap, rubbing his crotch. "Dessert?" the waitress asked. I answered, "It's up to my husband," as the heel of my silky nylon foot rubbed his crotch. "Sure," my husband said. "May we see a menu?"

While waiting for the waitress to bring the dessert menu, I shared with my husband that our hotel neighbor Eric was at the bar, and we had a drink together while he went to get my phone. I must have blabbered on and on, even while the waitress returned to take our order, and continued to blabber, when my husband heard with his own ears the very words that escaped my lips: "He's widowed, lonely, and if you really want me to, I'll let him fuck me."

"What did you say?" my husband asked. "Blah blah, blah blah," I said. "Not that--the part that you'd fuck him if I wanted!"

"That's right, I said yes!" now feeling the head of his cock growing in his pants under my silky nylon heels, which were resting in his lap. "Yes, I'll let him fuck me if you want." I must have said it loud enough, thanks to all the wine I drank, with lost inhibitions. The waitress, taking the hint, immediately put the dessert down and placed the check on the table.

Rubbing and grinding my silky nylon feet over his bulge, I looked him in the eyes, biting my lower lip, and asked my husband if he wanted me to let this older stranger fuck me, in a low, soft, sexy voice.

I teased him, saying, "I bet he has a long, thick, fat cock!" My husband's cock twitched under my feet, his cock leaking, his wetness forming a dark spot in his jeans.

I continued to tease him by saying, "How our older guest said how gorgeous I looked and missed his late wife, whom he had plenty of hotel Valentine's Days together with." I went on to lie, saying how Eric said his wife loved to cum all over his big, fat cock as he pounded her in every position, how she let him fill her with copious amounts of his cum, how she held onto his cock with two hands, sucking it for hours.

We needed to leave, for all this talk and feeling how hard and excited it made my husband had gotten me extremely wet. Telling my husband that some other guy was talking about fucking his wife, making her cum, him cumming, and him having a big, thick, fat cock had my imagination in an erotic whirlwind.

"But you're my Valentine," he said. "Valentine's isn't just for couples anymore," I went on to say.

Upon our exit, I had totally forgotten that I agreed to have a drink with Eric until he stood up, waved his arms, and called for us. Looking over at my husband, I didn't even need to ask; hand in hand, he led the way to our hotel neighbor. I'm not going to lie--with every step closer we got to Eric, the wetter my nylon-encased pussy became.

Let me explain something real quick. When I wear pantyhose, no less seamless pantyhose, I never, and I mean never, wear panties--hence the name pantyhose; they replace the need for panties. Seamless pantyhose causes an immediate camel toe, riding up between the female anatomy.

Deep down, I was hoping my husband didn't bring up what I said to him or want to start anything. Truthfully, at this point, I was feeling no pain, horny as fuck, and just needed to get my wet pussy eaten and fucked for hours and really didn't care by whom--please forgive me. Hopefully, hubby would be on board to share his wife with this total stranger. This would make for a total fantasy come true. After all, my husband brought several toys to fuck me with; why not try a real one? I'm game, lol.

As we approached, Eric reached out his strong hand and shook my husband's as they introduced themselves. With yours truly being the common ground, Eric stood up and gave me a warm, welcoming hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Something so simple that, if it was from a friend, it wouldn't have even been recognized. Because it was from someone we discussed fucking me, it turned very sexual. Flushed and feeling weak in the knees, I reciprocated by returning a soft kiss on his cheek, leaving my mark of red lipstick behind. I hoped the excitement coming from between my legs went unnoticed by their sense of smell--pure sexual stimulation.

Excusing myself for a trip to the ladies' room, figuring I might dampen the sexual excitement coming from between my silky nylon legs, I felt the eyes of both my husband and Eric staring at my ass and eye-fucking me as I sauntered off.

Desired is what I truly felt; I was enjoying being desired by both men. Something came over me when I lifted my dress and pulled down my pantyhose to pee--OMG, was I so wet, extremely wet, like I'd been used and filled. I wiped and wiped, then figured that if anything was going to happen, both men would appreciate how wet they made me.

Returning to the bar, I noticed that Eric wasn't there. I asked my husband where he went. "Back to his room," he said. As we left the bar, the disappointment in my tone must have been too much for my husband, for he blatantly, outright asked me if I really wanted to fuck Eric.

"No!" I went on to say. "I love you, and I'm very happy with us, and I love you." "But?" my husband asked. "There's no but. Don't mind me; you know how horny I get when I drink and with our vivid imagination. Part of the excitement is knowing that it turned you on," I said.

Back in our room, we removed our coats and embraced. My buzz was subsiding, and I poured a glass of wine for both hubby and me. We danced to some soft music when my husband brought up how amazing it felt having my silky nylon feet rubbing his hard-on under the table. "I know you enjoyed it, for I felt the warm puddle that stained your jeans under my feet."

Just as my hand found its way to my husband's crotch, and I began to rub him while we embraced in a very wet, wine-flavored kiss, there was a low knock at the door. Peeking through the peephole, it was covered by something. I told my husband he should answer the door. He was indisposed, fixing the hard-on I left him with only seconds before. "Open the door," my husband said. "I'm here; don't worry."

Opening the door, it was Eric, holding two bottles of wine by the neck with a huge grin and smelling like earlier when we first met. "Happy Valentine's Day," he said. "May I come in?"

In shock, I said, "Sure, yes, please, yes, please come in." When I closed the door behind him, he placed the bottles of wine down and stepped toward me. He reached in for a welcoming hug and kiss. This time, he was standing, and he drew my body close to his, held me tight, and leaned down to place a kiss on me. When I turned to face him, his mouth met mine. Our lips touched, and then his tongue met mine. I thought our kiss tasted like sweet wine and whiskey.

As our tongues danced, I felt weak in his embrace and never wanted anything as much as I wanted him to desire me. With a pit in my stomach, I reminisced as earlier I joked with my husband about Eric having a big cock, and now I truly felt his excitement, and it might even be bigger than I exaggerated it to be.

I started to recognize my own intimate scent as I grew more excited--the very sexual, wanton scent that the female anatomy produces to attract the opposite sex. Blushing as we broke our embrace, Eric smirked, for he'd noticed it as well. Embarrassed by such, I made my way to the bathroom when Eric's strong hand found my arm and pulled me back to him. He said, "Don't you dare. I want to smell and taste all of you in your sexual state." Then he kissed me like lovers do. His hands around me, resting above my ass, as his tongue probed my mouth. This is really going to happen, I thought to myself. As Eric and I kissed, his hand rubbed my ass, and the other found some exposed side boob and touched it.