"If I call him and he comes I will have to let him fuck me," she said, glancing at her phone, then back at me.
She tilted her head forward, drawing on her cigarette. She didn't normally smoke, but it hadn't been a normal day.
She looked gorgeous sitting in the window of our hotel room. "I know," I said, excited and also panicked. I could see her nipples through the white shirt. One corner of the hem barely covered her navel. I could see just a wisp of her lovely trimmed curls above her panties and crossed legs. She moved casually, her knees parting a bit. It looked accidental but it wasn't. When it came to sex she always knew what she was doing.
"What I mean is...," she exhaled a cloud of smoke out of the open window. "Once he gets here you can't change your mind." Again the look. Was she insulted? Was that a smirk?
"I get that," I said. Laying on the king size hotel bed I stretched and adjusted the white terrycloth hotel robe I was wearing. I wove my fingers behind my head, trying to convey to her that I was calm. She looked out the window, then back at me.
"So what you said last night while we fucked...that wasn't just something to get us hot?" She shifted and tilted her hips toward me, drawing my gaze.
"It was," I said, watching her, turning toward her revealing pose. "But I also realized its something I might want."
"Might?" she did smirk now, a dare in her eyebrows. She put the cigarette to her lips again and casually picked up her phone. Her hands are so pale, so slender. She regarded me and then the phone's screen, tapping on something I couldn't see.
"Last night I think we passed the stage of 'might' and landed right here at 'yes' or 'no'," she mused. And she was right; last night was different.
Our love life, by my standards, had always been amazing. I'd never been with a woman so sensual, someone with such desire. My sexual history was a few long-term relationships and a few flings in between. Hers was very different. She'd been single for years in this city we'd come back to visit, and the way she tells it, she made the most of her time.
After our first night together I'd asked how many men she'd slept with, accustomed to women who not only knew the answer but had several asterisks and qualifications to explain the final total. But her response shocked me. "I don't know," she said without a flinch. "I'd have to think about it. Do you want me to think about it?"
I said sure, and we changed the subject. It was a few days later and I'd just unbuttoned her jeans and slid them to the floor when she pulled slightly back from our kiss. "The answer is at least a hundred," she said, her eyes seeking out mine. She was calm and unashamed but she seemed tentative, vulnerable. I considered asking for context but I knew what she meant; it had been on my mind since I had asked. "And definitely two hundred counting blows."
I was already aroused but hearing that excited me in a way I had never experienced and could not explain. Imagining her sexual history, all those men, made me immediately and painfully hard. I kissed her deeply and we fucked frantically, without another word.
I felt like I ought to be at least partially outraged at her promiscuity but all I felt was arousal, a deeply excited pleasure imagining her romances, her dalliances, her trysts. I imagined all of those men, those bodies against her, those cocks inside of her delicate pussy and apparently, often in her sweet mouth.
That conversation was a long time ago, although since then I found my masturbation fantasies gravitating toward her and her previous lovers. I pictured her with them, being undressed, their hands on her skin, her lips opening for them, men on top of her, fucking her.
Coming to the city brought those thoughts to the surface. This is where she lived when she was single...when she was available...when she was getting casually and constantly fucked. It was on my mind when we arrived at the hotel and during dinner I just wondered...was one of her lovers here? Was it that guy? Of course it wasn't; she hadn't lived here for years and its a big city but still...I realized that somewhere, not really that far away, were dozens of her former lovers.
We went up to the room with a nice wine buzz and the excitement of the city around us. We closed the door and kissed easily, deeply. I undressed her and reveled in her scent, her mouth, her skin. I slid into her wondering what the other men had felt, moving into her, this same pussy. Cumming in her. I knew she was on the pill now but I didn't know about then. Surely they didn't all wear protection? The thought intrigued and tormented me.
"Did you let them come in you?" I was shocked to hear myself whisper into her hear while we fucked, at the same time desperately wanting to know. Why did I hope for both a no and also a yes? I drew my head back to read her face, hoping I hadn't ruined the mood, but she was smiling with unfocused eyes, recollecting, still gyrating her hips slowly around my rigid cock.
She pulled my lips to her neck and whispered into my ear "Sometimes I let them come in me, yes," she cooed with an enticing lick to my earlobe. "Or if I wasn't on the pill I would take them in my hand when they were close and jerk them off onto my belly." She clearly knew this was turning me on, her voice inviting me to imagine her smooth skin spattered with streams of her lovers' thick white sperm. "A few times I forgot to ask him to pull out," she added, another lick with a light bite. She tightened the grip of her legs around me and asked, "What else do you want to know?"
"Did you ever fuck two guys the same day?" I whispered. Had I pretended to pause, to pretend I had to consider what to ask? I couldn't remember. The truth was that I wanted to know everything. I wanted every detail of each encounter. I wanted to know what attracted her to each guy, what he did to her, what she did to him. "I don't think so," she said, shifting her hips in a way that I knew meant she might want to be on top. We rolled to the side and she centered herself over me and began stroking her body up and down mine, bringing the tip of my cock just to her entrance, then all the way in, then back. She still had that look of recollection.
"But I definitely started the day in bed with one guy and ended it doing stuff with another one...probably a lot of times." In the previous months my fantasies had intensified. I knew what she was sexually like with me, but what about someone else? I imagined seeing her with a lover, watching her with another man, getting a live glimpse of her sexual past. "Did you ever let anyone watch you have sex?" I asked, knowing I was moving further from sexy reminiscing and closer to something much more. "Not intentionally," she said, then a moan as I held her hips and began thrusting upward into her. "But I did love fucking outside. A guy fucked me on the roof of a building once...someone probably watched."
She kissed me deeply and put the tip of her nose close to mine. "Can I ask a few things?" she asked. I was surprised...compared to her there wasn't much surprise I could offer. "Sure" I said. She gently pulled my shoulder, rolling me back on top of her. She spread her legs flat on the bed, knowing I loved the way it changed the grip of her slick pussy on my cock, like her whole body was sucking me in. Her eyes showed a serious glint I wasn't prepared for.
"Do you want to stick your dick in other girls?" Surprised, I answered quickly and honestly "No darling, why do you ask?" Her body relaxed, the hard glint in her eye faded. "Ok," she said. "I just wanted to be sure. The one time I had this conversation before it went in that direction and I have to be your only girl." I kissed her cheek, her lips. "I love you," I said. "I don't want anyone else."
She smiled slyly and said "And yet you imagine other men fucking me?" She kissed me again, lingering, then smiled and rolled her eyes playfully. "Its ok. I've been fucked a lot, by a lot of guys. And I know some guys find it hot to imagine their partner fucking another man."
"Yes that excites me; I don't know why but I can't even tell you how much. You're my girl and I want you, but..."
"But what?"
I looked at her beautiful face and hoped my honesty would not ruin our relationship. "Just tell me," she said, smoothly tightening and loosening her grip on me inside of her.
"But sometimes it is exiting to imagine seeing you with someone else." She put her arms around my shoulders and pulled me to her. "Oh really?" she said as our pace increased.
"Do you masturbate thinking about it?"
"Yes." I felt her cross her ankles behind my back. "So you jerk off to the thought of me getting smashed by some guy?"
"Yes."
"Often?" she mused, pulling me close to her.
"Yes," I said. "Its my favorite fantasy."
"Who?" she asked, her eyes on mine. "When you imagine some guy's cock in your girl's pussy, whose cock is it?"
Even after the wine and feeling her smooth wetness under me I realized this was a different direction. It sounded more like fantasy than reality but sometimes the question of possibility is the only thing separating the two.
Should I answer? "A guy who wants you," I said. "Someone you want to fuck you, someone you are hot for."
"Right now I want you to fuck me." she said, grinding herself into my thrusts, pushing us both closer to the edge.
The buzz of her phone pulled me back from the previous night to the reality of our present conversation. She glanced down, mildly surprised. "Oh," she said. "He's still in this neighborhood and he'd love to see me sometime." She looked up at me. "So..." she batted her eyes. "Was that a yes or a no?"
"Who is he exactly?" I asked, now forced to imagine an actual person, a guy who clearly remembers fucking my wife. And since he was apparently still in her phone, she must remember fucking him too.
"Well he fits your description." she said, looking out the window at the city streets far below. "We never really dated. He was married and unhappy. But we had chemistry and...well...I knew he was a cheater but I couldn't resist him. He was sweet to me and I loved the way we..." she hesitated.
"Go on," I said.
"I loved the way we fucked."
"So why did it end?" I asked, feeling a hot stab of jealousy at the same time as a rush of excitement.
"I moved away," she said wistfully. "I mean it was doomed. He was never going to leave his wife and I knew I couldn't trust him long term. But it was good..."
