I heard the outside door knock, and I felt sick deep down. I had palpitations and a giddiness that could only be described as a sickness due to my willingness to do what I was about to do, as my hand reached for the lock to turn it.
I am married eight years into what some people might call, a swinger’s dream. I am completely naked and the man knocking on my front door, has been waiting until my husband left, now he is here to have me and fill the void vacated by my husband, fuck me in my marital bed and satisfy my lusting for men, something I have perfected all the way back to my marital night, when the best man took me as my husband lay u*********s, in our bridal suite, he did the honers, and opened my eyes to the joys of extra marital sex.
I could hear the music still playing way down in the function suite, as I lay in a provocative pose on the bed, awaiting my nuptial consummation, just as soon as my husband got here.
I marvelled at the silkiness of the stockings and the garter belt holding them in place on my long legs. The fact I was not wearing underwear, was something I used to thrill myself as a young girl, when I accidentally discovered my nudity being watched by a perfect stranger, who was masturbating some ways off, as I undressed.
There was something powerful in the way he responded as I saw him, and yet continued, until all my clothes lay on the ground and I stood full frontal until I could see the whiteness of his cum shoot out, and land on the ground just in front of me.
The fact he had run off was due to my age, which was a shame really, as I walked over to where he had planted his seed, and squatted down on it, and played with myself, as it came into contact with my labia. I was pre ten, and already knew what turned me, and all the men I have had, since then, on.
I opened the door little by little, feeling the cool morning air make my nipples rock hard, adding to the excitement coursing through my nude body.
‘Emma’, he whispered, in the darkness of my porch, as I had left the light off. My living room was in darkness also, so as I opened the door fully, I could feel my knees buckle, and a small surge in my groin told my I having difficulty in holding my pee in, as it pooled down my inner thigh and puddled at my feet, my knees were knocking.
I was s*******n when I married, and my lithe body had been gearing up for this night for months, each of us denying each other, for one reason only, to make my pregnant on the night of our betrothal.
I heard the key card swipe in the door, as it beeped, and I lay back with my legs open wide so nothing could be missed, especially the wetness I had been enduring, was open to all to see.
When the door opened the best man stumbled into the room, seemingly, his eyes glued between my legs, from the moment he set eyes on my.
My husband fell to the floor as the best man released his grip, and he mumbled something incoherent, as he lay in a heap at the best man’s feet.
History was repeating itself, like it did on that first day with the man masturbating to me, as I showed him, now it was the best man’s turn, only this time, he was taking his cock out to fuck me, as I lay there, with my legs wide apart, awaiting my consummate penetration.
For two hours the best man did the bridal honers, and did not disappoint me. We continued our affair for many years, and would have for many more, but by then, he had had enough, he was struggling to keep two women happy, his wife none the wiser he was bare-backing me at my will.
Since it ended, I sought that kind of sex over the intervening years, making it easy for men to have me, by placing myself in places where those kind of men looked, for sluttiness and women of low moralistic upbringings.
What surprised and excited them most about me, was how refined and beautiful I was.
One such occasion was when I answered a ridiculous advert in a sex magazine in a local swingers section in Edinburgh, ‘Symbian for hire’.
Back then the American sex machine was getting rave reviews, and there were relatively few machines in Scotland, let alone in my fair city.
I was lonely and had been drinking and feeling the need for some good sex. My husband was away doing a 30/30 rotation in Aberdeen, so feeling fruity and naughty, I called the number of the owner, called Frank.
I introduced myself with my own name, ‘Is this Frank, hi Frank, I’m Emma, I’m calling about your ad in the swingers section of that particular magazine’.
I think Frank was taken aback, and better still, I was probably one of very few women who would have the balls to call about a sex machine.
‘What do you charge for hire Frank’, I asked him, ‘and do you deliver’, I added, getting into my stride?
‘No Emma’, he replied, still unsure if this was a wind-up or a genuine caller, but pleased to be talking to a woman just the same.
‘The women come here and use it under my supervision’, he added, his breathing sounded laboured.
‘Do you get to play too Frank’, I asked him?
He went silent as my querie sunk in. ‘Are you from a newspaper’, he asked, suddenly frightened?
‘No Frank, just a bored ordinary housewife wanting some fun’, I answered him truthfully.
So I went round to Franks house down Portobello, and when he saw me, he almost dropped, he was a man of small stature, old and smelt a bit, there was sleaze everywhere, and when he showed me the ‘Symbian’, I just said, ‘I will use it’, and handed him the control box, the next hour Frank gave me orgasms I find hard to replicate even today, unless they are bordering on the edge.
Another unusual encounter happened by accident. One lunchtime I had decided to have a pub lunch in a local bar, and whilst there, got chatting with a hotel guest.
A few wines later and I was fucking up in his room. This happened a few times, but had not gone unnoticed by the barman, who asked me outright one afternoon, when it was quite, ‘You look for company most days’?
He quite rightly thought I was a working girl, charging for my services. When I told him I was just a woman who enjoyed good sex, he hit me with a strange proposition.
He showed me a piece of paper with room numbers on it, ‘These are men wanting prostitutes, and I direct them to them’.
‘Hitting on the old barman for a good time Charlie’, I asked him ruefully, ‘Nice pocket earner’, I added, but he shook his head.
‘I don’t need the money’, he said, then added without a moments hesitation, ‘Dirty underwear, freshly soiled knickers’.
I smiled, I had read about men who were ‘Cream-Pie Junkies’, men who licked their wives pussies once they had been cummed in.
‘So I fuck them and give you my dirty underwear’?
He nodded in agreeance, as did I, what a fucking weird setup, but for me it ticked all the boxes of turn-on’s in my book.
Again, it was taking me all the way back to the man who got off watching me, and as it panned out, there was more as I experienced it all over again.
I came down from the room he had directed me too. I could feel the semen running into the crotch of my panties, as I positioned myself at the small entrance to the bar, at the far end.
As he watched me, I slipped of my soiled panties and handed them to him. He took them, and opened them up as I watched, then he dropped down from view and drew his tongue across the gusset and scoop the semen into his mouth, and swallow.
He then walked to the other end of the bar, which was deserted of customers, although there were people still sitting about, too out his erection and began jacking off into my panties.
This was too much for me to watch without response, so I hiked my own dress up and fingered myself as we watched each other masturbate in public.
He came as I did, and he came into a wine glass, which he brought to me, with his fresh cum in the bottom. He put the wine glass down in front of me, ‘Drink it’, he ordered, and I picked it up, and put it under my nose, and smelt the unmistakable aroma of fresh semen.
I cradled the glass in my hands, feeling the warmth of his semen through the glass. There were a few drops of the very viscous yellowish fluid on the edge, so I drew my tongue across and let it rest on my palate, ‘Yummy’, I said, naughtily.
He came across with the bottle of wine and filled the glass, into which I inserted my finger and swirled it about to mix both fluids, then downed it in one, feeling his semen settle deep inside my body.
‘This is your thing’, I asked him, as he refilled my glass, ‘Every time’, he added, and at that moment, a new experience was opened, to enhance my sex life.
Eventually through time, we had by mutual consent extended my needs to early morning house calls, when I was at my horniest, he would phone for the OK and a time, which was very important, as my husband had a new job in the city, and it was one out, and a new one in, timing was critical, being caught gave sex an edge.
He was on top of me and inside me fucking, the front door had not been closed, this was good sex, as my legs went around the small of his back. I moaned out loud, ‘Fuck me’.