I’m writing again so soon because I’m trying to catch up with yesterday, because it was so awful doing it alone. Not the fucking, that was fantastic even though Rog wasn’t there.
It’s almost like I got the scary unusual part of that out of my system last weekend in the minibus, and though it was only one evening, I have now shagged a dozed guys without Rog being there, so now it’s a novelty still, and a very nice one, but not strange or discomforting.
We’d talked about it of course, me doing the Italian in private, so I knew Rog would be okay with it, but because I made my mind up on the spur of the moment and because he was stuck in a meeting, I didn’t have a chance to talk to him about it, so I sent him a text saying I was so gagging for that huge cock I’d gone to the wine bar to get it in me, which I thought would be fun for him when he was sitting there discussing taxation with a load of boring Germans. He was very excited actually. Wait till you read his blog.
But there were other firsts last night: misbehaving locally, pulling a man and fucking him, in a place we go to a lot. I know that was risky, but the fact that Rog was away made it less so. Lots of wives have a moment of excitement while their hubby’s away on biz and I know a couple on our village who have. One of them does it all the time, as soon as he gets further than Warrington. So even if I was found out, people will think it’s a one-of, and it doesn’t mean exposing our whole way of life.
And it was another first, fucking someone we know. He doesn’t know our address, but he knows us well enough to find out easily if he wanted to, if he wanted to show up on the doorstep during the day, when Rog is at work, for example. We see him and talk to him often, as a couple and alone. He’ll have to chat about the weather to Rog, all the time thinking about what it was like to fuck Roger’s wife, and never knowing that Rog knows what he’s done and how. In detail. More than that, he knows our friends, and has spoken to them with the smell and taste of my pussy on his breath.
Rog says if he does tell anyone what we did, even as many as a dozen people, only 50 per cent would believe him, and of that 50 per cent another 50 per cent would be women who would not only understand why I did it, they’d be jealous. The other 50 per cent would be men and jealous of him because he’s got a big cock and was lucky enough to fuck me with it, and so no-one would really care.
Hmmm.
But anyway it was all new and exciting, and in the same way as sitting in the wine bar naked was a nerve-jangling risk that made my pussy wet, the idea of him telling people what I did and what he did somehow seems to be very exciting and very wettening. In fact if I was judging just by the way my pussy reacted to that thought, I’d have to say I’d really like him to tell people he’s fucked me, because I want them to know I took my clothes off and came in the wine bar naked so I could lure him outside and open my legs for him. Thing is, I’m basically a show-off, and doing something like that is ten or fifteen times as good if lots of people know about it.
On the other hand, what made me REALLY wet was knowing I had gone there with the sole intention of getting fucked and knowing that I was going to get fucked, and probably by the biggest cock I’ve seen in years. I say probably because I was SO desperate for a fuck that if he hadn’t said yes I would have had to get someone else to do it, even if it meant driving down to Picadilly and selling myself round Fairfield St for fifty quid a go.
And the reason I’ve thought of that at this precise moment is because while I was being pleasured by my huge Italian sausage, Rog was in a hooker bar in Germany. Well, I say hooker bar, but it was table dancing on the ground floor, and if you ask nicely, hookers in the private bar upstairs, some of whom were the dancers from downstairs.
Listening to him talk about these girls stripping off and showing their pussies to men in suits was very rude and horny, and I’ll own up and say that it made me want to do it, because I’d loved being naked in a room full of fully dressed people the other night when all I had on was coat and boots and stockings, and the idea of doing it professionally, of HAVING to be naked for anyone who wants, is really very thrilling.
And the idea of fucking random strangers for money has always had a knicker-wettening appeal for me, as you may know.
Anyway. Roger and I both had a fuck yesterday, so that was okay, and then I made myself horny all over again by telling Rog that once was not enough and that I wanted it again. He says I can have it, and I’ve promised he can watch next time.
Which is another first, meeting someone more than once, but on this occasion we made an exception because Rog hadn’t seen it and Marco’s cock is so big he really ought not to miss it, and it’s so big that I really have got to have it again, and soon. The thought of sitting down on it and feeling it spread me open and spear right up inside makes my toes curl and my pussy dribble.
In the shower this morning I shaved it all perfectly bald for him, put on my flimsiest white knickers, so see through I may as well not have bothered, and a shortish flared black skirt I really enjoy flashing in. Went to the wine bar to give him a good look at what he should be pining for but he wasn’t working. That’s why he said tonight, of course, for our first meeting. Damn!
Manchester’s amateur blackmailer was in, though, drinking with his golfing buddies, so I picked a moment when he was the only one looking and gave him a nice long look at the goodies, and then left, smiling. It made me suddenly very much wetter, and really uncomfortably horny. My pussy swelled open so much it felt as if a large thick cock had just given it a good long fuck and pulled out a second earlier.
I walked to the car very carefully, drove to a big outlet mall and tried on clothes and shoes, but hardly any luck with handsome young male assistants even being IN the shops, never mind admiring the view. So I went in a pub, texted back to blackmail central when he thanked me for the earlier look at my knickers and told him he’d missed his chancce and I was showing them to someone else because I was at the time flashing some lads, but they were watching footy and hardly noticed, thought it made me so wet I didn’t really care, and the nudging stares that did come my way were more than enough to keep me simmering..
I went to a country park that’s well known for dogging, but the weather was crap and I was the only person there, so I took my knickers off, pushed the buttons and sent the seat right back and almost fully reclined, and gave myself a two-fingered orgasm in about 90 seconds, the rain hammering on the roof louder than my gasps and screams. Then I drove back to the shops and tried on some shoes, made a harmless old fellow go purple and almost pass out when he came face to face with my wet and oozing knickers, and finally found a jeans shop with no one in it except me and a young lad.
I took a pair I knew would be too small into the changing room (just a curtain) , took off my skirt and knickers and crammed myself in, and came out with the waist open and the zip right down, and I knew he could see a bit of blonde fuzz, because he was staring at it all the time I was asking him about shrinkage in the wash.
After about five minutes of very pointed conversation and hinting (I even had to take his hand and make him feel my bum to see if he thought they’d fit better after a wear and a wash), I got him to ‘help ‘ me check the fit round the front as well, and got an unsatisfactory hand between my legs for half a second which made it all worse not better. So I came home and spent an hour locked in my bedroom finding the perfect vibrator, but although it made me scream aloud twice, it’s not the same. I want cock, not plastic, and at this rate I may have to go out tonight and get it. It’s not even six o’clock yet, so there’s plenty of time.
No Comments Yet
No comments yet.
Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI
Leave a comment
