Spice It Up

I think I started to breathe finally as Joe slowly pulled out. I squinted through my fake lashes to be met by his beautiful brown eyes staring down at me, a subtle, kind smile slightly curling the corners of his mouth. Oh, that mouth. My fingers loosened their grip on his perfectly shaped tan biceps, his tensed triceps supporting his weight over me as his large hands pressed down at the sides of my naked chest.

I had a pang of, I don't know, maybe embarrassment as he maintained eye contact. I diverted my gaze down to his smooth chest; those pecs, those abs. My eyes drifted further and I could see him oh-so-slowly lifting his hips to continue his exit.

I felt his triceps flex and harden even more than before and his torso slowly lowering towards mine. I looked into his eyes as Joe descended—oh, those arms—and he stretched his neck forward to kiss me softly on the forehead. I closed my eyes. I felt his lips lightly peck the end of my nose. Mere moments later I felt his breath and opened my mouth ever so slightly as I felt his lips meet mine. He held that position, powerfully bearing his weight with an impressive display of controlled strength. Joe lingered on my lips for a moment and I enjoyed the sensation, felt the tingles fire the electrical circuits of my body that seemingly congregated on my clitoris that was now so, so sensitive. Our mouths opened further and our tongues intertwined, deeper, longer. Involuntarily I squeaked a little in the exultation of the intimacy I felt with Joe in this moment.

But the bliss was suddenly broken as I heard a quiet, unobtrusive rustle to the side of the bed. My eyes shot open as Joe's triceps bulged again as he pushed himself back up, and I darted my view straight to the right.

My husband Peter, stood next to the bed, wasn't smiling. I couldn't read him, exactly. But my heart began racing; I'd broken the one rule: NO kissing. My attention quickly returned to Joe as his penis finally slid fully out of me. My god it was still huge. When I'd been told "eight or nine inches" I simply didn't believe it since so many people are wont to exaggerate, especially in that department. But he wasn't lying. I still felt like I was spread wide and could feel a bubble of his sperm trickle out and start to head towards my bum hole.

I propped myself up on my elbows and looked down and, in what was a surprise, could actually see my inner lips, deep pink in color, protruding. He had really stretched me out; maybe even broken my cooch! I knew that wasn't the case, but that was an unexpected result of the these very recent, very vigorous activities.

Joe kneeled upright at the bottom of the bed, keeping his eyes on me, then looking down at his handiwork. He didn't say a thing as his manhood slowly started to lose some of its iron rod hardness and mammoth size. There wasn't a hair on his body. He was quite the specimen.

He slipped off the bed as Peter moved around to the bottom, holding the camcorder as he had the entire time.

"Just push some out," Peter asked quietly.

"I'll just go get cleaned up," Joe offered and headed to the bathroom.

I bore down and felt more of Joe's seed drip down my ass and Peter focused intently on the view window of the camera. I let my arms go and fell back on the bed, taking a deep breath, and closing my eyes in a moment of quiet contemplation of what just happened.

Joe emerged from the bathroom still naked. That thing of his swinging between his legs in a way I'd never imagined was even possible before. He was still smiling. Beaming, even. He pulled his khaki pants from the chair and pulled them on; no underwear. Then slipped into his brown loafers; no socks. I took this as my opportunity and swung my legs around to the side of the bed and sat up. As I did so I became instantly conscious of my naked breasts. They were fairly big now—a good C-cup or a D in some bras, quite the change from the firm, perky B's of my youth and twenties. These moved as I moved and Joe was still in the room, still smiling at me as he pulled on his short-sleeved light-blue shirt. But given what we'd been doing for the best part of the past hour, I guess I shouldn't start to get concerned about appearances or embarrassed about body parts. I jumped up—and the boobs came up and down with me—and darted past him to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind me.

I leaned on the edge of the counter in front of the large hotel mirror. I recognized the woman looking back at me, but felt there was something different about the one that had stared into this same mirror a few hours earlier. The burned ginger hair was still there, though now distinctly more disheveled than the perfectly coiffured style it had been. A few strands stuck to my cheek. Several ruffled hairs stuck to the beads of sweat that cast a decidedly unladylike pallor to my demeanor. As I leaned forward my boobs seemed to sag further under the weight of realizing what just transpired. But no, I had nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, if anything, what I should feel was proud.

I took a step back and cupped my breasts, lifting and pushing them together. Not bad, not bad. And then I let them go, and hey, still not bad at all. But now with this perspective I could see between my legs. I could make out streaks down my thighs, a combination of his and hers excretions, and those lips poking out where they previously hadn't. I looked down and pulled up at the top of my mound, you know, how you get to see. Yes, it was undeniable, I'd just had sex, and, by the look of it, penetrated by something very large.

Joe's voice outside the door snapped me out of staring at my own hoohah. I could tell he was leaving. Peter must have paid him already and I didn't really want to see him again. Not right now, anyway. It was time for a bath so I turned the taps and perched on the edge, absently swirling the water as it filled.

As I heard the outside door swing closed, there was a soft knock at the bathroom door as I started to slide in to the hot water.

"You don't need to knock, come in."

The door opened slowly and I could see in the mirror surrounding the bathtub Peter walk in slowly and place the camcorder on the counter by the sink. He was still wearing just his boxer briefs, as he had through the entire encounter with Joe. We had talked about him joining in at some point. That hadn't happened and I was a little nervous to ask why.

As he perched on the edge of the bath the first phrase that entered my mind was "I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything, but tightened his mouth in a way that seemed unnatural to me. It was a problem, and given the circumstances, our first time doing this, I had probably made a huge mistake. Though to be fair, I wasn't the instigator, but I knew that wouldn't matter to Peter.

"The rule. I didn't know what was happening. I mean, it just happened."

"It's okay."

He said that with a passive tone. Not passive-aggressive, just passive-not caring. I was concerned.

"Look," I blurted with a little alarm in my voice, "this was your idea, I went along, and I know I broke the rule, but you can't be judgy or upset, okay?"

"I said it was okay. You enjoyed yourself what, three times? I'll let you have your bath and see you in a bit. I'm going to check the footage."

-

As I slipped further into the hot water the events of the past hour started to re-form in my mind's eye. There was the knock on the door and my heart nearly bursting out of my chest in terror, trepidation, and excitement. I was wearing the sexy blue panties and bra set that Peter picked out, and the black stockings with the black high heels. And when Peter opened the door I was instantly self-conscious.

I'd been primed on what to expect but he was still better looking in person. He had a bright, white smile, and soft brown eyes. He was in his thirties, but most definitely younger than me. I think even Peter was a little taken aback.

He opened with a friendly "you must be the beautiful lady." I found it odd and looked around the room in a nervous joke that there must be someone else there. He beckoned to me to stand up off the bed and as though he had already cast some spell I mutely followed the instruction and stood in front of him. I was immediately uncomfortable, like he was judging me, like he was checking to see if I was good enough for him, but right as I was about to call the whole thing off he leaned forward and gave me a gentle, loving hug, and kissed my neck.

"I know," he whispered, "no kissing. I got the memo. You make yourself comfortable and I'll be right over."

He headed to the bathroom and my eyes met with Peter's, and without saying a word we had a final sign-off conversation about whether we were both really going through with his. When Peter pulled down the covers of the bed, the answer was clear.

I was sat on the edge of the bed fiddling with my shoes, trying to remove them when the bathroom door opened.

"No, leave those on, they look incredibly sexy on you," said Joe.

I slowly looked up from the floor, seeing first his feet, his shins, his knees, his shapely, muscular thighs, and then his "Oh My God, look at the size of that." I didn't mean to stare but I couldn't help it. I darted from his penis, which was a good six inches long as it hung in its flaccid state straight up to his grinning face.

He didn't address the obvious over-stare, just adding "well, I should say all of you is incredibly sexy, but leave those on."

-

I took my time washing the sweat, fluids, and smells of sex from my body. It was only as the water cooled that my mind returned from its daydream and returned to the present. Clearly my subconscious was protecting me since as I stepped out of the bath and wrapped myself in the large, soft white towel a flood of guilt caused goosebumps to appear all over, a shiver to run down my spine, and an unintended head shake to send droplets of water from my hair streaking across the mirrors surrounding the tub.

I couldn't get away from a few key facts: 1) I just had a long, crazy sexscapade with a man that was not my husband; 2) my husband witnessed—and filmed—the entire thing, but didn't take part as we had discussed, and I expected, meaning he'd missed out; 3) I broke the definitive kissing rule. Again my heart raced and I stared again at the stranger's face in the mirror, trying to find an answer, a solution to this situation that at best was making me uncomfortable, and at worst...well, I didn't even want to consider the worst potential conclusions.

Peter must have been turned on to some degree, surely. I mean, damn, he always said how much he loved seeing me orgasm and I did it three times. He got to film, up close, my freshly shaved cooch as Joe went down on me. He saw my boobs swinging backwards and forwards like an erotic pendulum as Joe pummeled me from behind. He even saw me rub my own clitoris to the point of orgasm—something he'd asked to see and I'd weirdly refused in the past—as I straddled Joe and lowered myself slowly on to his massive manhood. He nodded his approval as I stretched my mouth as far is it could go to try and take in that epic cock. I saw the bulge in the lycra of his boxer briefs. I should take care of that for him.

Peter's white shirt was hanging on the hook on the back of the bathroom door. After a cursory towel dry and rough brush of my long hair—I tried to make it as windswept-sexy as I could manage—I slipped the shirt on and fastened one button below my belly button. I glanced back to the mirror and adjusted the shirt so that it was widely open, just covering my nipples but exposing as much breast as possible. I stood with my feet at shoulder width and confirmed it clearly showed my cooch. That should give him a good enough look to get his juices flowing again.

One deep breath, an idea formulating in my mind of what I could do to make this up to Peter, and I headed into the bedroom area. Peter was propped up by a couple of pillows in the bed, the covers up to his waist. He didn't even look up from the computer as I walked out. Definitely a bad sign, especially as I was trying to do my best sexy for him. But he looked good. Peter had always been trim and never needed to hit the gym hard to maintain a good physique. His lightly hairy chest was manly in my eyes.

Maybe it was this whole experience with Joe; maybe it was his newly aloof attitude; maybe it was the person I'd seen looking back at me in the mirror just now, but I was horny again. I leaned my shoulder against the wall, cocked my hip out, and coughed quietly to gain Peter's attention. He barely moved his head but directed his eyes towards me, looking over his glasses like a disappointed professor unimpressed by his student. I needed to act, so I stood upright, feet again at shoulder width. I saw his eyes flick up and down and linger for just a second between my legs. I cupped my breasts through the shirt and pulled, a little aggressively, at my nipples. Peter turned his head and absently pushed the laptop aside.

I did my best exaggerated runway model walk to the edge of the bed and Peter reached out and pulled back the sheets, inviting me in. But that's not what I had in mind. Maintaining eye contact with him I dropped to my knees and with one seductive finger beckoned him towards me. I could suddenly read Peter's mind clearly. He didn't want to move, he wanted to remain mad or upset or whatever he was thinking. But nor did he want to miss whatever it was that I was offering. This was already a day of new experiences for us both, and it was clear it was about to continue.

Peter slid towards me and slipped his legs from under the covers and sat in front of me, looking down, not saying a word. I reached from the bottom of his boxers and tugged at the material. He stood up quickly and let me slip them down to the floor, revealing his steadily growing penis. I reached up and ran my hand underneath his scrotum and along his shaft.

This was more manageable. And that wasn't an insult to Peter's size or virility. I mean, with Joe it was just a physical challenge. Could object A fit in vessel B? It wasn't like he hadn't become aroused when he went down on me and delivered my first orgasm with his tongue, but I felt somewhat obliged to at least attempt to repay some of the compliment. I thought I was a champ just for managing to stretch my jaw around the bulbous head of his penis, but it certainly wasn't comfortable for me, and it can hardly have been effective for him.

And while the effects of Joe's tongue and my own bodily response had lubricated me to some degree I just knew it wouldn't be enough to comfortably take that thing inside me. I said as much and Peter had quickly handed Joe the bottle of lubricant, and I'd managed to sneak a peek at hubby's disposition as he also seemed unable to take his eyes off Joe's monster cock.

Joe was a pro, though, clearly understanding that he couldn't wield that thing with abandon and was incredibly patient and considerate as he pushed the tip between my lips, manipulating my clitoris with his thumb as he did so, and gently pushing a little at a time, pausing to check I was okay with each unplanned gasp and squeak that emanated from my open mouth as I felt his size fill me. It felt like I was pulling a muscle as I spread my legs as wide as I could manage, thinking that might help. All it did was make me more conscious of what was entering...or trying.

To be fair, he was so gentle and methodical that when he was finally able to move back and forth it generated a sensation I had never felt before. Pleasure, disbelief, intense emotion, all causing neurons, electrons, whatever it was to cascade throughout my body.

But that was earlier. Peter was much more manageable, and it was my turn to make it up to him.

-

I started as I always did on the few occasions I had given Peter a BJ. Taking the head just into my mouth I wrapped my lips around him just below his glans, but tried to avoid touching any part with my tongue. It was a knee-jerk reaction, a trigger of guilt from a past where I'd been told that this was dirty and disgusting. But I paused for just a second. That same flood of guilt hadn't descended when I was between Joe's legs. So much effort and concentration was going in to simply figuring out if I could stretch wide enough that it completely passed me by that my tongue was slathering his cock with my saliva, that my tongue was touching, that I could even feel the slit of his penis as my mouth strained to accommodate all of it.

Peter was my husband, friend, love of my life. He really did deserve a little better than I had probably offered him in the past. This should probably be that moment. And with that second delay I pushed my lips further down his shaft and cupped his scrotum with one hand. I sensed him tense a little, likely in surprise, and I took that to be a good reaction.

As I pulled back I twirled my tongue around his glans and again heard Peter react. I wrapped my other hand around his shaft and in synchronization with my mouth slowly—and a little sloppily—moved back and forth, daring to push his cock as far back as I could without inducing my gag reflex. I figured that might kill the mood.

It was a little strange, though: I wasn't hating this. In fact, I was enjoying hearing Peter's little coos and gasps. I was even blissfully ignoring the slopping and slurping noises that I was making, the kind that I'd been so uptight I made sure to avoid in the past. Here I was, Peter's cock nearly balls deep in my mouth, saliva dripping, slurps gurgling, enjoying myself.

Peter made a swift, audible inhalation and I felt his cock stiffen even further in my hand and mouth. He was about to pop. Slowly, I eased him out of my mouth, but maintained the slow, steady rhythm with my hand. I glanced up at Peter right as he bowed his head to gaze down on me. I tilted my head back, opened my mouth wide, and pushed my tongue out so it barely touched the tip of his head. Peter's eyes widened, seeming to ask a question. Without a word I very, very slightly nodded my head. I was committed; I was going to let him ejaculate in my mouth, on my face, wherever it landed, wherever he wanted.

It was almost as if the realization spurred Peter into action, like if he missed this narrow window of opportunity it may never appear again. He took over from me, grasping and jerking at his shaft. I leaned further back and having both hands free, unbuttoned the one fastener on Peter's shirt and let it slip down my shoulders to the floor where, while maintaining eye contact with Peter, I pushed it to the side and then knelt a little more upright and cupped my breasts together.

Right at that moment Peter let out a deep groan. I looked straight at the head of his penis as he pulled back on the shaft, held it for a moment, before a stream of sperm shot towards me, just catching my chin before falling into the deep cleavage I'd created. But the next rope streaked straight at me, landing somewhere on my forehead, leaving a line down the bridge of my nose, on to my cheek. The next was a bullseye right into the back of my mouth, coating my tongue and leaking out down my chin. Two more caught the edge of my mouth and painted my cheek and chin before dripping off into a long string that didn't break until it nestled on my upper breast. I focused my attention forward as the last drops leaked out on to my hands and breasts, again seeing gravity pull them over my nipples before dropping lightly on to my thighs.

As Peter relaxed I started to over-think the fact that I was covered in his semen. It felt like it was everywhere, and without really thinking I closed my mouth and swallowed, gulping down the seed that had planted itself there. I froze for a few seconds and Peter suddenly darted for the bathroom and returned in Flash-like speed with a towel that I used to mop the mess from my face, breasts, and thighs.