The Whoring Housewife

THE WHORING HOUSEWIFE

By Jacqueline1608

There was a young lady of Pinner,

Whose hubby came home to his dinner;

And guess what he saw

As he opened the door? -

The arse of the man who was in her.

My hubby, Lance, was the manager of an art gallery, which included paintings, sculptures, ceramics and photographs. I suspected that he was a bit of a pansy, because he was very much more taken with the male nude sculptures and photos than with a beautiful Venus which was on permanent display. In bed he usually preferred the rear entry, going the shitty route for his carnal satisfaction. In the beginning that was sufficient for me, but I craved cock in my cunny, because I had screwed around quite a lot before Lance and I got our fucking permit from the magistrate, so I knew very well what I was missing.

It was about fifteen months after we got married that an old schoolfriend of mine, Ronel Smith, called me. She was staying over for a few days in a posh hotel in the city centre and begged me to join her for lunch. I gladly accepted because Ronel had always been a good friend and we had stayed in contact. I think I had hinted to her a bit about my sex problems, but that was several months earlier. Now she was in town and we could have a real, intimate girl-to-girl chat. She was still unattached, so I was keen to hear about her sex life.

We were to meet at noon in the ladies' bar of the hotel and I was there at the appointed time. Ronel was a few minutes late, but I had ordered a martini and scanned the bar. There were two gents sitting at a table for four; they looked like salesmen, but could just as well have been young executives - I don't pretend to be a judge of types. I only became aware of Ronel when she quietly slipped onto the high stool next to me and tapped the counter for service. We kissed and exchanged greetings.

'So what brings you to Cape Town?' I asked.

'The cuisine, really.'

'Seafood?'

'That's part of it.'

'And the rest?'

The bartender had arrived meanwhile, and she placed her order for a Savannah Dry. It gave me a chance to look at her dress. She was an athletic girl with a nice bust and legs, sort of 37-24-38 you know, and she was wearing an outfit which accentuated her charms, which means that much of the 37 was exposed to view and her dress hugged the 24 and 38 so closely you could trace the outline of her quarter-cup bra and string panties without straining yourself. She had a small handbag slinging from her shoulder, from which she produced cash to pay for her drink. While talking to me - catching up on the threads of our lives which you don't normally share on the phone - I noticed that she was looking intently at the mirror behind the bar. After a while she winked at me and said, 'We are in luck.' With that, she parted her legs so that you could fit a school ruler between her knees and swung around on the stool, facing the two gentlemen who were approaching the counter.

She smiled at me and whispered, 'Food is being served, honey.'

The gents politely asked whether they could join us, and Ronel consented; I was unsure of how to proceed, but I could spot the red string panties cutting into Ronel's cunt Ronel, and I supposed the gents saw that too because of the bulge in their pants. I was wearing a very staid pencil skirt and a matching blouse, but there was a strange tingling in my veins. The John Wayne lookalike chose the stool next to Ronel and the other guy, who could have been Dustin Hoffman, sat down next to me.

We chatted and had another round of drinks. John soon has his hand between Ronel's thighs and I felt myself getting randier by the minute, but the pencil skirt did not allow much space for a male hand; the only solution was to surreptitiously pull up the skirt so I could part my legs and let Dustin smell my oozing quim. He watched me while he told a dirty joke and, when I laughed and opened my legs, he took the que and the next moment his hand went in between my thighs and brushed over my crotch, then brought his hand to his face, and winked at me.

John then suggested that we move to his suite - a suite, mind you, not just a room - and order lunch, as it was now almost one o'clock. I wasn't sure if I should accept the invitation, but Ronel squeezed my thigh and winked while licking her lips suggestively.

We took the lift to the fifth floor. John had his big hand on Ronel's bum and was gently caressing it; I did not have to be a mind reader to know what he had in mind! Dustin had his hand under my dress fondling my arse, so I parted my legs and, as the lift doors opened, his hand slid down further and touched my cunt briefly. The tingling was now definitely in my loins.

John showed us the menu and we ordered lunch, whereupon he suggested that we 'get comfortable'. I followed Ronel's lead: she undid her top and John helped her to remove it, then he unclasped her bra: her full-round boobs were already perky with excitement. He started kissing her cheeks and ears and then the mouth while his hands wandered to and fro over her breasts, while Dustin helped me to get my blouse and bra off. Our skirts followed shortly after that, but we were still in our undies when lunch arrived. We ate sitting at the round table, the gents now in their underpants, Ronel and I in our panties.

The food was lovely, but Ronel asked, 'What's for dessert?'

John laughed lecherously. 'What about hair pie with eggs and sausage?'

She laughed too and patted her quim. 'That should have been for starters. I was hoping for a real piece of meat. We are hungry, you know!'

'We'll come to that, my girl, but first I'm going to eat out your cunt, just to get your heat up.'

They were still talking when Dustin stretched himself out on the king-size bed and motioned to me to come and kneel over him for a sixty-nine. Oh, Jesus, I was creaming myself just at the thought, and when he started sucking on my clit, I could hold it no longer and squirted as I climaxed. That spurred him on, so his tongue started pistoning in my twat while his roamed all over, squeezing my boobs and thighs, or running a finger up and down my bum cleft. Meanwhile I was working on his dick, licking and sucking and jerking, till he started humping, then I speeded up the motion and took his shot in the mouth. Next to us Ronel and John were also in the throes of ecstasy, yelling and egging on one another till they both went over the top.

Ronel slid off her man to fumble in her slingbag, took out two condoms and gave me one, winking. I winked back. I coaxed Dustin's boner back, slipped the FL on and went down on him. By now we were both so fucking randy he didn't need a pilot light, just went into me and started fucking in earnest. His dick was just about 6 inches, but he had an excellent technique and I had two orgasms before he exploded in me, both of us now shouting our heads off.

We had dessert after this and then John swopping partners. Oh, god, I had another wonderful orgasm because John was fucking me slowly and it really built up the tension in me to a marvellous crescendo. This was followed by an awesome foursome, with Dustin's prick in my mouth again, and John's long schlong fanning my fanny while his balls were beating against my bum. Ronel meanwhile had a finger in both male arses, causing them a double climax. It was tremendous!

At four o'clock we finally cleaned ourselves up and dressed again. I was ready to leave when the two gents produced their wallets and started counting out the money. God, I realised, I had been whoring all afternoon! Dustin shoved the thick wad into my hand and kissed me in the neck. 'You were fucking astounding, Jeannette!'

Ronel and I took the lift down to the foyer. The doorman opened the door for us and I caught him winking. Ronel tipped him and he hailed a taxi.

'Was that what you meant by the cuisine?' I asked when we were on our way to our home.

'Nice, isn't it?'

'But it's prostitution!' I was still blushing at the thought.

'Jean, you enjoyed it, didn't you?'

I nodded.

'All right. Don't think of it as payment, but rather as a bonus. There was no mention of money when they picked us up in the bar, and their money was actually a gift for the pleasure we had given them. What is more, your hubby is in all likelihood getting his real thrills from sucking arseholes and getting arse-fucked, so you should not have any feelings of guilt.'

'Okay, if you put in that way.'

'You could always leave - divorce - him, you know.'

'I love him, Ronel, and he's been good to me. He's always gentle and appreciates the little things I do. I don't want to hurt him. He's given me a good home.'

'That's fine, if you feel that way. Perhaps you should play open cards with him, to avoid guilt feelings and recriminations when he finds out that you're cheating.

Ronel tapped the driver on his shoulder. 'Take us to La Boutique in St George's Street, please, and then wait for us.' That was to buy some lingerie with my harlot's wages.

Louis was very understanding and gracious about the new arrangement; he confessed that he had had guilt feelings about his gayness. 'I don't mind if you get laid elsewhere, honey, as long as you don't mind me screwing the boys

Three days later Ronel and I were back in the hotel. I had a slingbag and was wearing a miniskirt over the newly acquired lacy bra and split-bottom panties. We were in business.