Last weekend, Patrick and I decided we'd seen enough of Dallas, and took off for Houston. It was a great trip down, with me giving my loving husband many opportunities to watch as I flirted outrageously with every male we encountered over the two hundred mile trip. I wore my white sun dress, nothing underneath. Whenever we stopped, and I got out of the car, everyone could plainly make out my naked form. My brownish nipples were hard, (as usual) and if the size wasn't enough to call attention to them, the fact that the two brown circles adorning my breasts were visible through the dress certainly did! Of course, you could easily make out my pussy as well. Sometimes I shave it bare, but lately, I've settled for a very short, manicured look. Still, trimmed or not, it was clearly visible. As I walked in high heel sandals, with straps going four inches up my leg, visions of sex slaves quickly came to mind.
As if all this wasn't sexy enough, I kept unbuttoning the top of my dress as we drove, allowing my magnificent breasts to be exposed. My husband enjoyed the view of these two luscious mounds, but then, so did the truckers who kept passing us on I-45. When I pointed out to him that other men were looking at my breasts, he only smiled...and lifted the hem of my dress to expose more of my long tanned legs! Most of the trip, the hem of my dress wasn't more than an inch away from the bottom of my pussy, and for parts of the trip, it wasn't that far! I lost track of how many truckers got a glimpse of my pussy and tits. But I can tell you this...a lot of guys didn't keep their hands on the steering wheel as they drove the Interstate. Patrick says I should be listed as a road hazard, you know...soft shoulders...dangerous curves!.
We got to Houston, my pussy aching. I had begged him to pull over and fuck me a little as we drove, but the most he would do was play with my exposed pussy, usually when we passed an eighteen wheeler. Just when I thought I'd get to come, he'd stop, and adjust the radio, or light a cigarette. Anything but finish me off. Then, a few miles later, he'd start again, first a gentle rub...then the penetrating of his fingers. But he never let me come, though he did comment that he saw a trucker or two that he wouldn't mind letting fuck me. I never had a chance. By the time we reached Houston, I was horny enough to fuck the bell boy in the elevator!
After checking into the hotel, and getting to our room, Patrick sent the bell boy (the same one I'd thought about fucking in the elevator) to get us a newspaper. While he was gone, Patrick started a shower. I watched as he stripped off his clothes and as he turned to go into the bathroom, I stopped him.
"That's such a lovely cock," I said as I stroked it "You wouldn't mind if I just had a taste, would you?" With that, I sank to my knees, and took him into my mouth! Now if there's one thing I do better than fucking, it's cock sucking! As I coated my husband's hardened dick with my spit, he slowly unbuttoned my dress, allowing my braless tits to spill out. As my mouth went up and down his cock, my hard little nips brushed against his leg. I knew he wouldn't last long. As I swallowed the cock I loved best, his hands held my head still as he fucked my mouth like he usually fucks my pussy. In and out, gentle, yet firmly, first slowly, than faster, and then slow again, I prepared for what I knew would soon come; and come in my mouth. I fiercely desired the feel of his cock spurting hot cream all over my face, my breasts, and of course, down my throat!
But that wasn't to be the case right then. A knock on the door told me the bell boy was back with the paper. With a twinkle in his eyes, Patrick pulled his cock from my mouth and asked, "You want to answer it, or shall I?"
Before I could answer, he lifted my to my feet, turned me toward the door, and swatted my bottom. I guess he wanted me to get the door. He watched as his wife, her dress opened to her waist, her firm 38DD tits plainly outside the confines of the dress, my nipples hard as .38 bullets Opened the door, and faced the young bell boy. In my sweetest manner, I took the paper, and left the door open as I turned to pick up my purse. As the bell boy looked in the room, he could clearly see Patrick standing there, his cock rock hard, still wet with the juices from my mouth. I made no effort to hurry, in fact, after I looked inside my purse, I set it down, walked over to Patrick's pants, which were bunched around his feet, and withdrew his billfold.
