Out of the blue one day my wife, Marcie, asked, "Do you think we should have a baby?" I avoided answering, giving her a chance to get it off her chest. She had been thinking about it, but wasn't sure she wanted to be a mommy.
The truth is that I wasn't too crazy about having a child, but I didn't want to lose my sexy wife. After 6 years of marriage, she was still the hottest woman I could imagine. Almost every time we made love it ended with her screaming and flailing her legs in abandon as the weight of my hips sank deep into her belly and my thrusts ended in uncontrollable spasms of my cum squirting deep inside her pussy.
Up until recently, I think ours had been a pretty normal relationship. Sometimes she would parade around the house in a G-string and push-up bra if she wanted to arouse me. Seeing her thighs and boobs giggling always turns me on! Sometimes she would say, "Were you looking at me, you pervert!" or "I love the feel of your eyes on my body," and pretty soon we would be going at like a couple dogs.
Then there were times I would wear just boxers so she could see my raging hard on and that usually led her to take pity on me and gnaw on my boner till we both got so excited she would submit to me on the floor in the living room or bent over the kitchen counter.
Up until recently, the height of our sex play was a weekend about two years ago. For her birthday I gave her a fishnet, full length body stocking. I was especially excited about giving her this thing since the shop where I bought it featured live, private models. While I was shopping at the lingerie store, I asked the mature, well-endowed lady clerk how these things fit on women. She chuckled and ushered me into one of their fitting rooms along with a full-bodied black model who was about the same size as Marcie and who smelled of sweat.
In the small changing room, somehow the model managed to remove almost all her clothes despite the cramped quarters, leaving only a fire engine red G-string on . . . out of modesty, I suppose. It was hot in that little changing room and her cinnamon skin glistened with perspiration. As you can imagine, I got pretty excited by the sight of her body and the smell of her sweat, and I proceeded to unbuckle my belt.
She put her hand on mine to stop me and said mechanically, "I'm sorry, sir, but store policy requires customers to remain fully clothed at all times. This is not a brothel. I can't stop you from touching me, however, and I do work for tips."
Somehow, I managed to cop some wonderful feels of a breast, her belly and a buttock while she concentrated on putting the purple body stocking on. I can't imagine how she did it without breaking the fragile strings, with my eager hands all over her and in that tiny space, but she did and the sight of her was breathtaking, standing there just inches from me.
In that same mechanical voice, she asked, "OK, cowboy, do you want to see me walk in it so you can get a better idea about how it will look on your wife?" Needless to say, I replied in the affirmative and she took me out into the store where she swaggered in her pumps around the clothing racks and past the sex toys. My eyes were glued to her as were the eyes of three other men who were shopping at the time. I could see by their open mouths that they couldn't believe their luck to see this amazing vision in the store.
The lady clerk came up beside me and placed her hand lightly at the small of my back and asked, "So, do you think your wife would look good in that?"
Needless to say, the sale was completed, a tip paid, and I was filled with the memory of seeing the black model in this flimsy piece of "clothing" that I was now taking home to my own wife. For the next three days I was on cloud nine with the anticipation of seeing my wife's body filling out the same article. For some reason, I was intent on the thought of the model's sweat being being soaked into the fishnet strings as my wife wore it.
I gave Marcie her gift Friday night when we got back from her birthday dinner. "You actually want to see me wearing this?" she asked incredulously. "I can't even figure out how to get it on me?" I showed her what I had learned by watching the model put it on. She thanked me with a kiss and set the box aside. I was a little disappointed that she was not as excited about it as I was, so I sat down to watch some television.
Half an hour or so later, she passed between me and the television, wearing only her smallest black bikini with the purple body stocking over it. It made her look tied reminding me of a roped steer I saw once in a rodeo. I was absorbed by the show on TV, but couldn't keep from leering at my wife's lewd display and remembering the model's curves that filled out that same outfit just three days earlier. Marcie went into the kitchen. I could hear her putting dishes away and imagine her reaching and bending as she took dishes out of the dishwasher and put them up in the cabinets or down under the stove.
She passed between me and the television several times. Each time I saw her strutting around, I got more excited remembering that black woman who was just a baby step away from being a whore. I started to fantasize about Marcie walking around the lingerie shop dressed like this, pretending to be nearly a whore herself. I know what a passionate nature Marcie has, and I found it difficult to think she could restrain herself in front of the four of us men as well as the prim model had.
I imagined I could smell the model's sweat on the neon purple body stocking as I got up and took Marcie in my arms. She seemed to melt into a long, loving kiss with me. The bikini was one of my favorites since the top just barely covered her nipples and I was pretty sure that I knew of at least two men in her past that had managed to talk her out of the bottoms and onto their cocks. One was the sadist who had dumped her just before I met her.
She seemed to be giving herself to me entirely with that long kiss, not knowing about the thoughts running through my head of the black model's glistening skin and about my passion for her "come fuck me" bikini. I took her right there standing up in front of the TV somehow getting my cock through the strings of the body stocking and getting the tiny, tight bikini bottom down far enough to relieve my throbbing penis in her pussy. Her cunt was very wet, but so tight that I came in less than a minute. I felt terribly ashamed since I usually try to please her before letting go of my load.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled in embarrassment. She just laughed at me, pulled her soaking pussy off me and left me standing there with my pants around my ankles and a limp dick to show for my efforts.
I thought she had gone to bed early, maybe to bring herself to the much-deserved orgasm that she hadn't experienced with me, but about half an hour later she came out again, still wearing the purple body stocking, but now with a neon orange thong under it and no bra at all. She came up to me on the sofa and straddled me on her knees. She had a wild look and stared directly into my eyes unblinking. I glanced down and saw that her nipples were extremely swollen and looked as hard as lumps of dried brown sugar.
Her boobs were imprisoned in the fishnet, but she still managed to bat my face between them and hiss, "Are you ready to finish what you started, stud?" I certainly was.
The next morning I slept late because of my exertions the previous night. She woke me with breakfast in bed, her body again encased in the body stocking though now wearing nothing at all beneath it. Her pussy left moisture spots wherever she sat on the bed. Much to my surprise, as I ate breakfast, the sex show she was giving me started to revive me and I felt my dick stirring.
Throughout that weekend, she seemed to take enormous delight in teasing me by saying things like, "Do you really think I look good in this? Should I wear it to the store or out to get the mail?" Then she'd laugh and her eyes would flash knowing she was driving me crazy with lust and jealousy. I don't know how many times I made her service me that weekend, but I pawed and ripped that garment so much that it was ruined by Sunday night. I never imagined I was capable of so many episodes of mounting a woman. By Monday I was barely able to walk my balls were so drained and my cock so spent.
The odd thing was that she became more passionate with each coupling that crazy weekend, so that in the end she was like an animal who wanted nothing except more and more sex. As my lust was gradually satisfied over the weekend, hers just became greater and greater. It was actually a little frightening to see the monster I could create but not satisfy.
I will vividly remember that weekend for the rest of my life. Except for the intensity of those two days and one night, our romantic history seems to me like part of a normal, healthy sex life: a man and a woman feeding and fulfilling each other's physical and emotional needs.
However, over the last year or so I have developed one little perversion. It might not even be a perversion since I see porn catering to it all over the internet, but it seems deviant to me. It started gradually and only in the extremes of passion. At first, as I was getting close to cumming inside her pussy with her milking my balls to encourage me, between my grunts and groans I started whispering in her ear things like, "Oh, baby, I want to see you getting it from another man. You are too sexy to keep to myself."
I think she must have been taken aback by this kind of talk, maybe even disgusted since outside of the heat of passion, she never mentioned anything about his little quirk of mine. As time progressed my urgings went a little further and in the extremes of my passion I asked her to tell me about men she had slept with before me. One time I actually got her to tell me about a Frenchman she had let fuck her a few times years before she knew me. She told me where they went for their encounters, how he would mount her from behind, even that he had begged to open her virgin asshole. Much to my disappointment she had denied him that special treasure of hers, or so she told me anyway.
