Wife dallies with old lover. Again. Again. And more.
You really want to read the first chapter before this one to understand the characters and situation involved.
The incidents here are based on a real event, but this chapter is highly fictionalized. Maybe 70% fiction here. And character names have been changed to something similar but not identifiable.
In this universe, there are no STDs, no gun-toting jealous spouses, and no divorce lawyers. Everyone is just here for a good time.
If you don't like sharing-wife stores, stop reading now and go somewhere else.
*****
I came home one day a little earlier in the evening than usual. My wife was lying on the bed, asleep, naked, covered with just a sheet. I pulled the sheet down to gaze at her luscious bod. Fifteen years and I still can't get enough.
Her legs were wide apart, and there was a large wet patch under her ass, a puddle that had leaked from her slit all covered with cum. Holy crap, what's been going on here? She spent the afternoon getting laid? Cum was still dripping from her hole. There must have been a lot of it.
She was surprised, and embarrassed, to see me. I tried to be cool and cruel. I mean, this isn't the first time I've seen another man's cum dripping out of her. "I hope you had a fun afternoon. Who was the sperm donor?"
She stammered, "Oh, honey, I'm sorry, I didn't want you to see me like this." I wouldn't let her grab the sheet. Fluster, fluster. Softly, "He was in town for the day and he came over."
"Who? Marc? Was here from New York? You said you wanted him to screw you anytime you two met! Is that it? He was in town, so you brought him to our home and had him fuck you? In our bed?"
I was a little puzzled, and maybe even a little angry, that she would do this without telling me. I knew that she couldn't resist him, not after that incredible debauchery of a reunion they had a while ago. (You already read about that encounter.) And, well, yes, she has my blanket permission to enjoy her affair with him - within reason. Not telling me, not warning me about it, may have gone beyond that.
I thought about their history. He was her lover long ago, for years before we got serious and married. She would have married him, I think, if she had met him when they were both single, but he was already married and had children. And he was a good deal older than she. She liked him a lot, maybe even loved him. What am I saying? Of course she loved him. You can't have a torrid affair with a fuck buddy for two years without developing some strong feelings. But beyond that, she *loved* and *craved* sex with him. She described their sex in such rapturous terms that it was clear she had never got over him, even after we were together for a decade. She said that his cock was longer than mine, not a lot, but an inch or so was all it took. He got deeper into her sex, drilled her hot cave farther, stretched her, gave her sensations that mine just couldn't. And she was never a fan of giant dildos, so that deep end of her vagina went unprobed for a long time.
So, when they met again, and the opportunity presented itself, she got my permission to spend the day with him. She did, and loved it, loved it, loved it. Went nuts. Or so it sounded from my end of the phone. We talked about it, and she said that, if the opportunity presented itself again, she would like to do it again. She was very insistent about it. No, she *would* do it again, no "like to" about it. Yes, I gave my permission for her to continue occasionally seeing him, and having him fuck her brains out, so long as I knew about it. Well, this afternoon seemed to violate that agreement a little.
"So you brought Marc here and had him fuck your brains out all afternoon?"
"Oh, honey, it wasn't like that."
"What was it then? He didn't fuck you? A lot? Somebody did. His cum is all over your pussy and dripping out on the sheets!"
"Well, yes and no," she said. "Yes, Marc was here, and, yes, he fucked me. But . . . it . . . it wasn't Marc. I mean, it *was* Marc, but it wasn't." Huh? Long, puzzling pause. "It was Marc Junior, his son."
Knock me over with a feather. I gaped. "What?!? Marc's son? What are you talking about?!?" Deep breath. Three deep breaths. "Gee, dear, this is a bit of a surprise. You have yet *another* lover? And you're screwing him in our house? And I've never heard of him? And you think that's okay? What the fuck!"
She seemed like she was about to cry.
"Remember last week when I was in the city, and I said I would try to see Marc, and you wanted to listen but you had meetings and concalls all afternoon. Well, I did see him. And I'm sorry you couldn't listen in. But I did record some of it on my little digital recorder so you could hear it later."
I interrupted her. "So why *didn't* I hear it later? I haven't heard anything about this."
"Well, it didn't go exactly as planned. And I was waiting for an opportunity to tell you about it. I just haven't got around to it yet, and then this . . . this afternoon happened a lot sooner than I thought it might. Oh, I'm so sorry, honey."
Deep breath. "So, tell me now."
"Let's have a drink to relax, and then you crawl into bed with me and cuddle, and I'll tell you about it all."
Seemed the best idea at the time. I undressed and we both marched naked into the kitchen to get some glasses of wine. Some very large glasses of wine. We both inhaled the first glass. Midway into the second glass, she started to tell me about her . . . adventures. Standing there, semen leaking out of her honeypot, down her thighs, shiny, slick, incredibly erotic to see . . . that sight really focused my attention on her story of unbridled sex. We went back to bed with the last of the wine, and she started to relate her story.
o o o
Long sigh. "I was in New York again last week, and I had lunch with Marc. I was planning to spend the afternoon in delight with him, and I was really looking forward to it. We met at a restaurant, not the intimate little bar we went to the last time. Nice place, downtown. We sat in a plush, semi-circular booth and had some drinks to relax before lunch. Over the second drink before lunch, he instructed me to go to the ladies room, remove panties, and cut open my pantyhose, just like last time. He's as fond of pantyhose as you are, by the way. Says they're slicker than stockings and mold my figure more. He loves feeling my legs and pussy through them. You guys must be brother pervs. So I did it. I came to play. I wanted to give him access."
Another shot of wine. "When I got back to the table, there was a young man with him. A Greek-god-beautiful young man. Not kidding. Male model material, and hunky. Maybe mid 20s. Wow. When I could breathe again, I said hi. He got up like a gentleman, let me in, then sat on the other side of me, close. I'm not quite squashed between the two men but I'm sure we appeared to others to be very friendly. Turns out this was Marc's son, Marc Junior. Son! He finished college and B school, was working on Wall Street, and traveled a lot. I remember hearing about his kids long ago, but not much, and I probably deliberately forgot it."
She looked over at me. "I don't think you want to hear every detail. I'll just hit the high spots if that's okay."
o o o
Image: "At one point, Junior put his hand on my leg, ran up from knee to hem and then under hem, way up my thigh. I pushed his hand away, once, twice. He wouldn't take no for an answer. He pulled my knee far enough to the side to touch his, left his hand right at the hem, and stroked my thigh over my slippery hose."