My wife Lisa is a horny slut—well, not really. She just likes to imagine she is. In her real world she is a prim and proper schoolteacher and a busy mother of three healthy, happy children. But when we are alone . . . ahh, a whole different personality emerges, and I am the very fortunate beneficiary of that personality change. It's not, mind you, that she spends her time fucking other people. What she likes is for me to make up stories, really dirty stories, about her fucking other people and then tell them to her while she masturbates before me, or sucks my cock, or fucks me, or whatever else she comes up with.
Last Saturday afternoon the kids had gone off to stay with her parents, and we had the house to ourselves. This had been planned for a week, so I had spent some time dreaming up a story to tell her. In addition, while she was taking the kids across town to drop them off at Grandma's, I spent some more time reading some dirty stories on the Internet, just to come up with a few more ideas. By the time she got home, I was good and horny with about half an erection. We hadn't had sex for a week, so I was ready for it.
I heard the car park in the garage, and shortly after that Lisa came into the kitchen where I was slicing limes for gin and tonics. She looked at what I was doing and the gin bottle setting next to the chopping block, and said, "Oh you wonderful man. There's nothing I need more than a gin and tonic."
"Really?"
"Well, there might be one thing I need more," she said with a cute little smile.
Cute is the best way to describe Lisa. She is short, maybe 5'2" if she stretches, has lovely legs, a cute little round ass (which she thinks is too big but seems just right to me, especially when I am behind her holding it as I plow her cunt with my cock), and a beautiful pair of nice round soft tits with dark brown areolas and large nipples that stick well out from her boobs when she is aroused. Her boobs are just the right size to fill my hands and a little bit more. Her hair is raven and cut short, and she has big expressive brown eyes and an olive complexion.
"And what might that be?" I asked.
She said, "Oh I think you know." She stood on her toes, threw her arms around my neck, and laid her best big, wet, sloppy kiss on me as she ground her tits against my chest.
I let my hands slide down to her butt, pulling it up against my crotch. Eventually she broke our kiss, leaning back with our bodies still pressed together at the hips. I stared into her eyes and said, "I think you want me to tell you a really graphic dirty story and then fuck you 'till your ears ring."
"Mark, you know me too well," she responded. "Why don't you finish those drinks and take them out on the patio while I change clothes. It feels like you have a lot less on than me." She was right, of course. All I was wearing was a T-shirt, a pair of baggy running shorts (no underwear), and Topsiders. As she turned to leave, she reached down and dragged her palm up the outside of my old running shorts, stroking my now fully-engorged dick. Then she walked out of the kitchen swinging her jeans-clad butt in the most tantalizing way.
I finished up the drinks and carried them outside. Our patio is really quite sheltered. There is no way any of our neighbors can see what we are doing on it, but that has never prevented Lisa from pretending that they can.
I sat in a patio chair by the glass table on which I had set the drinks and took a sip of my drink, noticing as I did so that my prick was still mostly erect and making an obscene tent in my running shorts.
A few minutes later Lisa appeared. Now she was dressed in a loose-fitting cropped tank top that did very little to conceal the jiggle of her braless tits and a short flared skirt that dropped only a few inches below the bottom of her ass. She was wearing a pair of fuck-me pumps with tall heels that made her legs look great, even if they didn't quite match the tank top she was wearing. She had also taken a moment to apply a layer of bright red, I mean really red, I'm-a-slut-red, lipstick. All in all, she looked like a woman who seriously wanted to get laid.
Before coming to the table she walked around the patio pretending to look to satisfy herself that we couldn't be seen by the neighbors. My eyes followed her like they were riveted to her.
Having walked around the table and flaunted herself, she sat in a chair alongside the table, choosing it so as to insure that I could see all of her body. She crossed her legs, letting what little there was of the skirt slide up her legs until it was just short of exposing her pussy. Lisa took a sip of her drink and stared at me and the bulge in my running shorts.
"You're looking rather slutty this evening. You appeared to enjoy yourself as you preened about, flaunting yourself to the neighbors," I said.
"Mark! That's not nice. I'm not a slut, and you know it. And you know the neighbors can't see us on the patio!"
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that. I'll bet old Mr. Johnson over there is just pulling his dick out after watching you prance about with your tits swinging under your tank top and your ass peaking out from beneath that poor excuse for a dress you have on."
"What? You don't like my dress? That lump in your shorts is telling me something else." She wagged her fingers at me, as if to say, "I know you are fibbing."
"And really," she continued. "Mr. Johnson can't see us! . . . Can he?"
"Dear, your dress is lovely, what there is of it, but I wouldn't be so sure about Mr. Johnson. I think he has been watching us some of the other times we have screwed out here. I'll bet he even has movies of us. During the winter, I bet he watches them and jacks off because we aren't out here giving him a live show. I think he likes the live show better, but in the winter he takes what he can get."
Lisa smiled briefly at the picture I had painted of our next-door neighbor. Then she took another long pull on her drink, nearly emptying it, and looked at me pouting, "Mark, you are so mean. You know he can't see us, and I would be just mortified if he could." She took a final sip, finishing her drink, and then said, "Mmm, that was good. Will you go and fix me another." Her nipples, which are rather large, were now making little tents in her tank top. Their dark color showed through the thin light material. I stood and stepped next to her to pick up her glass, finishing my drink as I did so. As I picked up her glass she reached out and stroked my erect cock through my running shorts. I responded by using my free hand to cop a quick fondle of one of her breasts.
"Mark, stop that! Mr. Johnson will see us."
"That's just what you want, isn't it, you horny slut. You want to fuck out here while you think about Mr. Johnson jacking off as he watches us." Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked back to our kitchen to make the drinks. My engorged prick was bouncing beneath my loose shorts. God, how I loved it when we played these games.
When I returned, drinks in hand, Lisa had slumped down in the chair a bit, pushing her hips forward and pulling her skirt up around her waist so her pussy was on display between her spread legs. She had pulled her T-shirt off and was softly caressing each of her boobs. My dick jumped involuntarily, when I saw her. I set her drink on the table next to her and returned to my chair in silence.
"You know, you may be right dear. I guess I am a bit of slut, at least sometimes. I don't know what gets into me, but I really enjoy it." Then she pulled one of her breasts up high enough so when she stretched her neck and leaned forward she could tease her erect nipples with the end of her long tongue.
