The Apartment

Ye be warned...this story, purposely placed in the loving wives category, contains wife sharing overtures. If you're not into that, then you might want to try another story. Constructive criticism is welcomed, but thoughtless trolls who claim the moral high ground by being disgusted by the concept of someone sharing their wife, will have their comments unceremoniously deleted. Sorry, not sorry.

That out of the way, I hope you enjoy...

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The Apartment

I'd been travelling for work on and off for months. The plant where I had worked for the last 10 yrs was being closed up and the work relocated out of state. We had been the benefactors of a generous corporate relocation package and, after months of 4 hour weekend road trips up to scout potential new homes, we finally found "the one" and had gotten pretty settled in. Then it was back to the task at hand... Being one of the key people involved in the transition, I spent most of my time at the old location overseeing the final production activities and transition of the remaining product. While I was about a 4 hour drive away and, normally, drove home for the weekend, we had a pre-scheduled family function to attend in our old stomping grounds.

While I was putting the vestiges of the production facility to bed, the company had put me up in a corporate apartment. It was pretty modern, clean and utterly swarmed with young professional types. Way too many people per square foot for my taste, but the apartment had proven clean and functional with only little of the noise and intrusion normally associated with urban communal living.

It could have been much worse. It had a fitness facility which I took regular advantage of. One of the benefits of living in such a place is that you really can become invisible if you like, and I liked. I worked, came back and worked out. I'm not an extrovert by any means, but I managed to get to know one of the guys I'd see in there who happened to be on a similar schedule. But after the workout, I'd go back to my apartment, eat and then spend the evenings having a few beers and wishing I was close enough to my wife to pull her close and run my fingers over her soft skin and plant soft kisses on her neck. And then fuck her silly on the couch. Hey, no kids, no dogs or cats. Just us and our dirty little minds. Okay, mine is far filthier than hers, but what else is new, right?

Lacking the opportunity to effectively act on those impulses, it left me with some time to reflect on some of our more recent interludes at home and my never-ending fantasies of exploring the boundaries of our sexuality. Specifically, I have an inexplicable obsession with seeing her enjoy the physical pleasure that a different man could provide. Not necessarily bigger or better, mind you. Just different. Just seeing her enjoy the physical attentions and emotional high that comes with being desired by someone other than the someone you married who kinda has an obligation to tell you you look beautiful, etc. Of course I think she's beautiful and I tell her so. I think she believes me, but sometimes I'm not so sure she understands just how beautiful she is. In all honesty, that's part of her appeal to me as well, but I digress.

This is not to say that I want badly to see her thrashing about under some stranger who's hung like some sort of equestrian freak all whilst screaming how good his huge cock feels compared to my pathetic little pecker. For the record, I'm not little. Pretty happily average, thank you very much...maybe a little thicker😊 She tells me I have a beautiful cock and I'll take that praise any day. Could I have been "bigger" if I had made different decisions in life? No. So I don't dwell on it and we both seem to enjoy what I've got. But that doesn't mean that we can't spice things up a bit every now and then right? There are so many fun options on sites like, Literotica and such. We've ordered some toys such as cock sleeves, cock rings and dildos. We've role played some MFM threesomes and even got ourselves a pillow that holds dildos that she can straddle and ride while sucking me off, or vice versa. We even have a dildo that squirts thick, creamy, white cum lube. Whether unloading it onto her face and chest or deep inside her steamy depths, we both enjoy the "dirtiness" that we've privately enjoyed experiencing. It was so taboo. Nice, decent wives don't wrap their legs around their husband as he thrusts into her fake cum soaked pussy and moan, "Yes...Take me back. Take your freshly fucked wife back, baby." Your typical suburban husband doesn't urge her to "...take that big thick cock. Make him cum deep in you baby. Fuck him. Yeah...fuck that fat dick while sucking your husband's cock." That would just be...uncivilized. Hehheheee. Well, what the neighbors don't know...

I happened to have the apartment during the timeframe that our family function was scheduled so it was decided she would come stay with me for the weekend. We'd treat it like a little vacation and our own hotel suite. Why not?

She met me at the party about noon, attended and enjoyed. Then she followed me back to "my place". As we rode the elevator up to the fourth floor I said to her, "This feels kind of elicit."

"What's that? Bringing a," She put her fingers up to make air quotes, "...cougar... up to your bachelor pad?"

We both chuckled. Running joke. She's 3 years older than me. The woman has had two kids and has the womanly curves to show it. People, when they learn how old our grown kids are, always say they find it hard to believe. But we try to take care of ourselves. We're not even remotely supermodels, but we try to strike a balance between eating well and the occasional indulgence of the calorically forbidden. I like touching her. I like curves and I like being able to dig my fingers in firmly and squeeze to convey my desire without causing any pain. I like that her hips flare out and her thighs are full, firm and shapely. If you laid her on her side and silhouetted her body against the backdrop of a '78 corvette, you couldn't tell where she ended and the 'vette began.

I leaned in to kiss her and placed my hands on her shapely hips. She tilted her head up and her full, soft lips touched mine. A nice little peck and then a more intense, lingering follow up, our bodies pressing more tightly together. Of course, the bell dinged indicating we had reached my floor. The doors parted and revealed a walking, talking personification of the Greek Adonis. He entered. My normally, "reserved, nonchalant, has-her-stuff-together" wife, stood frozen and slack jawed. The doors slid closed. We were supposed to get off there.

I reached out from behind my wife and trailed my fingertips up underneath her skirt and along her inner thighs. I leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Do you want him?"

She only exhaled with a slow, muted sigh in response.

I reached out and hit the hold button and the elevator car jerked to a halt. Adonnis turned and unzipped his tight jeans revealing a thick, veiny trimmed cock. I quickly trailed my hand up her back, arriving at the back of her head and laced my fingers into a fistful of her thick, long dirty blonde hair. She gasped, open mouthed and I yanked firmly down, bringing her to her knees with her pretty mouth inches from the semi-rigid schlong. I urged her head slowly, but firmly, forward. She glanced quickly up at me just a moment before her open lips closed around the man's presently pliable, but clearly rising, cock. With several bobs of her head, gently encouraged by my hand, she took him deeper and deeper into her mouth.

Through what felt like a hazy fog, I heard her sweet voice. "Are we getting off here or what?"

"What?!"

"Is this your floor?"

I stammered, "Uh, yeah! Yeah. Sorry."

I caught her glance hungrily at Adonnis as he stepped back to let us out of the cramped elevator car.

She asked, "Do I want to know where you just got back from?"

"Depends on what kind of mood you're in."

"Well,", she shot me a sly smile, "we're here. Without kids or dogs. Grown ups and all that...well, one of us is." She poked me in the side. "Let's call it cautiously adventurous."

"I'll take it. Let's just say I'm...well, I'm in the same place I usually am. But I'm tantilizingly tittilated by the portense of this particular evening."

Her brows furrowed and she thoughtfully put together the following response: "What the fuck did you just say to me???" There was a playful quality to her quizzical look.

"You look pretty?"

She laughed it off, smacked my butt and took my hand to lead me off the elevator.

We arrived at my room and I ushered her into my corporately provided abode. I briefly considered picking her up and carrying her over the threshold, but I knew I'd just end up tossing her onto the bed and ripping her clothes off. Yes, after nearly 15 years of marriage, she still has that effect on me, but I had a nefarious plan in mind that was not conducive to something so hasty.

I cracked open a nice bottle of Malbec that I had picked up earlier on in the week. She went into the bedroom, changed into a satin pajama set in deep burgundy. They were full pajama pants and a short, boxy spaghetti strap top that matched. She had brushed her long dirty blonde hair out and it lifted ever so gently at the tips as she started across the living room to the open concept kitchen. I was mesmerized as she came close, thanked me for pouring her one, picked up the half-filled (we're optimists, mostly) glass and brought it to her lips. She glanced at me over the top of her glass and I took in the scene through a lens that framed just outside her face. The wine happened to match her satiny outfit just about perfectly. Her caramel eyes sparkled and her eyes closed as she turned her head down to put the glass on the mottled beige granite countertop. She turned her eyes up to me put a soft hand under my chin and pressed her pursed lips to mine. We lingered in a closed lipped kiss for a second and then she pressed closer to me and let her lips part a little. The warm wine trickled into my mouth and I drank it in, with her sucking the residue off my lips as the kiss came to a sweet close.

My goodness. She is in an adventurous mood. We moaned our mutual content in the moment.

We talked over the events of the day, sipping away at the delicious ruby wine. About midway through our refilled glasses, she pushed off the counter and spun to walk away from me. I watched how the sheen of the fabric enhanced the fluidity of her curves as she moved across the living room to the couch. She stretched out on the blocky, modern sofa. I came around the other side and took a seat on the matching armchair situated closely perpendicular.

She feigned a pout. "Some reason you're way over there?"

I smiled. "I like the view."

"Oh yeah?" She turned onto her back, drew her legs together and ran her hands up the front of her her shimmering thighs over her partially exposed tummy and then outward to her sides, the backs of her fingertips trailing up to and over her beautiful breasts. Her nipples began to stiffen, as did my dick in response.

"Don't you think you'd like to get a closer look?"

She ran her hands down to her pelvis and pushed them between her thighs, her knees falling away slightly.

I reached down to my own pelvic region and absently ran my thumb over the stiffening bulge in my shorts and continued to observe my sneaky sexy wife tease me, and perhaps herself. "You remember going to Niagara Falls?"

"Uh huh..." Her fingers probed delicately into the vee formed by her increasingly spreading legs.

" Well... it's kinda like that. Sometimes the view is more fully appreciated from a bit of a distance."

"Hmmmm...I see." She closed her eyes and pushed her hands further south, pushed them outwards, wrapping them around her inner thighs and then finally back down to her satin-covered cunny. Fingers circling lightly in just the right places. Apparently the fermented Argentinian grapes were working their subtle magic. She's generally pretty reserved and not expressly exhibitionist. There was the wine for sure, which can take the edge off. But there's always something a little liberating about being in a hotel room, or in this case, a borrowed apartment, that makes us feel a little naughtier than usual.

Now fully, and somewhat painfully erect, I eased myself off the chair and took up a crawling position. I approached slowly and quietly, like a jungle cat, stalking his prey.

She continued to massage her sex, clearly relaxed and enjoying the soft and slippery touch of her fingers through her sleep pants.

I circled around so that I was behind her on the end of the couch where her head was. I brought my hands up and over the arm of the couch. I brought my lips close to her ear and her eyes flicked open.

"Shhhhh... keep your eyes closed."

She acquiesced with a pleasurable sigh.

In my hands, unbeknownst to her, was the black velvet blindfold that I had deviously stashed in the cushion of the armchair that I had just abandoned.

When I placed it on her face she started to bring her hands up, but then relaxed, seemingly deciding to just go with it. This is not the first, nor (God willing) would this be the last, time this woman had been blindfolded at my hands.

This simple, but sexually charged, act usually foreshadows some MFM fantasy play. We've never actually done it but we've explored it playfully, in total safety, in private. She wasn't always comfortable with this brand of play. It took years of repeated subtle introduction of the idea in the throes of passion. I've always been sure to let her know that I had her pleasure at the forefront of the fantasy. I've made sure to let her know that it was completely okay for her to feel turned on by the thought and that she was free to fantasize about the possibility in the moments when she caught someone noticing her. She's warmed to the idea over the years. Her body tells me more than her words ever will. She gets noticeably wetter and more...vigorous...in our lovemaking when we allow ourselves to indulge in this naughty flight of fancy.

I let my hands and fingers wander freely across her torso. The slippery fabric allowed my fingers to glide over her breasts and they involuntarily gently circled and lightly pinched her nipples. My hands pushed the thin straps of her top down over her shoulders and I ran both hands, palms enveloping her fleshy tits taking advantage of the opportunity to lightly twist and pull those perfect nipples. I ran my hands down as far as they could reach. My position on the floor above her head limited my reach to just enough to allow my finger tips to reach the waistband of her silky jammies. I ran my hands firmly back up her tummy, up over her breasts again, up to her shoulders. I began to stand. As I did, I cupped the back of her neck and slid both hands up the back of her head, bringing her long hair out from under her and letting it fan out over the arm of the couch. She exhaled deeply and moaned lightly. I bent down to her ear and whispered, "Don't you fucking move."

She felt my presence fade from her. With her vision disabled by the blindfold, her sense of hearing was heightened and she focused that sense to try to decipher what I was up to.

There was no mistaking the sound of the door to the apartment opening. The heavy sound of the deadbolt sliding open, the soft mechanical sounds of the doorknob being operated. Though the hinges on the door were silent, she had no choice but to assume by the 4 second silence that preceded the sounds she just heard in reverse...that the door had been opened briefly and then closed.

She was aware that she was squarely in the line of sight from the entrance door.

The faint sound of friction as feet made their way across the soft carpet in her direction.

Were there 2 feet still? 4 feet? More??? What was this man up to??? He wouldn't actually...

Hands. Again. This time starting at her feet and working their way slowly up her legs, massaging in long slow strokes along the way. No voices. Just the radiant heat that comes with the close proximity of another body.

Her legs drew closer together as the hands drew closer to her most intimate places. She processed this situation briefly through just a hint of wine induced fog. After a brief internal struggle, she arrived at, "Fuck it. If this is really happening, I'm just going to go with it. We've played with this idea for years...would it really be so wrong??? We're grown ass adults...He obviously wants me to do it...and it does feel good...besides, it's probably just more role play." She was surprised to find that she hoped it wasn't.

She relaxed her thighs enough for her knees to ease apart slowly.

The hands took their cue. Roaming at will. Touching everything, everywhere. In anticipated eventuality, the fingers tugged at the drawstring of her silken bottoms. Followed shortly by a smooth transition to the waistband and a firm downward pressure being applied. This was it.

She knew she'd have to lift her hips to enable their removal, and the ensuing exposure of her sopping pussy. She could refuse and demand to know what was going on or...

She lifted her hips.

The bottoms slid off leaving her bare, freshly trimmed pussy in full display. She couldn't see it, but her juices left her sex glistening in the low light.

Then nothing. No touch. A full minute went by. She picked up the sounds of clothing being removed and cast about. Not gently. They were clearly tossed across the room. But still no contact.

The sound of a cock being stroked to full mast makes a distinctive sound. Especially when there's lube involved.

Gel slicked digits landed softly on her labia. Two fingers, then three. Two spreading her lips and the third running smoothly down into her steamy sex. The fingers were fairly soft, but the lightness of the pressure made it difficult to be sure they were her husband's.

An audible simultaneous intake of breath through slightly clenched teeth. The gel was warmed from the apparent friction that resulted from the previously detected stroking but it was still tepid compared to the heat that she had generated between her soft and substantial thighs.

There was zero attention paid to her stiffened nipples which was unusual...for her husband anyway. He loved to suck and nibble on them before he availed himself to her soft and silky treasures. In fact, her top was still on and her small, but perfect breasts ware still mostly covered. But she supposed that was kind of the point wasn't it? It was supposed to feel different.

She could feel the warmth of his body as it drew closer to her. She tried to sense his orientation, but it didn't feel like he was crawling between her legs.

Hands again. Placed on her inner knees, easing them apart.

The next piece of flesh that came into contact with her was a wide, soft, moistened tongue. Drawn painfully slowly across the folds of her slickened cunt. It parted her lips and lapped gently at her engorged clit. It glided, it darted, it danced and delighted.

She was aching to reach up and caress the body it was attached to, but fearing that she may confirm or deny that this was her husband, she resisted. She decided to enjoy the fantasy. Instead, she used those soft hands to reach down and spread those saturated lips. The tongue responded. Firmer pressure was suddenly applied and an intense sucking began. Her back arched and with her first orgasm, she flooded the mouth from which that delightful tongue protruded.

The body withdrew. She kept her fingers plunged deeply within her. Pulling out only long enough to circle her aching clit.

"Fuck me. Please. Fuck me...whoever you are."

In response to her pleading, she heard more stroking of what promised to be a hot, heavy cock.