A Cajun Hotwife Memory

(The readers appreciation of this story will be enchanced greatly by reading Part 1 first)

Chapter 2

Sherri lay there beside me, quiet, still, beautiful.

She had offered breakfast, but more importantly, she had offered herself for my sexual pleasure.

More accurately, her husband had offered her. "Everything in my house is yours," he said in the pre-dawn hours as he left to go shrimp fishing on the Louisiana bayou.

Sherri was a dream come true. Not more than 5 feet tall, she was built like a scale model Venus. Long dark raven tresses cascaded. Black eyes flashed with spirit and a delightful attitude. Lips were soft, red, eager.

"You see," she said as we both stretched out nude in a bed where she had just sucked me off with skill and passion. "Some of us like to play. Well, some of the husbands like us to play."

"All of the wives around here?" I asked.

"No. Just some. I do not know all, because we girls really do not discuss it. "

Sherri moved to press her succulent body against me, her head resting on my chest, one hand moving to cup my balls. As she continued to explain, her hand moved languidly, caressing, playing....from time to time reaching up to gently stroke me.

"It did not happen before we were married," she went on. "Cajun men are very jealous of their girlfriends.

"But just before we were married, my Mom came and sat down with me, and explained that the sharing that is a big part of the life of the people here often included wife sharing.

"For the first time, she told me she was a shared wife.

"I was shocked, of course, but she went on to explain it did not involve a lack of love. It was just something that seemed natural to many husbands.

"She advised me to never bring the subject up, and not to talk about it with other wives or with my girlfriends," Sherri continued.

"Soon after we were married, Herb had one of his friends over. As I was getting ready for bed, he came in the room and just told me his pal, Jean Luc, would be joining me in bed, and to make him welcome. Herb left, Jean Luc stayed, and it was wonderful, exciting, and I was doing something for my husband and for his friend.

"I never had any guilt, I never had any trouble in my mind. Some of the wives might have, but not me.

"After that, whenever one of his friends stayed over, I was expected to entertain him, to pleasure him."

Her hand continued to play with my balls, and the other one moved to hold my cock, once again erect.

"There was never any discussion between Herb and me about it. From the first time, it was just something he expected me to do, like a good wife.

"Most of the men he gives me to are married, but a couple are widowed. Those men get me more than the others."

She looked down to watch her hands moving on me.

"Hummmm...that sure looks yummy," she said, then moved over me and slid down on the rigid member.

She let out a deep sigh as her very wet pussy felt me inside her, and then began to move. Her hips thrust forward and then back, riding me.

At first she did it slowly, her eyes locked on mine as she fucked. But within a few moments she was grinding her body down on me and began to move more forcefully, more rapidly.

Soon her tiny body seemed to have gone wild.

She fucked with abandon, riding like a wild thing, the juices within her beginning to spill out onto me. I could feel the warmth and wetness flowing out of her and across me.

"Oh yes," Sherri said in a soft voice, slightly louder than a whisper. "Oh yes," she said again, a little louder.

Rocking back and forth, thrusting down, her long black hair tossed wildly as she flung her head back and forth in rhythm with her body, she began to cry out in moans and whimpers.

"Oh my god!" This time she was much louder, shouting. "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God."

And then I felt the very depth of her pussy begin to clutch me, to pulsate, again and again.

The muscles of her vagina clutched more strongly with each pulsation, until she was no longer in control.

"Oh fuck...yes...yes...do it. Give it to me. Please, please, please." She did not know what she was saying, where she was. Sherri just knew she was a woman in the midst of sexual bliss.

My cum shot out of me, up into her, and her eyes met mine again, opening wide in a look of pure astonishment.

"I love it!" she shouted, and then froze.

"I'm cummmmmmiiinnngg," she yelled, and a blast of hot liquid burst forth from between the lips of her cunt.

Her body shook, and another dose of her juices flooded me.

Her body seemed to relax. Her hands, which had grabbed my shoulders, relaxed. Her head dropped to rest on my chest. She gasped for breath, but within a few moments her breathing slowed.

Silently we held each other. The whole act had happened quickly. It seemed like hours of fucking, but I knew it had not been. Nonetheless, we were both covered in sweat....and now cum, hers and mine.

She did not raise her head, but said: "Holy s--t." Then seemed to collapse, her whole body stretched out against mine.

-----

It was some time later when we stirred.

"I hope you did not mind that I squirted," she said.

"No, no. I have heard about that, but never actually had it happen," I told her.

"It does not happen every time," Sherri said. "And by the way, it is NOT pee." She giggled, and the sound was like a hundred tiny silver bells tingling in the wind.

I watched her move to leave the room. What a vixen, I thought. Thin, but not skinny. Beautiful almost beyond words. Breasts that would have been lovely on a larger woman, but on her smaller body thay looked amazing. Round, with pert pink nipples that pointed slightly upward. Unlike many girls today, she did not shave her pubic hair, and the jet black patch there was full and, to me, exciting.

Just walking across the room, naked and glistening from a wild sexual romp, she was sensual, her natural motion a symphony. Her bottom looked like that of a statue....smooth, firm, round, bouncing slightly.

She went to the bathroom, demurely closing the door, only to return a few minutes later, bouncing across to my bed like a schoolgirl at recess.

She leapt into bed and kissed me passionately.

"May I call you Edwardo," she asked. "It can be my pet name for you."

"And what will you call this," I asked, pointing between my legs.

"My fuck machine," she giggled.

Without waiting to ask permission, her head dropped to my cock and licked it, cleaning off every drop of cum.

"You like that?"

She raised her head and continued to lick me. "Oh yes."

"Not all women do," I said.

"Silly girls," was her only reply.

When she had finished her task, I kissed her lips.

"Some men won't do that, after I lick them off," Sherri said.

I made no comment but kissed her again. Despite the fact I had climaxed twice in the past half hour, I felt my tool stirring again.

No wonder. Here was a stunning woman, and a married one, who clearly loved sex. Not the least inhibited, and as succulent as could be.

"I have some questions," I said.

She told me to ask away, and I did.

Some of what I learned surprised me. Sherri and Herb did not consider themselves swingers. They had never gone to a sex party, or even played with another couple in the same house.

She was well aware that Herb was often granted the same sexual privileges with the wives of his friends, but he did not brag about it, or even mention it to her.

None of the men who bedded her with her husband's permission ever made the slightest effort to do so at any other time than when Herb told them to join her.

Herb had never joined her and another man in bed. She once asked him about that, but he said he would never be comfortable in bed with another man.

Sherri thought she might have fucked 25 or 30 men so far, but had never had sex with two men at once.

"I think that would be fun," she told me. But she would never ask for it, and did not expect it to ever happen.

And I was the very first man from outside her husband's circle of friends and fellow shrimpers she had ever been told to give herself to.

-----

Sherri got dressed, sort of. All she put on with a frilly little apron. Her titties were visible, especially from the side, and it was short, so as she moved the thick black pubic hair could be seen. I watched her move around as I sat at a plain wooden kitchen table, drinking extremely strong coffee...with no sugar or milk, because that was the way Cajuns drank it. Her bottom looked delicious.

"I'm gonna make you some counch counch for breakfast," she said.

"I thought I just had some of that," I said.

She laughed. "This is a special morning dish."

"So are you."

We teased back and forth as she worked over the stove. She was as natural and relaxed as if she had been doing so at a county fair....except for the fact that she was practically naked in a room with a man not her husband, a man she had just royally fucked.

What a wonderful combination of elfish sprite and carnal woman she was.

She told me about breakfast.

"This is a traditional Cajun meal, but every woman does it a little different...well, puts different spices in, lets say.

"You take some corn meal and fry it up. I use bacon grease, but only a little."

The mixture browned on one side, then crumbled into smaller bits as she flipped pieces of it over to brown the other side.

She put it on the table with a bottle of cane syrup.

It was sweet and delicious. I had not realized how hungry I was until I finished the last bite.

Sherri sat down with me and we talked about the Cajun lifestyle, including the history of how their people had come first from France to eastern Canada, then been forced out of that country.

"Some went to Maine, but most came all the way down to Louisiana," she continued. "We try to keep the old ways."

She asked me about my job, being a reporter, and we talked on about other items, including the hard work of her husband and others who caught shrimp or fish in the waters of the bayou country.

Then, tilting her pretty head to one side, she asked: "You want some more pussy before Herb gets home?"

"Why, you won't do me when he gets back?"

She shook her head briskly. "Oh, no. That wouldn't do. I'm all his when he gets home. He does me most afternoons, anyway, but knowing I've done you will make him horny as hell."

I reached out, took her hand, and led her back to my bed.

Chapter 3

Sherri and I moved into the bedroom. The musky odor of our earlier lovemaking was prevalent, combined with the sweet smell of magnolia blossoms on trees outside the open windows.

She lay back on the bed, still wearing the small black apron trimmed in white lace, and nothing else.

My cock was already hard, and for a moment I planned to simply climb on and fuck the hell out of her.

But then the odor of her moist pussy hit me.

I leaned over her, first kissing her lips, then moving down to lick her nipples, and then without great pause moving to place my face between her legs.

The smell was intoxicating.

"Oh my," Sherri said. "You really wanna do that?"

My answer was to bury my face between her thighs and begin to softly lick on each side of her mound.

Along the left crease beside her pussy lips I stroked my tongue as she reached down with her hands to gently hold my head.

"Oh, my," she said again.

I moved my tongue to the other side, again just missing her clit and concentrating instead of the area just beside her lip.

She uttered a sound like a deep growl of satisfaction, and moved slightly.

I did that for quite awhile, moving to lick just above her clit, under it, beside it...but never actually touching her clit, or delving into her pussy.

She moaned, and moved beneath me, pressing upward in a clear sign she wanted to feel me work her clit.

Still I held back.

"Please, please," she sighed. "Oh god, lick me there. Please lick me there."

At last I touched her clit with just the tip of my tongue, and she jumped. When I made one long slow lick upward along the swollen clit, she let out a sigh.

"Yes," she said, and it was the last recognizable word she uttered for a very long time.

On and on I worshiped at the alter of a woman's thighs, licking, sucking, flicking.

When I slipped my tongue into the deep moist hot crevice of her pussy, Sherri let out a loud sigh and came. She continued to do so, bucking beneath me as I held her legs down and continued to dart my tongue in and out.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh," was all she could say as her body continued to convulse in pleasure.

When I slowed and gently moved my tongue in and out, tasting the sweet salty liquid, her climax slowed.

But if she thought she was released, she was surprised. I did her that way again, this time taking even longer to bring her up to a peak. The third time, I could not control her. She began to cum the moment my tongue slipped back into her crack, my hands beneath her bottom, holding her the way one would hold a dish, pressing my mouth against her now sopping wet cunt.

She was breathing deeply now, her eyes unfocused.

Once she had calmed from her third oral climax, I moved upward and thrust my sheath directly and forcefully into her, not even trying to be gentle.

I was as close to being a raging bull as I had ever been with a woman. I felt her juices still on my face as I pressed it into her shoulder and just fucked. I fucked hard, stroking without finesse, but with a passionate rage of lust.

God it felt wonderful. This hot young beautiful woman welcoming my thrusts, her legs open...then reaching them upward to wrap around me as I pounded into her...on and on. I wanted to cum. I wanted not to cum. I wanted to feel this wild sexual creature, to plump the depths of her, to bury my cock inside her and move it out, then thrust it deep, deep, deep up into her again.

This was what sex was meant to be...unbridled passion, lust out of control, a man as animal, a woman as the recipient of his wild desire to deposit his hot seed in her.

I could feel Sherri rolling and moving, throwing her hips upward to meet my thrusts, to get every inch of my cock hitting deep inside her.

I could feel her climax, not once, but several times. I lost count..or, in truth, was not counting,

I was racing to cum, to spew that white liquid inside this woman.

When I did, Sherri said "yes" just once, and climaxed with me, her body again racked with pleasure, her pussy tightened tightly around me, releasing suddenly and then tightening again.

Completely spent, I lay silently atop her. One of my last thoughts before I drifted off was that her apron was still on her, bunched above here breasts. When I awoke later, she was singing in the kitchen, preparing lunch, and Herb was home.

Lunch was "boudin rouge"... a fresh sausage made with green onions, pork, and rice. Herb and I sat at the table as Sherri served, then joined us. Served with it was something she called "mock shoe," although I later learned it was spelled differently and was actually french. It was another corn meal mixture, but tasted quite differently from the corn meal I had for breakfast.

Sherri was no longer wearing just an apron. Her sundress was bright and colorful. When she stood in front of a window, the outline of her lithe frame was visible. Her tits, firm and erect, bounced slightly as she moved. Apparent was the fact that she wore no underwear.

Herb and I talked, but I had trouble concentrating. Almost as soon as lunch was over and we two men moved to sit in wooden rocking chairs, I must have dozed again. Herb has gotten much less sleep than I, but the late night and vigerous activity of rollicking with the lusty young Sherri has taken a toll. It was late afternoon, but not yet dark, when I awoke. Herb was reading a newspaper. Sherri sat on the sofa, her legs dangling, doing some sort of cross-stitching.

"Did you enjoy your day?" Herb asked.

"Greatly," I replied.

I noticed that Sherri was blushing.

Herb turned toward her. "Sherri, take that tablecloth back over to your mom's."

When she had left, Herb spoke again.

"You like her?"

"She is a wonder. I like her very much." Then I was quiet.

"We don't talk much about such things, normally," he said, then paused. "But there are some things I wanna know, and I couldn't ask any of my friends."

"Go ahead."

"Well, for one thing, do you think we are weird?"

"Well different, that's for sure," I replied. "But not weird. I just find it almost unbelievable that I should have such an experience."

"Is she good?"

"What?"

"Is Sherri good in sex?"

"Oh my god, yes. She is beautiful, of course, but she also knows how to please a man. Herb, for whatever reason you invited me to your home, I can only thank you a thousand times. I find your tradition of sharing fantastic."

I paused again, then continued.

"In fact, let me tell you something. I have never even thought of sharing my wife, of having her go to bed with another man. That is, until today. I guess I am a typical jealous husband, or was. Now, I would like it if she had a lover."

"We do not consider the other men as lovers," Herb said.

"OK. I misspoke. Lets just say let other men have sex with her."

"Will she do it?"

I admitted I was not sure at all, but I told Herb I thought it would be thrilling. I added that I would especially like to watch, but not be seen.

"I've done that, although Sherri doesn't know," Herb said. "A couple of times...well, several times...I have stood outside after dark and watched her doing it. It is thrilling. I wish I knew why."

And that was the ultimate question. All these years later, I am one of those who love having a shared wife. I do find it thrilling beyond explaination. But I am hard pressed to explain why I can enjoy it, and accept it without jealousy.

Herb and I talked on into the evening, discussing various aspects of having a shared wife, or being a male sexual creature, and of the other forms of sexual experimentation, few of which he thought he would like.

When Sherri came home, after dark, our conversation about sex ceased. We watched television on a tiny set with a round screen, the image fuzzy, since the station was some miles away. There was no such thing as cable television.

Later that night, as I reflected on the hot, wild sexual events of my day, I heard unmistakeble sounds of a bed creaking in the next room. I heard Sherri cry out "yes!" just once, and I knew the husband was using his wife. Despite the fact I had cum three times that day, and fucked myself into a stupor, I found my hand moving on my cock. I wanted her again.

To be continued.