Porn Night

Foreword

A short Loving Wives piece this time. No wimpy cuck husband, no BBC, and no slut-wife or BTB revenge. This is a short scene about a husband and wife and some spice they add to their marriage.

Feedback is appreciated. I hope you enjoy the following.

Thanks for reading.

GA – Thirsk, North Yorkshire – 18th of November 2015.

***

"It's porn night," she says.

Anxiety squeezes his guts. Alan closes his eyes and replies with, "What have you done?"

Her chuckle comes out of the mobile. "Nothing for you to worry about," Alan's wife coos. "I'll tell you when you get home."

Alan lunges forward in his chair, elbows going onto his desk. He pushes his fingers through his thick hair, holding the phone up to his ear with his free hand. He's already half hard in Pavlovian response; his wife's opening words have found their mark. Although only occasional – four times a year as an average – porn night is always a thrill.

He sighs, then mumbles, "Can't you at least give me a hint?"

Alan hears her laugh. "Patience," she says, her tone laced with amusement. "All good things come to he who waits." There's a pause before she goes on with, "But I'll tell you this, babe, I'm going to the salon. I'll be perfect when you get home. All silky and bare ... my legs, my pussy..."

Air hisses out of his nose. "Jesus, Melissa," croaks Alan. He throws a glance at the clock on his laptop, then adds, "I've go to work. It's only eleven o'clock. How am I supposed to concentrate on anything else for the rest of the day?"

Melissa chuckles again. "Think of me using that black dildo," she says with a purr.

He swallows heavily and then mutters, "Oh shit."

"I'll be dressed for you, too," continues his wife. "Anyway," she says, "I'd better go. Have a good day."

*

The drive home usually takes eleven minutes – Godalming to Peper Harow. Today, Alan does it in eight.

He leaves the car on the drive instead of putting it away in the garage, slamming the door on the beemer before vaulting the front steps.

The front door opens before Alan gets there, the sight of his wife stopping him dead in his tracks. "Oh God, baby," he moans. "Melissa ... Jesus, you're beautiful."

She's obviously pleased by her husband's reaction. Melissa smiles and tilts her head to one side, posing to give Alan the full benefit. "Thank you," she says, turning to walk back into the cottage. "I've poured wine but I want you to shower before we get to it."

Alan stands and watches his wife hip-sway away, the sight of her taut buttocks through the gossamer mini dress wrenching his core. He thinks she's perfect, a low, visceral tug of desire for his wife stiffening up his already firm cock.

There's a glimpse of shiny smooth legs cutting along quickly before Melissa pauses and looks back at him over one shoulder. "Come along, silly," she grins, blue eyes sparkling with devilment beneath a precise fringe of blonde hair. "I've been fingering my cunt all afternoon, this pussy is ready for some tongue."

Melissa's use of profanity still has the power to shock him. It isn't often she swears in her day-to-day life, 'bloody' or 'damn' about as strong as it gets, but porn nights are different. Porn nights are when Melissa lets go, her vocabulary cast into the sewer.

Alan stands there a few seconds longer. He's captivated by Melissa's physical form, staring at the undercurve of buttocks just visible below the hem of her dress before, following a lascivious wink from his wife, he bursts into the house and backheels the door closed, hands going to his tie.

He's tearing off his suit jacket as he approaches, with Melissa giving a squeal as she dances away on dangerous high heels.

"Don't you

dare

," scolds his wife as Alan moves in. She strides into the lounge, heels pecking at dark wood flooring, seeking seeks refuge at the far end of the large sofa. "Shower," she says, the barrier between them. A red-painted talon points towards the ceiling as she delivers a curt, "Upstairs. Now. You touch me and porn night is off!"

Alan is framed in the doorway. He looks at his wife while imagining striding with purpose to claim her as his. He sees himself kissing her mouth while running his hands all over her body. Alan's cock pulses with need, imagining bending her over and splaying her labia with the tips of his fingers. He has to suppress a groan while images of fucking into her pussy from behind fill his mind's eye. He knows from experience how sublime her molten embrace will feel around his girth.

Snapping back to reality, Alan takes in his wife's hair hanging loose and long in a blonde hippy-chick style. He gulps when he sees her eyes flashing blue ice, then soaks in the perfection of her compact body. And to Alan she is utterly perfect. He adores everything about her: his wife's mind and quick wit, her prettiness enhanced by maturity, the forty-two years sitting well. He's aware, in some distant place in the back of his mind, of Melissa's physical appeal, her diminutive feminine shape all taut and toned, every curve honed in the gym. She's full of vitality, vivacious and feminine, all in one gorgeous package.

Through the mesh of the mini dress, Alan can see his wife's breasts, the nipples like pebbles in the tiny coins of their areolae, and the urge to maul those pert tits comes a near physical ache way down deep. "Please don't say that," groans Alan, his focus going to his wife's thong. He gulps one more time when he makes out the line of her underwear through the gauze of the dress packed with her plump vulva, the insignificant waistband pulled high up on her hips.

"Then go and get in the shower," Melissa responds, crossing her arms while cocking one hip. An eyebrow goes up while she challenges her husband, her belligerent stare saying, "Go ahead, Alan, see if I'm bluffing."

Alan looks at his wife for a few beats longer, then croaks, "But you're gorgeous, Melissa."

"Go!" she insists with a laugh.

Alan turns to comply, but then her voice stops him.

Melissa says, "Hang on a second," and slinks towards Alan, coming at him all lithe and sensuous, eyes brimming with libidinous intent. "Here," she adds with a whisper, kissing his mouth, the act withdrawing her earlier caveat of no touching. Her tongue slips in while Alan responds with a groan, his hands going to her waist. They kiss for long seconds, tongues writhing and swirling while Alan's erection clamours for release. His fingers slip under the very brief hem of the dress, palms cupping her buttocks. At over six foot and given his build, Alan could easily lift his wife off her feet. Their difference in size would make it simple for him to haul out his hard-on, pick up Melissa, and then ease her onto his cock.

"I wanna fuck the arse off you," growls Alan, squeezing and kneading.

"No-no," chides Melissa, reaching back to take hold of his hands. "Don't be greedy. We've got all evening. Go and shower. I'll suck your cock when it's fresh. We can watch a few nasty clips and

then

you can batter my cunt."

"Jesus, Melissa," groans Alan. "Don't say stuff like that when I'm so fucking horny. I've been going mental all day. Just

look

at you," he adds with a groan. "Coming home to find you dressed like this isn't fair."

Melissa steps back, head canting to one side. "I'm all smooth," she purrs, throwing a glance at her own shins. Alan groans when his wife goes on with, "My legs ... and my pussy." Her eyes move up to his face. "And the sooner you're in the shower the sooner you can give it a lick."

With great reluctance, Alan releases Melissa. He shuffles back a couple of steps, devours his wife with a long gaze, blows out a lungful of air while shaking his head, and then turns away in a hurry to get to the shower.

*

"So what happened?" asks Alan. He's fresh and clean and has a floor-length towelling robe wrapped round his body. He sits on the sofa, next to his wife, with Melissa perched upright, one smooth and very tantalising thigh crossed over the other.

Alan sips red wine and allows himself a good look at her legs, their silky allure enhanced by the high heels. Desire to physically possess her squeezes his guts. The need consumes Alan, so his hand goes to his wife's leg.

"What do you mean?" Melissa replies, uncrossing her legs while easing lower in her seat, thighs parting.

His wife's skin feels like sating under his fingers as Alan replies with, "To prompt porn night." He gently squeezes, fingers moving higher. "There's usually a trigger."

"Oh, that," purrs Melissa as her rump slides further forward, inviting her husband's attention. "Well," she continues, taking his hand so she can guide it to the dense pocket of her underwear nestled close to her body. "I was in Guildford this morning, just looking for something appropriate for Alexandra's wedding."

Alan mumbles a vague, "Uh-huh," distracted from his wife's narrative by the heat coming from the private place between her legs.

Melissa lets out a small moan and a gasp, squirming to get more pressure on her sex from his fingers. "There was this bloke–" she went on, breaking off to urge her husband to rub with a more vigorous action. "And he was following me around the shop."

Jealousy spikes Alan's chest. His insides curdle at the thought of a man stalking his wife. He asks, "What did you do?" hoping she wasn't going to confess to anything unthinkable. His first wife had been a gold-digging slut with the morals of pirate, it would kill him to hear about any infidelity where Melissa was concerned.

Knowing her husband's fragility, Melissa pulls him in for a kiss. "Absolutely nothing," she says when they part. "I ignored him and he eventually left me alone. But..." Melissa pauses, gasping while shunting her hips back-and forth, rubbing herself with more energy against Alan's hand.

Alan is impatient for news when he growls, "What? What do you mean 'but'?"

Melissa pushes his hand away and sits up. Her wine glass is on the low coffee table in front of the settee. She reaches for it, takes a fair swig, then settles back. "I got thinking," she says, the long-stemmed glass held daintily aloft in one hand. She reclines into the sofa and crosses her legs.

"About?" insists Alan, going for his own wine. The jealousy is still there, bubbling away. He's still anxious despite his wife's assurances.

"Well, I started thinking about sex in the changing room," Melissa admits. "Then that morphed into glory-hole sex ... Then it got sleazy."

"Wuh-what do you mean?" stammers Alan. "Are you saying you want to go to one of those places?"

His wife sighs in frustration. She uncrosses her legs and puts the wine on the table, then swivels to look at him with a frown corrugating her brow. "No, not at all," says Melissa. "It's only a fantasy."

Alan nods, obviously dubious by his troubled expression. He grimaces and says, "Oh," doubt in his tone.

"Look at me," Melissa instructs him, tone curt. "It's not real. It's just something dirty to think about. It's the sleaze...

"I get all gooey and hot thinking about those faceless men shoving their dicks through the holes in the partition. I love the idea of them being completely anonymous. I don't care who they are – or even how old, or what they look like. I'm surrounded by cocks ... Half-a-dozen, at least. They're all desperate to get me to suck them, and that's what I love most of all. They think I'm there for their pleasure, but really it's all about me having the power.

"You know what I mean," says Melissa, a hand slipping into the robe. She finds her husband's cock with her fingers, stroking its length, thrilled by the way it gets so stiff so quickly. "You like looking at those women in porn – the American one ... and that German..."

"But I love

you

," Alan puts in with a gasp, his focus going to where his wife is slowly caressing his length. "I wouldn't do anything."

"And neither would I." Melissa's fist begins to work harder. She cranks at Alan's erection while yearning for fulfilment is a hot flare at her centre. "But I just loved thinking about sucking cocks and seeing them spit. It turns me on to think about them coming all over me. I'd even leave their spunk on my tits for the rest of the day. I could get a waft of the sex and rub myself off ... Oh God, Alan," she sobs, a hand going down to her pussy. "Get down there and lick me. I'm so bloody horny."

She makes him find some appropriate filth on the laptop, the images transferred to the huge television fixed to its bracket on the wall opposite the sofa.

After that, Alan gets down and goes at his wife. He slurps and laps at her sex, tasting her need while she snorts and grunts and sprawls out with her underwear yanked to one side, eyes fixed on the depravity someone has filmed.

"I fucking love you!" wails Melissa when her husband sucks at her clit. "Keep going," she gasps, writhing and squirming. "Lick it ... Finger my cunt ... Do everything, babe. I need to come."

"Have you been using that dildo?" asks Alan, fingers working inside his her.

"No," squeaks Melissa. "I only said that to wind you up." She sucks in her lower lip and tucks her chin on her chest. Melissa's shoes come up off the floor, legs folding so she can shove herself onto those digits probing her sex. "But I've been playing all day," she goes on with a moan, watching him work at her sex. "I get all worked up, but don't let myself come...

"Oh God!" yelps his wife when Alan smears the ball of his thumb over her clit. "Lick me again."

So Alan gets to it while his wife watches the screen and sees her fantasy enacted in all its lewd depravity. Melissa snorts and whines, eyes fixed on the scene of a mature, elegant lady moving around what looks to be a damp, dingy room in some abandoned warehouse. The woman goes from one hard cock to another, semen gushing forth to cover her breasts and her face after she's slurped and slobbered and licked, sometimes sucking one while cranking another with her fist.

"She's got cum in her hair!" yelps Melissa. "Oh Jesus, oh God," she blasphemes. "They're coming all over her, she's plastered with spunk..."

And then Alan has to hang on when his wife lets it all go.

*

He's standing to one side of the sofa while Melissa is knelt with her forearms resting on the arm of the seat. She's out of the dress and her thong, naked except for the shoes, a bead necklace, and black, button ear rings. Alan stares down at his wife, her face distorted by his girth stretching her lips.

"You want to fuck your glory-hole slut?" gasps Melissa, jacking the shaft while smearing the slippery bell-end over her cheeks.

"Fucking hell," Alan grunts while his wife glazes her face and swirls her tongue over and around the big dome. "You're mad for it, Mel."

"I can't help it," his wife squeals in response. "Seeing that woman ... Did you see how gorgeous she was?"

Alan nods, then grunts a reply. "Yeah," he manages to say.

"I bet she looks so normal in everyday life," Melissa continues. "Out and about, doing the shopping and what-not. But," she adds before wincing and groaning, a hand working her sex as she yanks Alan's length. "Oh God, Alan, please ... I need to fuck." All thoughts about the woman's real-life persona slip from her mind. "Won't you put it in soon?"

Alan looks at his wife, her agonised face tilted towards him. He sees desperate yearning in the twist of her features, her jaw hanging slack as Melissa stares at back him through eyes glazed with desire.

She yelps when he grabs a handful of hair. Alan, inflamed by lust for his beautiful wife, pulls her up so he can press his lips to her mouth.

"Lie down," he commands when they eventually part. "Open your legs."

Melissa is mewling as she steps off the sofa. She's eager to do as he says, frantic to feel his length splitting her open, his shaft pulsing inside her. But she's too slow. When Alan sees his wife move he grabs for her waist.

He growls, "Get on your knees," manhandling his wife until she knelt on the settee and facing the wall. "Down," Alan demands, shoving her shoulder. "Down on your elbows. Shove your arse in the air."

Melissa shuffles her knees sideways while thrusting her hips high. She reaches back with one hand to splay the cheeks of her buttocks, labia peeling apart with tacky reluctance. "Put it in, darling," she gasps. "Please hurry up."

The sight of his wife's scarlet core has Alan jacking his dick as he moves in behind her. He glances down at the thick, meaty folds and lets out a growl.

"Oh, Alan, that's so fucking filthy!" Melissa exclaims, thrilled because her husband has just slid his tongue from her clit to her sphincter. She writhes and moans, pushing back to get his tongue deeper. "Lick my arsehole, you fucker," she snarls. "Go on, Alan, lick that muddy hole."

Her words are a goad. Alan crouches down on his haunches, fingertips holding his wife even wider. He probes and he licks, Alan goes at Melissa like a dog at its bowl, her crease slippery with drool as she grunts and sighs out in pleasure.

It goes on for some time, with the expeditionary tip of one forefinger bringing a gasping response from Melissa.

"Next time," she squeaks. "But not now."

Alan levers upright, standing up straight while keeping his finger wedged in his wife's rectum. He asks, "Next time what?" jacking his dick with his free hand.

Melissa swivels at the waist, flesh creasing as she looks back at her husband, pelvis angled to offer herself to his whim. "My arse," she groans around a wince and a roll of her eyes. "You can fuck it ... I want you to shag my arse, babe ... But not now."

Melissa slides forward, Alan's digit slipping out. She manages to roll as she goes, abruptly laid on her back, thighs open wide.

"I want you in here, Alan," she whines, sliding three fingers into her pussy. "Give me a few strokes. Give me your dick. But," Melissa goes on, "I don't want you to come in my pussy." She rubs at her clit and lets out a groan, wall-eyed with need before finishing with, "I want you to do it all over my tits or my face. Just like what happened to that woman."

"Oh, Melissa," moans Alan as he slips balls deep into his wife.

*

He doesn't last long. How could he with Melissa thrusting up to meet him as he drives in? They're both wild and frantic, grasping each other while grunting and moaning, his hands on his wife's waist before the craziness makes crouch low over her back so he can maul at her breasts.

It's just the same for \Melissa. She whines and squeals and rubs two fingers over her clit as she mumbles at Alan to plunder her cunt. "Use me," she groans, looking up at Alan through eyes glazed with desire. "Wank yourself off with my pussy."

"I'm gonna–" grunts Alan, throat working as he gulps down on his urge to squirt jizm into his wife.

She knows he's close. Melissa can tell her husband is about to let fly. His cock works at her for several sharp thrusts, while a long, deep lunge up to his nuts is a sign he's close to his peak.

Alan babbles and groans and leans in to kiss his wife's mouth while his hands force her thighs wider apart. "Melissa," he moans. "Oh Jesus, oh God..."

She's scooting from under husband, eyes wide and fixed on his dick. Melissa rolls away in a flurry of limbs, a hand moving down between her thighs as soon as she's clear. She's rubbing at herself, goading her sex towards orgasm while grabbing Alan's upper arm.

"On my boobs," gasps Melissa, shoving him hard on the shoulder. "Come for me, babe. Come on my tits."

Alan's face is all slack when he looks at his wife. He's lost out there in a world of his own, jacking his length, eyes glassy and vague, knelt on the edge of the sofa while his wife kneels on the floor alongside his knees, offering her breasts as a target.