My wife and I have a long-standing pact, born of a desire to avoid falling into domestic "normality", that on our birthday we can make the other fulfill a fantasy, regardless of its depravity or weirdness. The fantasy could be anything, they don't even have to be sexual, but of course, they always are.
over the years we've done the pretty standard stuff - Lizzie with another woman, once a hooker and once a friend, while I watched. I've been with a guy, gone down on him, and let him fuck me in the ass and cum on my face, Lizzie watching and masturbating. She still goes back to that when we remember our favourites, which always lead to intense fucking sessions. She tells me that one year she'll have me gang fucked by a long line of well-hung men from the gay bar down the street from us, but I'm not sure she'd go through with it. If she does, however. I'll have to comply or break the faith and ruin the game and a big part of our relationship.
I loved watching her fucked by her ex-husband, they'd been married 5 years by the time they divorced and there was a lot of anger in the sex on both sides. He also knew every possible way to turn her on and she came and came on his thick cock. I wanked as she wrapped her arms and legs around him and encouraged them both, asking her if she still loved him a little, making her say it as he rammed into her, making her tell him she did, "Yes, Yes, I fucking love him, ok?' She said to me, breathless, through gritted teeth.
"Tell him, Lizzie." I insisted. There was a pause filled with the noise of the headboard banging hard against the wall and Lizzie and Karl breathing, him grunting like a boar.
Lizzie groaned, not in despair or resignation or annoyance, but with pure pleasure as she came on her ex-husband's cock, "I love you, Karl, I love you, make me cum again, I love you, that's it, make me cum.... Fuck... oh my god I love you..I've missed your cock, make me cum.. I love you."
I came and stayed hard, loving every second of this, reaching to push her hair from her face now and then to maintain my uninterrupted view, her mouth open, eyes closed, sweat on her red cheeks and forehead.
I have a thing about that display of emotion with other guys, it's so much more erotic than just watching her fuck them, and so I made them kiss. Lizzie was a little reluctant but then got seriously into it until her tongue was deep in his mouth and her hands in his hair, groaning with excitement and pleasure.
The hottest scene was when he flipped her over, soaked his hand from her dripping cunt, and pushed 2 fingers into her ass. After a few seconds, he knelt over her, mounting her like a dog on a bitch, his weight on her back, pushing her into the bed, and forced his cock into her ass. I was stunned - she let me do it sometimes and said I was the first to fuck her there, but as he pounded her and she pushed back hard, moaning and gripping sheets in claw-like fists, he was saying, "Still like it in the ass, you fucking whore? Gonna cum with my cock in your ass again you slut?"
God I came hard, and many times, before that night was over. When he left I said goodbye with a high five and wandered casually off into a bathroom and watched through the crack in the door. Lizzie held the front door open for him and before he walked out he kissed her briefly on the mouth but she stood on tiptoe and pulled his face to her with both hands to kiss him properly for some seconds. Dropping her hand to her crotch she slipped it inside her dressing gown and when she lifted her fingers to his lips I could see them dripping with her cum, which he gently cleaned with his tongue.
"I fucking hate you.' Said Lizzie, as she closed the door behind him, a slight smile on her face.
On my birthday this year I had a scenario in my head I'd been getting steadily more excited about for months. I'd made myself cum to my imagination of how it might be many times, which Lizzie knew but I refused to give her even the slightest clue.
The fantasy had been semi-dormant in my mind, it seemed, and then I read an erotic story about an encounter slightly related to what I had in mind and it all came to me, strong and in a rush that made me hard immediately.
We both loved to be degraded during sex, sometimes just a little, sometimes to extremes, and this year I was going to explore how far that went.
We dressed for the evening, Lizzie looking hot, classy, and a little slutty, her dress just slightly too short so that a glimpse of her lacy stocking tops was visible when she sat, and the sheer nature of the fabric meant her suspender clips showed clearly. It was low cut and dived deeply at the back, making it obvious her small tits were not held by a bra.
Lizzie expressed surprise and a little thrill, I could see when we arrived at the bar. It was in a seedy part of town and although the place itself was OK, with a pretty smart clientele from the up-and-coming refurbished flats which were part of the gentrification of the area, that's not why I chose this place,
We sat at a table in a corner and, it being my birthday, drank champagne as we people-watched. The crowd was young, hipster-ish, mainly male. Lizzie attracted a lot of attention, particularly when she walked slowly past the line of guys at the bar to go to the bathroom, hips swaying and a dreamy glance at the men she passed.
On the way back to me one of the young guys, athletic, tight jeans, white shirt open at the collar - the standard uniform in fact - stood from his barstool and intercepted my wife, saying a few words to her while she smiled, sometimes touching her arm gently as he spoke, leaning in to make himself heard over the music.
Lizzie pointed at me and he glanced over and was clearly disappointed, but she stood on tiptoe as he bent his head down to listen, then nodded and waited as she skipped, smiling, over to me.
"Wants me to dance," she explained, her elbow on the table next to mine.
"Go ahead," I said.
Lizzie grinned and stood, but I grabbed her wrist. "One condition."
She looked at me quizzically, eyebrow raised as she waited.
"You have two songs only to be back here with his cum on your dress, and you can't leave the dance floor."
Her mouth opened in surprise, then spread into a broad grin. "Is that..?"
" No." I interrupted, "That is not tonight's fantasy, it's extra, so you don't have to do it."
In reply, Lizzie turned on her heel, skipped over to the handsome young man, and took his hand, leading him to the dance floor.
I watched with mounting excitement as they danced to the first song, a fast, swelling number with plenty of opportunities for my wife to move, pulling her dress up her thighs now and then as she swung her hair. Lizzie loves to dance and is pretty good, and she was enjoying herself. As if In answer to my prayers, the next song was slow, and Lizzie stepped into his embrace as they began to move around the floor.
I saw them talking, faces close, and then, suddenly, they were kissing. The young man broke off and looked, clearly worried, in my general direction, although I knew he couldn't see me out there in the dark beyond the dance floor lights. Lizzie turned his face back to hers and pulled him to her again to resume kissing. Other couples were absorbed in each other too, and I watched as his hands moved over Lizzie's back, sliding down till they rested gently on her arse, where they pulled her against him, her knees bent slightly so she could press flat against him.
As they kissed, I saw, with a thrill and a jump in my trousers where my cock was as hard as iron, my wife move her hand between their bodies, working at something, then becoming almost still, just her wrist movements visible from this distance as her moving bicep alone betrayed the rhythmic rise and fall of her hand.
Lizzie very deliberately moved as close to the edge of the dance floor as possible, right in front of me, twenty feet away at most. She stopped their slow rotation, still kissing, as they were in profile, and moved her body a little away from his so I could get a clear view.
Lizzie had his cock pulled from his fly and in her small hand, making it look enormous. As they kissed passionately she was stroking him, quite fast now as the song began to wind down.
Soon he stopped kissing her and bent over her, resting his head on her shoulder and moving his hips as discretely as he could, before shooting several ropes of thick cum into Lizzie's hand. She quickly pointed his cock down and stroked faster and he continued to cum for several more spurts, dropping thick white globs onto the black material of her dress.
The music stopped and my wife tucked his cock, limp now, back into his jeans, and, whispering something in his ear, left him looking dazed on the dance floor and returned to sit next to me.
Unspeaking, she held her dress front taut and showed me the thick cum splattered there, very white against the black material. She ran her fingers through it and as I leaned in to kiss her she wiped them over my lips, pushing a finger into my mouth so I could lick it clean before we kissed passionately for some minutes, my hand straying up her dress, hidden under the table, where I found her cunt and knickers were dripping wet. Lizzie came the instant I touched her, literally immediately, and squeezed her thighs tight on my wrist.
After she calmed down, I stood and held my hand out to her.
"Time for the main event.'
Outside in the warm air, the champagne kicked in and we were both a little drunk. Holding hands, I steered Lizzie around the building to the small, untidy, and overgrown courtyard behind the bar, where the bins and recycling containers were, 5-foot weeds pushing through the neglected tarmac here and there, and broken glass sometimes crunching underfoot. There was a faint but pervasive smell of urine and the light, coming only from the street lamps separated from us by the bar, was dim.
I moved further into the yard and gently pushed Lizzie against the wall, noting that she held her shoulders away from the cold brick at first as I kissed her. She could feel my hard cock against her tummy and chuckled, "Is this it, or is this another optional extra?"
I took her by the hand again to lead her to the back corner of the grubby courtyard where the smell of urine was stronger and a pair of legs, visible from the knee down and clad in ripped, ancient, and stained jogging trousers, and two bare feet, almost black with dirt and sporting long, yellow, gnarled toenails, stuck out from a soggy cardboard shelter, half covered by a ripped two man tent with one pole.
As we stood there, hand in hand, my cock like iron and my wife repelled and puzzled, her nose wrinkled with the smell, I said, "This is it."
Lizzie looked at me, then at the legs, listening to the loud snoring turn into a phlegmy choke, followed by a revolting sound deep in the throat and then a loud spit which we heard hit the inside of the cardboard, then back at me and said, quietly, "him?"
I nodded. Lizzie stood for a full minute, both of us just watching the motionless legs and truly disgusting feet, listening to the laboured rattling breathing from under the cardboard.
She knew she didn't have to do it, nobody was going to force anyone to do anything, but neither of us had ever backed out and I could see her wrestling with the situation. I saw the glazed look begin to come over her face, and the distant expression which I knew to mean she was picturing the scenario, and it was turning her on. Her voice trembling a little with the excitement and utterly depraved nature of what was happening, she said, resolutely, "I want to do it."
My cock jumped as I looked at her, standing there in her expensive dress and shoes and classy jewellery, wearing her best lingerie and exuding a gentle smell of designer perfume, mere feet away from a horrific, piss-smelling cardboard shelter with god knows what kind of man sleeping fitfully inside, and she was going to fuck him.
Unable to stand it any longer, I tapped one of the feet with my shoe, and a grunting noise came from under the cardboard. I tapped harder, which this time elicited a "Fuck off you cunts", which, as he couldn't see us, I assumed was meant for someone else, police maybe? A further thrill - Imagine if the police caught us.
I kicked again and this time, moaning and swearing, a shape emerged from the concrete, and struggled to sit up. The man was probably 50 but It was impossible to tell. He may have been 30 or 90. He was wearing a formal shirt with 2 buttons, pushed into the wrong holes, those joggers, and nothing else. Every inch of him and the shirt was covered in dirt and stains, as he yawned we saw, I think, 2 nicotine yellowed teeth and no more. He rubbed his eyes and a small patch of slightly lighter grey appeared around each of them, his hands were calloused, the fingernails long, filthy, and broken. He had a wispy grey beard and a shock of grey hair that hung lanky to his shoulders, thin and sparse, it looked like it had been smothered in lard.
The reek coming from him made me take a step back, it was like a physical barrier.
I saw something move on his cheek and he absent-mindedly pinched it off and flicked it away into the darkness. Lice, I thought.
