This last weekend we had something to celebrate. We got the kids on sleepovers, and booked a hotel downtown by Rittenhouse. We went out to dinner at Devon Seafood Grill, which is not too far from where we live. It’s one of those nice places that although run by some corporate hospitality conglomerate actually feels a little bit more familiar, probably because the staff are locals anyway and the guests are dressed however they want to dress. It’s classy but popular enough to be pleasantly noisy. They have a standard menu that includes some twists on standard seafood fare (ahi tuna, bourbon-maple-glazed plank-roasted salmon) and then very simply prepared, very fresh fish specials.
Anyway, you’re not here for restaurant reviews I’m pretty sure, but it’s nice to be reminded of how little you have to do to really fresh trout–in fact, how little you really should do–for it to be truly great. And to go with it I got a pretty good apple & celery root slaw and some really amazing haricot verts with caramelized onions and roasted pecans. She got the ahi tuna and it was fantastic, too. I don’t remember how they did it, but it wasn’t basic nor was it over the top.
We were dressed up. I was in a slim suit, shirt but no tie and English handmade leather sneakers to schnazz it up without dressing it down. She wore a hot blouse, very nice and classy but also sexy for sure, and these faux leather pants that do justice to her perfect little round ass. Everybody else was just in whatever they were in, you know, if they had just come from work they looked like it, if they were having a late night going out they looked like it, and then of course there were a lot of people you just couldn’t tell why they were dressed or not dressed. Philly is like that. People may dress up but they don’t fret about not dressing up, either. Maybe everywhere is like that now, I don’t know.
There was this one young woman. Let’s call her “A.” We were seated in the front window, and my back was to her as she walked past. And she was in a group that blocked me from getting a good look, but as she went by my wife–let’s call her “Z”–looked up and then looked again, so that got my attention. And then there was this quality in the air as A walked by that suggested a lot of eyes were on her. By the time I could see her clearly she was on the other side of the bar, and she was beautiful and beautifully done up. Glossy black hair pulled back, smoky eye makeup over dark, dark eyes, bright red lipstick on full lips. Owing to the bar I couldn’t see a lot more, but it looked like she was in a classy, clingy dress, and I couldn’t see where the V of its neckline bottomed out. Judging by what I could see, it had to be somewhere south of her breasts.
What I couldn’t see was those breasts, and what I didn’t know is that A and Z had met eyes–Z’s first glance was furtive and she shyly looked away. Then she couldn’t resist a quick second glance, and saw A looking right back at her. Shortly after A went by, Z said “you would have liked to see that.” I knew who she was talking about but not exactly why, so I asked. “Her breasts were big and perky, and her nipples got hard right as she looked at me. I could see them–every detail–through that sheer fabric.”
Well, as you know by now, Z has been pretty clear that she doesn’t want girls. But when I tell erotic stories to her, while she’s coming, at least, she loves them. There’s maybe a taboo there to break, you know, something she wouldn’t feel when sober or something maybe she’s not quite ready to admit to herself, but when she has that sucking machine on her clit and I’m telling her about some other girl worshipping my dick or scissoring Z’s clit, she GETS OFF. And in that moment, when she saw a thoroughly hot stranger getting turned on by her glance, I sensed that some resistance may have cracked a little. I said “Really.” Kind of half as a question and half not. And she said “yeah, and my clit just zinged. I want that girl.”
There was the issue of the group she came in with. Two women, two men. I’m not going to let that stand in my way, but if there’s a way to avoid being a jerk to all of them, I might stand a better chance to convince her to come with us. But what would be my approach? As it turned out, I shouldn’t have worried.
Z went to the bathroom so I took the moment to look over at A. She watched Z walk away (seeing that ass, so I suppose her interest may have jumped up even higher), and got up from her seat, fast. From there I couldn’t see what transpired, but after a minute Z came back and said “she’s coming to our room at midnight. I gave her a dose of tincture.” My mouth dropped open and my eyes must have sparkled. Involuntarily I looked over to where A was, and she was looking right at me. She winked and my cock strained against my low-rise briefs. How am I going to hold this back for two hours? And then Z said “we kissed. Hard. Briefly. I came twice.”
Holy shit. A girl made her come just as easily as I do. I was going out of my mind and the weed wasn’t even close to kicking in. My wife’s pussy, sopping wet from kissing a hot girl in the restaurant bathroom? Oh yeah. She said “let’s pay and get out of here. I want to be completely ready when she arrives.” There was no way I could manipulate a utensil without shaking anyway, so I was OK with skipping dessert.
In the hotel, Z put some effort into dolling herself up. She showered again, she blew out her hair, she raised the sultriness of her makeup. She had brought a few outfits, which surprised me, but I guess she wasn’t sure what her mood would be. There was a not-quite dominatrix-ish black lingerie set with half cups for the bra, a girly pink babydoll, and then a neon pink fishnet bodystocking–full length, from feet to fingers, with very loose netting so no part of her was inaccessible. She picked the black set and some matching kitten heels. So hot, with her ass cheeks raised by the heels, her legs looking dynamite, and her tits all pressed up. I stayed in my suit, but still we turned the room’s heat up anyway to keep her warm. I was going to get undressed soon enough anyway, right?
We started feeling the high kicking in. It hit hard a few minutes before midnight, and I really couldn’t keep my hands off my wife, but she fended me off and said “wait. You’re going to want to save that up for the two of us, and we’re going to want you as lustful and crazed as you can get.” At the stroke of midnight, a gentle knock came at the door and Z opened it to find A, hair down and glamorous, in a gray sweater dress and red stilettos. A was shaking a little … but thrilled, maybe nervous, not scared. It felt reassuring that she didn’t do this all the time. I’m not sure I could manufacture the confidence to get through this with the confidence Z expected if I thought I was the inexperienced one.
A slid into the room and they both came over to me, on the edge of the bed. I turned to A and said “you made my wife come without getting my consent. Now take off that dress and lick her clit while she sucks my cock.” She pulled the dress over her head, revealing a gorgeous, imperfect but perfectly sexy curvy figure and the most beautiful big breasts–also in a half-cup bra, red, hard nipples shining like headlights.
—
I’ll stop there. Almost all of that was a lie. The dinner was real and just as I described. A was real, but we had no contact with her, nor do I think she connected with my wife in any way. What is true is that A was part of the stories I told my wife that night, while we were fucking. I really don’t know exactly why some of these stories work for her; in this one, here are some things that happened:
- A and I fucked in front of Z while she jacked off
- A deepthroated me while Z sat on my face and I chewed her clit
- A scissored Z, their dripping wet pussies sloppy against each other, hands held tight, big hard clit against big hard clit, each of them moaning until they started coming together, over and over (it’s kind of important to some of these stories that the men keep up with me, and the women keep up with her, even though the latter is impossible)
- With both of them on their knees, they fingered each other’s clits while trading off deepthroating my cock, or doubling up on it, two tongues running up and down it and the same time.
- Those two hot 20 year old boys showed up, finally, and the three of them fucked in front of us, then called my wife over for some double penetration.
I think you get the idea; really these are stories for me. But when I’m masturbating my wife’s clit, or she’s using a vibe or sucking machine on it, the stories can send her over the edge. The truth is, in this case, she says she remembers none of it. It always looks to me like she’s hearing and responding to the story, but much of it is clearly just my attitude; the stories get me off, too; their taboo nature makes me a little crazy. She thinks she usually can’t even hear me clearly (there are kids sleeping nearby, so I’m whispering and we usually have a space heater and a white noise machine going) but my demeanor, and my massively rock hard cock, turns her on. But there are other times that I get right up next to her ear, and if I get the story right, that works on her, too. I’ve asked her to write a post to explain this (or about anything), but she doesn’t want to. I might just have to interview her and put that up.
For the record, here is another amazing thing we did last weekend. Maybe not the same night, I’m not sure. I pulled out the dressage whip and zipped her ass with it all over. She got hot and came a couple times. She turned over, and I teased her nipples with it, and gently whipped them, and whipped her underboobs, and she started going a little crazy. With me kneeling on the bed, we turned her back over and laid her across my lap, and I punished her ass with spanking and whipping, alternating with the chain leash, dragging it over her ass, and whipping it against her pussy mound. It was really good–she was coming over and over, machine on her clit, and I was feeling really dominant and loving it. She flinched in pain and arousal, and seemed to be enjoying the submission. I said “you submissive slut, you love to be punished, you nasty girl” and she writhed and panted and loved it, just like I said she did. I said “say thank you.” She said “no” and I said “say it.” She said thank you. I said again, and she said it again, each time I struck her.