A few months ago, my wife Karen and I were invited to a holiday party that was thrown by my boss. It was the beginning of the holiday season, and we were eager to go to a nice party, even though it was going to be mostly attended by my coworkers.

Karen and I had only been married a few years ago, after we met in college and fell in love, and we discovered very quickly in our relationship that I loved showing her off. Karen has a beautiful face and a gorgeous “girl next door” body, thin and curvy in all the right places but without looking like a plastic centerfold. Her crowning glory is her breasts, which were a small C-cup and were as perky and full as they had been in college, and were topped by perky pink nipples.

It turns me on to watch other guys stare at her, and Karen has indulged me by wearing tight dresses and low-cut tops. Once during the summer we took a trip to the south of France, and Karen even went to far as to take off her bikini top and sunbathe topless. Even jaded French tourists who had seen naked tits all day stopped and gawked at my wife’s gorgeous breasts.

But around our own friends Karen is more reserved, and that meant that when we were home she won’t show off or tease as much. Sometimes if we’re at a bar or an event where we don’t know anyone, she’ll wear a blouse that gapes open and will bend over a lot and let guys see down her shirt and get a glimpse of her nipples, but usually she’s too concerned about her reputation to do anything more.

For the holiday party, Karen decided to wear a tight skirt and a wrap-around top. She had worn it to tease guys before, because It looked conservative, but if she bent over or twisted to her side it could open up unpredictably, and if she wasn’t wearing a bra you could get a peak at her tits. But tonight she wrapped the top tightly.

I was a little disappointed, but then again these were all my coworkers, so it probably wasn’t a smart idea to have them see my wife in a compromising position. So I swallowed it and we headed off to the party.

My boss’s house was much bigger than I thought it would be, almost a mansion, and when we arrived there we were ushered past a large foyer and several big rooms before reaching the party room. It was large and filled with lots of people, many of them my work colleagues and their spouses. Holiday decorations were everywhere, including mistletoe on every doorframe.

Karen and I began to mingle and chat with the other guests. The drinks were flowing freely and after a while everyone seemed to be tipsy, and some even a little drunk. A lot of the women were also becoming a little flirty, which I was happy to see. There were many cute wives who were wearing sexy dresses, and I was happy to sit back and ogle them as they wiggled and danced around.

I lost track of Karen for a while, and when we met up again she had clearly been drinking a little.

“Are you having fun?” I asked her.

“I am!” she said. “But some of your coworkers are a little aggressive, sweetie.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Well, some of them are getting a little touchy. I’ve had more than a few hands brush my rear and a couple even graze across my boobs. That one guy you know, Brad, even tried to get me under the mistletoe and kiss me!”

That wasn’t surprising. I knew Brad had the hots for Karen ever since he had met her.

“Did you let him?” I asked.

“Well,” she hesitated. “Kind of. It was just a quick peck. You don’t mind, do you, honey? It’s just a little kiss, it didn’t mean anything. He’s just being a flirt.”

I smiled. “I don’t mind, it’s okay,” I said.

She grinned. “Come find me later, I’ll make it up to you,” and left.

I spent the next forty-five minutes wandering around. To be honest, I wasn’t that mad at Karen because I was being a little aggressive myself. One of my coworkers at the party, Christine, was an especially cute pixie-looking girl, with a short blonde hairstyle and a lean dancer’s body. I had managed to get her under one of the mistletoe and kissed her. She didn’t resist and even brushed her hand across my groin before she giggled and stumbled off. Another girl, I think her name was Mary, was very tolerant of people grabbing her bubble-butt, so I helped myself a couple of times too.

When I saw Karen walk up to me again, I immediately noticed that her top was tied much more loosely than it had been at the beginning of the night. Her cleavage was much more exposed, and it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. It looked like if she moved too much she would expose a lot more.

Karen saw where I was looking and whispered in my ear, “I’m showing off for you!”

“Have you been getting into trouble?” I said.

“Only a little,” she said. “I know these are your coworkers, so I’m not being too naughty. But some of the guys were definitely trying to get a peek at my boobies. That friend of yours, Tom, wasn’t even hiding it! He was staring so hard I felt sorry for him and bent over so he could see more. I may have shown too much, I think he got to see my whole breast!”

That made me smile a little. Tom was the uptight guy in our department, so knowing how desperate he was to see my wife’s tits was amusing. I assured Karen that I didn’t mind a little flashing and that it probably made Tom’s night. We soon parted again and I spent some more time flirting with other girls and chatting about work with some guys in my department and my boss.

Soon after I noticed that most of the girls had disappeared from the party. A few minutes later they poured out of a room and began to spread out to talk to their husbands. Karen walked up to me. She was bright-eyed with lust and excitement.

“Honey, the wives all want to play a game, but I’m a little worried.”

“What game?” I said.

“It’s called Strip Mistletoe,” she said. “The husbands all strip down naked and stand underneath a piece of mistletoe. The wives have to parade around and when the lights turn off, they have to stand underneath one of the mistletoe with one of the husbands. When the lights come back on, whichever wife isn’t underneath a mistletoe loses an article of clothing.”

“Wow!” I said. “That sounds really fun. Don’t you want to play?”

“Well, one of the girls was telling me that the husbands all try to get really frisky during this game. Like when the lights are off, they feel up the wives and even try to get their hands in our panties. Are you sure that’s what you want? I mean, these are your coworkers. Are you sure you won’t mind if they try to feel up your wife’s boobs?”

That did stop me for a second. Showing off a little was one thing, but was I okay with these guys I knew groping my wife? But the idea still sounded hot to me, so I nodded. “It’s fine with me, babe. Just do what you feel comfortable with.”

“Okay!” she said. “And you’re not just saying that because you want to feel up any of the wives yourself, are you?”

“Of course not!” I lied. “I just want to see you show off for me.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I volunteered you to be the odd-husband-out. You’ll just turn the lights on and off and take off the article of clothing.”

That was disappointing. I was really hoping to grope Christine a bit more. But at least I’d get to undress her, while also seeing my wife strip down and show off her body. So I agreed.

After a bit more crowd murmuring, everyone moved into the party room, where mistletoe had been set up all over the ceiling. The room had a lot of furnishing in it, which was a little surprising to me, since I didn’t see how people could rush around in the dark without running into tables or chairs.

All the guys except for me quickly stripped naked and found a piece of mistletoe to stand under. The girls all got in the center and started wandering around while the boss’s wife, Jennifer, who was a twenty-something trophy wife, put on some Christmas music and told me to keep the lights off for about a minute to give the wives time to find someone in the dark. I took my spot at the entrance to the room with light switch.

As Jennifer explained the rules to everyone, Karen walked up to me and kissed me hard on the mouth. “Honey, do you want me to be the first to lose an article of clothing? I can do that for you if you want!”

She seemed so hot with anticipation I reflexively agreed. “Yes, baby, be the first to lose.”

“Are you sure?” she said. “What if I lose my top? I’m not wearing a bra! Your coworkers will see me topless. Are you okay with that? All of these guys you work with every day, they’ll see your wife’s bare breasts! They’ll know exactly what my boobs look like, and you won’t be able to change that once it happens!”

“I’m fine with it,” I whispered back. “I want you to lose your top and show off your naked tits for me.”

She grinned and headed back to the circle of girls. Jennifer shouted “go” and the wives started wandering around. I noticed that several of them were staying close to their husbands, hoping to jump into their arms when the lights went off, but some of the more adventurous ones were wandering toward other guys.

After a few seconds, I shut the lights off. The main lights went down, but there were so many Christmas lights and electric holiday candles on that you could still see fairly easily in the dim light. There was a general shriek from the girls as they started to scramble around. Karen, I could see, made it a point not to find someone.

After a minute, I turned the lights back on. Karen was still in the center and cried a good-hearted “Oh no!”

Jennifer shouted from across the room. “Karen loses! Go to the light-switcher and tell him what you want him to take off.”

Karen walked up to me and winked so that no one could see. “I guess I’ll lose my top!” she said.

I grabbed the sides of her top and pulled them apart. Karen had loosened them enough already so that they fell away in my hands. In a swift motion I pulled it off Karen and she spun around to face the room. Everyone burst into cheers as her full naked breasts and pink puffy nipples were completely exposed. Karen had a wide grin and was blushing, which made her naked chest and flat tummy look even hotter.

The girls all got in the center of the room again and started wandering around. Every guy, all of my coworkers, were staring open-mouthed at my beautiful topless wife as her tits jiggled and bounced as she proudly walked around the room. Sometimes she would look back at me and smile, but mostly she was too wrapped up in the attention all the guys were giving her.

I turned the lights off again, and there was another commotion. This time Karen found her way to Brad. A lounge chair blocked most of my view, but I could see that the second she reached him his hands immediately went her tits. She turned her back was to him, and let him freely grope and maul her breasts.

When I turned the lights on, Mary came to the center and asked me to take off her shoes. I complied and got a chance to feel up her legs a bit. When I looked over at Karen she was leaning back into Brad, with her eyes half-closed in pleasure while he pinched and pulled her nipples.

The game went on like this for several more rounds. It was a real turn-on for me to strip down some of the wives, who let me feel them up as I took off their clothing. One wife was down to her bra and another were walking around in just a blouse and their panties. But the husbands under the mistletoe were the ones having most of the fun. They got more and more aggressive on each round, feeling up the girls and even putting her hands under their blouses and dresses.

But all the attention was still on Karen, who was the only one who was topless. She made sure to be with a different guy on each round, and even through the dim lights I could see how they eagerly groped her tits. Some of the guys she stood chest-to-chest and let them grope her all over, but with most of them she turned her back to them and pushed her ass into their groins as they fondled her tits and tummy. One round I saw her with John, a guy in the cubicle across from me at work, who seemed the whole time to be groping her ass under her skirt. The whole time she had an erotic, hot look on her face that turned me on even more.

After the next round Karen lost again. When she walked up to me she whispered, “Honey, I think I may have gone a little too far,” and lifted up her skirt. Her panties were torn in pieces, and hanging off one of her thighs. Her pussy was red and soaked.

She saw my look of surprise and confessed. “That was John. When I stood next to him, he turned me around and put his hands under my skirt. He ripped my panties a bit and pushed them to the side. and. . . and. . .”

“…and what?” I insisted.

“Well, he pushed his thing up in me, sweetie. He pushed his big thing up inside my cooch and just me rocked back and forth with it inside me while he groped my boobs. I didn’t know what to do! I wanted to stop him, I swear. But it felt really good and the lights were dim, so I thought it would be okay if I let just one of your coworkers fuck me for a little bit. Is that okay, honey? I know you wanted me to be naughty and show off, so it’s okay if I let the guys you work with fuck me a little bit, too, right?”

That was shocking to me. I was fine with them seeing Karen topless and even naked, and feeling her up a little bit, but actually fucking my wife? But something else suddenly struck me.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘the guys’? You said it was just John,” I said.

She hesitated. “Well, at first it was. But maybe some of the other husbands noticed, I don’t know, but after him they all started trying to push their cocks up inside my cooch. Every guy I got under the mistletoe with reached under my skirt and ripped my panties a bit more and then stuck his thing up inside me. Even your boss did! He was so eager that I think he even squirted his cum up inside me!”

She looked at my reluctant expression. “But that’s okay, right honey?” she whispered. “That’s what you always wanted, isn’t it? You wanted your hot naughty wife to tease all your coworkers and show off her boobs for them and let them fuck her a little bit?”

My hesitation faded away. The way she was saying it turned me on even more, and now that she had already fucked several of the guys, it wasn’t going to get any worse.

“Let me take these off and make it a little easier,” I whispered back, and ripped off her panties completely.

“I love you!” she fiercely whispered back, and joined the group of women again.

On the next round, Karen ended up with Brad again. I watched as he immediately bent her over the back of the nearby chair and seemed to stick his cock into my wife’s cunt. In the dim light I could see Karen’s mouth drop open as my coworker who’s had a crush on her for years pumped his dick in and out of her while he fondled her tits.

When the lights came on, Christine walked up to me and asked me to remove her bra. “Let’s pretend this didn’t happen at work tomorrow,” she said and smiled.

I smiled and unclasped her bra, and took a few seconds to grope her small perky breasts. As I did, I looked around. Most of the wives were getting groped very heavily, and some looked like they were also being fucked by the guy they were with. But my real attention was on my wife and Brad, who kept on pumping into her and didn’t even seem to care that the lights were on. Most of the husbands were focused on the girl they were with, but many of them still kept looking over to see Karen’s round tits bouncing and wobbling as Brad pounded into her.

On the next round Karen lost again and walked up to me. “Honey, I want to be the first naked. Okay? I want all your coworkers to see me my bare boobs and bush and watch me walk around totally naked in front of them. I want you to see me showing off for you and watch them grope my boobies and fuck me. You want to see that, right? You want to see all the guys you work with stare at your naughty naked wife and feel up her boobies and stick their cocks inside her?”

“Yes, baby,” I said. “Go show off for me.” She grinned and announced to the room that she was going to lose her skirt. I pulled it down and my wife stepped out of it, completely naked in front of all my coworkers. Everyone could now see my wife’s full naked tits, her flat stomach and her trimmed bush. Karen walked back to the center of the room and paraded around, grinning as everyone ogled the most private parts of her body.

As hot as it was, I was a little conflicted. These guys were people I knew and saw everyday. My wife was someone they occasionally saw at social events or when she met me at the office, and now they were all watching her naked and even getting a chance to fuck her. What was it going to be like at the company from now on, working with all these guys who had seen me wife naked and had fucked her?

I pondered this even more over the next few rounds, as Karen made sure to get with every guy. During one round I saw her again with my boss, who in the dark was bending her over a table and looked to have his cock inside her. Another time she was with a guy closer to me, who went so far as to stand her up against a wall and fuck her against it. She made eye contact with me and shyly grinned as she grabbed his ass and drove him into her pussy even further. I don’t think I’ve ever been harder watching my wife smiling at me while her tits bounced with the rhythm of another guy pounding into her.

After a few more rounds, the girls were all totally naked. Many of them looked like they had been fucked at least once, but some of them were clearly resisting anything more than just groping. Only Karen looked like she had let all the guys do anything they wanted.

After another hour of playing with all the wives naked, we decided to call it quits. Karen and I accepted an invitation to sleep over and I quickly pulled her into the bedroom. As soon as we got in, she pulled my clothes off and started stroking my cock.

“Did you have fun tonight, sweetie? You’re not mad at me, are you?” she said.

“No,” I said, “why would I be mad?”

“I got really carried away, I think,” she said. “I let all your coworkers stick their cocks in me at least twice, and some even more. A lot of them even shot their hot cum up in my cooch! Your boss did twice. So did Brad. And all the other guys kept feeling up my boobs and butt while they fucked me. Everyone noticed, too, I could feel them all staring at me in the dark while I let their husbands play with my tits and fuck me. I’m going to be so embarrassed tomorrow!”

She started stroking me harder and harder. “But you’re happy with it, right? I know you always want your wife to be naughty and flash her boobies and show off for you, and I wanted to make you happy and let your friends see me naked and feel me up as much as they wanted. I wanted you to see all of them take turns fucking your naughty wife and shooting their cum inside her. It was so exciting, but mostly I did it to make you happy!”

Karen reached down and took my cock in her mouth, and I groaned as I came harder than I ever have in my life. She swallowed every drop, and after I collapsed onto the bed she snuggled up next to me.

“I love you, baby! And maybe next time I’ll be just as naughty!” she cooed. It sounded like a great idea to me.

The post My Wife at the Holiday Party appeared first on sexstories.org.

We, that is my boyfriend Marcus and I, were in the middle of making love when I heard my husband John’s car pull up in the driveway. He was home way too early and I assumed he must have forgotten something. Annoyed, we quickly scooped up our clothes and hid in my walk-in-wardrobe.

‘Fuck,’ Marcus said. ‘What’s he doing home?’ ‘Shh,’ I whispered.
‘He can’t hear us from up here,’ he whispered back, his hands groping at my breasts.
‘Don’t,’ I giggled, peering back into the bedroom.

The bed was still a mess but I didn’t think John would be coming up there anyway so it didn’t really matter. Marcus, friskier than normal, wanted to continue what we’d started, on the floor of the wardrobe; me I wanted to wait until I heard John’s car pulling out of the drive before starting up again.

‘Come on,’ he said, pulling me over him so I straddled his waist. ‘I need to fuck you, baby.’

Never able to resist him, I positioned myself over him and slid down his thick, hard shaft, filling me up like no other man has ever done. He pulled at my breasts, squeezing the nipples so hard I nearly yelped in pain.

‘Not so hard,’ I said, leaning over to kiss his sexy mouth as he pouted back at me.
‘Hmm, you love it,’ he chuckled.

Leaning over like that was hitting the right spot. He pumped upwards, thrusting his cock up further as I slammed back down on him.

‘Oh yeah,’ I whispered, enjoying it even more now that I knew John was in the house. ‘Harder baby, harder.’

I was peaking, perspiration dripping from me, as I ground myself down on his cock. You can imagine my surprise when I heard laughter on the stairs and John’s voice bellowing up them.

‘Are you sure no one saw you hiding out near the back door?’

I froze for a second before jumping up to find my robe. ‘No,’ the voice giggled. It was Mary, our maid. ‘I didn’t
see Sheila leave, I must have missed her.’
They fell through the open bedroom door, ripping off each other’s clothing. I was outraged. How dare she! I trusted her. I peeked through the crack again, amazed that this had been going on under my very nose and I never knew.
Marcus opened the door a crack further.

‘Check out her tits. They’re massive,’ he whispered.

I bristled. How dare he perv on her. They had fallen onto the bed, both naked. John’s hairy arse winked at me while he nuzzled between her luscious thighs. He went down on her as though starved, smothering himself, his hands groping her heaving breasts.

‘Oh John,’ she moaned, holding his head. ‘Oh yeah, that’s great. Oh yeah baby.’

Marcus was glued to the crack; probably wishing he was closer to her crack than hiding in here with me. He grabbed at me, obviously very aroused by the spectacle we were watching.

‘I need to fuck you baby,’ John moaned, climbing up Mary’s body.

At this angle we could see her pussy, all wet and glistening from John’s workout. He was kneeling over her, his ugly balls sagging as he positioned himself. No wonder I found him so unattractive. His skinny arse pumped like crazy and in a few seconds he’d already come. Mary sighed as though happy. ‘Oh that was so good,’ she breathed. Bullshit! I knew what it was like to have John fuck you and believe me there was nothing spectacular about it. Marcus was probing his cock into the crack of my arse. I wiggled away from him, annoyed that our session had been interrupted and I had to witness my husband’s infidelity. How was I supposed to go back to my bed when they’d just made love in it?

I tried to push Marcus away from me, but he held on tight. I knew he was hornier than normal, I mean looking at Mary’s pussy had even turned me on and I was straight. He grabbed at my breasts while his cock probed down further. Finding my still wet pussy he slid in easily.

‘I think you enjoyed watching them,’ he whispered in my ear.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I spat back, not wanting him to know that the sight of Mary, now reclining on my bed while John was getting dressed, was turning me on even more than I realised.
‘Open your legs for me, sweetheart?’ John asked her.
She lay there, her black hair fanned out around her like a shawl against my white bed sheets, opening and closing her legs, giggling like a schoolgirl.
‘Come on, don’t tease me like that,’ John pleaded.

She had her knees bent up and now dropped them, her pussy gaping wide open. Marcus began to pump into me harder, obviously enjoying what he was watching.

‘Play with yourself,’ John begged.

She slid her fingers around her wet lips, up and down her slit, with her sexy mouth pouting ohs and ahs the whole time. John was sitting on my love seat, his eyes riveted to her pussy. She pulled back the hood, exposing her clit and began to rub.

‘Oh,’ she moaned. ‘I’m so wet from you. Look how wet my pussy is, see how much I love you,’ she breathed.
‘Rub your clit faster,’ he whispered. ‘Make yourself come.’

She ran her tongue along her top lip, while Marcus grabbed my breasts, squeezing them hard, pulling at my nipples. My own hand stole down to find my clit and while he was fucking me I rubbed my engorged nub.
She was arching her back, her breasts jutting upwards, while she rubbed madly. ‘Oh yeah, you like to watch me baby?’ she asked.

‘You know I do,’ he said, rubbing himself absent- mindedly.
‘Oh yeah, look at my titties, my nipples are all hard just thinking about you,’ she giggled.

Thinking about his money was more like it, I thought. Marcus picked up the tempo and I knew it wouldn’t be long before he came. Mary was on the verge of coming herself when I heard a mobile phone ring. I tensed, praying it wasn’t mine. I’d left my bag on the other side of the bed. I froze, holding my breath. Fortunately, it was John’s. ‘Yes, I’ll be right there,’ he snapped.

‘It’s the hospital,’ he said. ‘There’s an emergency. I’m sorry, darling, but I have to go.’
‘Oh, not again,’ she moaned. ‘I was nearly there.’
‘You stay here sweetheart, just relax, do what you want. Sheila won’t be home until late. Take your time, have a bubble bath, I know how much you like them.’
‘But it’s not the same without you,’ she complained.
‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise,’ he said. ‘In a couple of weeks, there’s a conference in Miami. Tell Sheila you’ve got a family emergency and you need the time off. Come with me? Please?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll be stuck in a hotel room all day like the time you took me to New York. That was no fun for me, believe me,’ she pouted.
‘I’ll give you some money and you can go shopping.

You’d like that wouldn’t you?’ he asked.

The bitch! How long had this been going on? That trip to New York was eighteen months ago.
Marcus had pushed me to my knees and was motioning for me to suck his cock. I was angry, really angry. How dare they! How dare he! He was my husband. How could I have not known?

‘Give my pussy a little lick,’ she purred. ‘Of course,’ he said, falling on her.

I was having trouble watching as Marcus was holding my head, his arm blocking my view. I wished they’d hurry up and go. I needed to get out of this wardrobe and
vent some of my anger. I pushed Marcus away, and stood there, arms folded, letting him know I wasn’t happy. Meanwhile, John gave her a quick licking and flew out of the door. She lay there, in my bed, as though it was her own, rolling among my satin sheets, sliding around, her beautiful hair following her as she went.

‘What are we going to do?’ Marcus whispered.
‘We’re going to wait until she goes, now be quiet,’ I whispered back.

I watched her, her gorgeous plump arse staring at me. She had a beautiful body and the more I looked the more I wanted to lie there beside her, to stroke her and have her stroke me. As though sensing how I was feeling, Marcus whispered in my ear.

‘Why don’t we go in and surprise her?’ he said. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said. ‘She’ll tell John.’
‘Tell John what? That we were fucking before they came in and nearly caught us. I don’t think so. Come on, you can threaten to fire her if she doesn’t do what you want.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Come on. I know you’re a sexy woman and seeing another couple make love like that would turn anyone on. We could use her as our sex slave. Make her do what we both want. It would be a real turn on, don’t you think?’
‘No, I don’t think it would,’ I said, bristling.

Part of me did want it but the other part didn’t. There was no denying that I’d give anything to have her mouth on me, her tongue licking my pussy, her mouth sucking my tits. I’d love to taste her pussy too, but not after John had been fucking her.
While we were talking she left the room and had disappeared into the ensuite. I could hear the water running. We could do one of two things, either quickly get dressed and leave or perhaps I could catch her in the bath. Catching her in the bath appealed to me. I’d make her beg for my forgiveness. I’d allow her to promise me anything just to keep her job. Yes, that’s what I’d do.
Marcus and I quickly got dressed and I told him to wait until he heard me coughing before coming back upstairs. He snuck out of the room, eager for this to play out to his advantage. Meanwhile I tried to compose myself before opening the ensuite door.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I demanded, feigning outrage.

She turned to see me standing there. Shocked, her hair piled up on her head, she looked absolutely gorgeous, as her big eyes stared worriedly at me. Wispy pieces had fallen down over her luscious breasts, which were half submerged under bubbles. I could barely tear my eyes away.

‘Oh, I’m sorry…I…er…um,’ she stuttered. What could she possibly say?
‘Get out of my bath at once,’ I demanded.

She stood, water cascading down her amazing body. I’d never been so turned on in my life. What should I do now? I wanted her in the bath with me, to wash, caress and hold me. She grabbed a towel and tried to hurry from the room.

‘Not so quickly,’ I said, slowly dropping my clothes onto the floor. She stood there staring, rigid like a statue.
‘I’ve always wanted a full body wash and massage. I think under the circumstances you’ll be happy to help me out with that now, wouldn’t you, Mary?’
‘Yes, Miss, I’d be happy to,’ she stumbled, clearly surprised at this turn of events.

I lowered myself into the spa and beckoned her over. As quick as a flash she was in there with me, washing my body, careful not to touch any private areas. But that’s not what I wanted. I wanted her to squirm, to beg me to keep her on, to beg me to allow her to do anything I desired.

‘Can I wash your breasts?’ she asked, clearly realising that this was more than just some help bathing. Good. I wanted her to work hard at pleasing me before I let Marcus join this party.
‘Yes, you can,’ I said.

God, it was heavenly. Her soft fingers kneaded my flesh, washing soapy hands over me, lingering on my nipples until they stood out on their own, a clear indication I was enjoying this on a sexual level. Her beautiful brown eyes stared at me, before her long black lashes looked down at my heaving breasts. Slowly she moved closer and I made no attempt to stop her. I watched mesmerised as her soft lips descended upon me to lick and tantalise my nipple before sucking as much of my breast into her gorgeous mouth as she could.

My head fell back against the pillow that was cushioned there and I let out a wonderful sigh of enjoyment. Her hand moved down between my legs and she parted them so she could move in between them. What bliss. With my eyes closed I felt her fingers searching until she located my clit. She pinched at it lightly before entering me.

With the warm water lapping at my body I slipped into a dreamlike trance. Her mouth and fingers were bringing me to an emotion I’d never felt before and, as I opened my mouth to moan, a hard cock was thrust into it. Marcus, the cheeky bugger, he just couldn’t wait. He was spoiling everything. There was nothing I could say with my mouth full of cock, so I grabbed at his shaft and dragged him by his cock, forcing him to fall into the spa. Mary just looked at the two of us in surprise.

‘Are the two of you are having an affair?’ she spluttered. ‘That’s none of your business,’ I said.
‘No miss,’ she replied, her eyes downcast.
‘So what are you doing in Sheila’s bath?’ Marcus asked her.
‘I caught her soaking in it when I came home,’ I told him.

I watched her to see if she would go along with what I’d planned. I knew she was having an affair with John but she didn’t know that I knew. I also saw how her eyes latched on to Marcus’s massive cock. After having sex with John she was probably keen to have a real man. A young, strong man with a hard cock.
‘You want to keep your job, Mary?’ I asked. ‘Oh yes, mam,’ she said.
‘Then you are to do everything that I ask of you and in return I won’t mention to my husband how you overstepped your position. Is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ she said smiling as Marcus moved beside me and began stroking my breast.
‘You can begin by finishing my bathing and then I’ll let you know what else I’d like.’
‘Of course,’ she said, eager to comply with my wishes.

She returned to my body, her hands caressing me as she soaped me once again. Marcus lifted a breast out of the sudsy water, blew the bubbles that had gathered away from my nipple and lowered his mouth to it, sucking on it gently while eyeing her reaction.
She showed none.

I smiled at him. Yes, this would work out perfectly. I gasped as her fingers slid among my folds, gently lingering over my clit, while Marcus’s hand joined hers and they both paid attention to my pussy.
This was wonderful. I loved being in control, giving orders.

My hand stole down to Marcus’s cock and I ran it up and down his shaft, squeezing it hard, showing him how turned on I was. I wanted to guide him into my pussy, have him fuck me there in the spa, and why not, I was the one calling the shots.
And that’s exactly what I did do. I lifted my arms to rest on the edge of the spa, my breasts floating on top of the water, while Marcus moved Mary aside, grabbed my thighs and pulled them apart. In one quick movement he was inside me, his cock allowing water to penetrate me as he began to pump rhythmically.
Mary just watched on, her eyes wide, sparkling with mischief.

‘You can get out now. Dry yourself and bring us some clean towels,’ I said, wrapping my legs around Marcus’s back, lifting myself up so he could suck on my tit.

We both watched her rise, with water dripping from her beautiful body. I whispered in his ear. ‘Take it easy baby. We’ve got all afternoon.’
Later, after a wonderful massage, I lay back on my bed where she’d been not an hour earlier. I opened my legs while Marcus lay beside me.

‘Lick me,’ I demanded.

She did. Her tongue was amazing. So different from a man’s. It was soft yet hard. Thick when she lapped at me, yet thin when she honed in on my clit. Why had I never done this before?
Marcus was focusing all his attention on my breasts but I saw how his eyes flickered all over her body. I knew what he wanted, so I obliged him.

‘Get down there and lick her from behind,’ I said. ‘Nuzzle into her pussy while she’s doing mine.’

I laughed as he scurried down there and watched as he lifted her beautiful arse up by the hips so her knees were just on the edge of the bed. He knocked them apart and as his tongue touched her she smothered herself into me, licking like a woman possessed, nibbling on my clit until I came in her mouth.
I was so turned on I couldn’t wait any longer for Marcus’s cock.

‘Quickly,’ I demanded, ‘get over here and fuck me.’

Pushing Mary aside he clambered up my body and sunk himself deep inside me. Mary’s hands were all over my breasts and I pulled her closer to me so I could kiss her mouth, taste myself on her. I’ve never been so turned on in my life, with her tongue and Marcus’s cock deep inside me I came again and again.

We spent the whole afternoon making love. By the time the two of them left I was exhausted. I showered quickly and then lay back in bed to rest and plan my next erotic adventure and, boy, did I have fun thinking about it.

Good help was hard to find and I had no intentions of every letting Mary go. With her not knowing that I knew about her relationship with John, I had the upper hand. She’d certainly not tell him about Marcus, he’d have no use for her if we divorced and he became single. This way we all received the best of our maid’s services.

The post The Maid appeared first on sexstories.org.

It’s so hot this morning. So unusually hot. Global warming, I’m sure. It’s almost like being in a foreign country. I’ve already started sweating and I haven’t even stepped outdoors yet.

Outside, the birds are singing, plants and flowers are in profusion, the sky is azure blue, broken up with snow-white clouds, and that construction team is working away there, just across our garden fence, making a lot of noise.

It’s cooler in here, but still too hot for comfort. I’m feeling clammy and sweaty, drugged by heat, adrift with my thoughts. I feel a little unreal.

I can see him out there, working. In his T-shirt and tight jeans, laying bricks, one on top of the other, on the wall of that new house being built right next to ours. His hair is flopping over his forehead. His short-sleeved T-shirt is as tight as his blue jeans, emphasizing the rippling of his muscles every time he moves.

So graceful, yet so masculine; occasionally looking in this direction, expecting to see me looking out, as I’m doing right now.

I’m shameless, I suppose, though also absolutely helpless. Having visions of him finally getting the message

and coming over here to open the back door, slip inside, and then…

Oh, dear, what am I thinking?

God, yes, it’s so hot. My clothes are sticking to my skin.  I can feel my blouse clinging to my breasts, exciting the nipples. My husband, John, is out front, inspecting his garden, a Sunday-morning ritual, whiling away a few minutes until it’s time to leave. But I’m not looking at John. I’m looking at that other man, the real man. The sweat trickles between my breasts, my nipples harden and tingle, when he moves and I see his muscles rippling. That short- sleeved T-shirt, those tight blue jeans, the impressive bulge at the crotch…

No, this is ridiculous. It’s pathetic and disgusting. A woman like me shouldn’t be thinking of such things. Particularly since that young man’s half my age.

Though almost certainly more experienced. Looking like that, he would have to be. He’s probably had more women than I’ve had hot breakfasts. He probably knows things that I can’t even imagine, given John’s vocation and sexual inhibitions, our lack of electricity in bed.

Am I just frustrated at the thought of what I might be missing? Is that why I’ve been watching that young man for the past two weeks, ever since that construction team turned up on the plot next door? Is that why I’ve found myself pondering what it would be like if he sensed what I was thinking and decided to take his chances, walk over here, open the kitchen door and march in, to…?

No. It’s perfectly ridiculous. I’m standing here, slightly stunned by the heat, feeling languorous, dreamily sensual, having all sorts of crazy thoughts, these perverse sexual fantasies. I should be ashamed of myself. A woman in my position. And the thought that he might look over, see me looking at him, and decide to do something about it, is clearly preposterous. It’s just not going to happen.

Oh, God, I’m wrong! He’s obviously seen me standing here, looking at him, as I’ve been doing every day for the past fortnight. But this time, having seen me, he’s smiling and putting down his trowel.

Yes, he’s definitely seen me. Now he’s hitching up his jeans, emphasizing his bulging manhood, letting his hand slide across it, drawing attention to it, grinning crookedly as he stares directly at me, letting me know that he knows what I want.

Or am I simply imagining this?

No, I’m not He’s left the building site and is strolling casually towards me, grinning, heading deliberately, at a leisurely pace, for the door of my kitchen, at the rear of the house.

Oh, God, what have I done?

John’s still out front, still tending to his stupid garden, but he could walk in any moment… Walk in just as that young man opens the unlocked back door to…

Lord, what am I thinking? It must be the summer heat, this almost foreign humidity, making me feel all sensual and dreamy, encouraging these licentious, dirty thoughts, this debased wishful thinking.

Yes, that explains it. I’m a middle-aged, childless housewife, a decent, Christian woman, not particularly attractive, but I often find myself wanting to be someone else, a woman who has wild sexual experiences and suffers no guilt. Then I see that young man, so physical, so handsome, like the young Marlon Brando in his T-shirt and jeans, confident in his amoral, animalistic sexuality, and I imagine what it would be like to do it with him: to briefly feel like a younger, more desirable woman. So, yes, there’s a lot of wishful thinking. That’s what we have here.

But, oh God, it’s more than that. It must be more than wishful thinking. Because that young man’s actually opening the back door. I’m frightened that he will, but equally frightened that he won’t, concerned that he might change his mind and go back to the laying of bricks, leaving me here, still frustrated.

Yet mostly, I’ll admit, I’m frightened…surely with good cause.

My husband is outside, at the front of the house, tending his garden, and this young man is about to come in and…

Oh, God, I can’t bear this.

I should stop him, but I can’t. The heat has rendered me helpless. I’m drowsy. Too hot. My clothes are sticking to my breasts, exciting my stiffening nipples as he steps inside. Suddenly, there he is, silhouetted in the doorway, tall and broad, long legs outspread, sweat trickling over the muscles in his arms – pure maleness rampant. He stares steadily at me, looking me up and down, not saying a word,  then, satisfied that he’s doing the right thing, he grins and steps all the way in, closing the door quietly behind him, shutting out the bright sunlight.

So there he stands, in my neat country kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans, looking out of place in his working man’s clothing. With his short-sleeved white T- shirt and tight blue jeans, muscles rippling, crotch emphasised, he looks just like the young Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire.

Like sex incarnate.

My heart starts racing. I can hardly breathe. When I open my lips to say something, perhaps ask him to leave, he places his index finger to his lips – those thick, slightly brutal, sensual lips that I’ve thought about, dreamt about, for the past two weeks.

‘Don’t say a word, lady,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to say anything. I know just what you want.’

I don’t say a word.

He walks across the kitchen and then stops right in front of me. He has a crooked grin, like the young Marlon Brando’s grin, and his lips, like Marlon’s lips, are full, almost feminine, making me wet between the legs at the very thought of what they might do to me. He doesn’t say a word. He just holds that challenging grin. Then he slowly slides his hand around the back of my neck, takes hold of my hair, jerks my head back, looks me straight in the eyes, grinning, calmly taking my measure, then mashes his lips down on mine.

I feel his tongue in my mouth, licking my teeth and gums, filling my mouth with saliva, as he kisses me, passionately, almost brutally. Then I helplessly, shamelessly, respond in kind, kissing him back, pressing myself into him, writhing in his embrace, rubbing my burning belly against his groin, his hot, masculine hardness.

His hand leaves my head, moving down to my spine, the fingers outspread, his strong arm locked around me. His other hand, his free hand, is cupping my rear, squeezing my buttocks, fingering the crack. And as my legs start to tremble, threatening to give way beneath me, he pulls me tighter to him, grinding his hips, deliberately letting me feel his hard…thing…pressing into my belly.

‘Do you like that?’ he whispers, removing his lips from mine, leaning his head back to look at me, his gaze steady and mocking. ‘No,’ he adds before I can answer. ‘You don’t have to reply. I can see by the look on your face that it’s what you’ve been wanting.’

He grins as he says it, pulling me even tighter to him, then he slowly moves his hips from left to right, rubbing his belly against mine, letting me feel his heat and hardness, as he strokes and squeezes my buttocks, still fingering the crack, where, in truth, to my eternal shame, I’ve never been touched before.

I’m so excited, I can hardly breathe. My heart’s racing and I’m trembling all over, too weak to resist, filled with a desire that’s only increased by my dread of being caught.

John is out front, still tending his stupid garden, but he could walk in any moment and see us like this.

The very thought of it, though terrifying, is also exciting. Yes, come in, I find myself thinking. Catch me in the act,

John, darling. It might do you some good.

But I automatically push the young man away from me, offering token resistance despite what I’m feeling.

‘Get out of here,’ I say without conviction. ‘You want me to leave?’

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘right now.’

‘No,’ he says, ‘I don’t think so.’ ‘I think so.’

‘No, you don’t.’

Grinning, he slides his hand around my neck, gently stroking and pressing, then lets his fingers trail down the front of my throat, to the swelling of my bosom, then under the open collar of my blouse. He cups my breast in his hand, squeezes it, kneads the nipple, sending waves of excitement quivering through me. Then he unbuttons the blouse with his other hand, slides it down my arms as if peeling a banana, and lets it fall to the floor.

‘Nice tits,’ he says. Then he lowers his head to kiss each breast in turn, while I tremble, eyes closing, becoming senseless with desire, aware only of his lips on my skin, his hands sliding down my spine, the heat and hardness of his…thing…as he presses his belly against mine, his hips moving languorously.

‘Mmmm,’ he murmurs. ‘Nice.’

‘Yes,’ I gasp. ‘Oh, yes!’

Encouraged, he unclips my bra, lets it fall to the floor, to join the discarded blouse, then bends down to kiss and lick my naked breasts, sucking on one nipple, then the other, as if preparing to eat them. My breasts come alive, the nipples almost on fire, waves of heat radiating out from them, to travel up to my bone-dry throat and then down to my belly. That fire spreads below, making me wet and receptive, excited beyond control, with everything inside me crying out to be penetrated and filled, ravished and consumed. I want to feel his throbbing hardness, his – Oh, say it…his cock – inside me.

Nothing else matters.

With a shock of disbelief, I slide my hands around him, fingers outspread, to stroke his sweat-slicked spine, dig my nails into his skin, squeeze his firm, though quivering, buttocks, pulling him into me with greedy desperation, wanting to feel the rapid growth of his cock beneath his zipped-up blue jeans.

Now his cock feels as hard as a steel rod and I’m helplessly groaning.

‘Yeah, baby,’ he whispers.

Just like Marlon in A Streetcar Named Desire. God help me, I’m dying here.

Lord, yes…desire. I’m consumed by desire. I’m reaching down to feel his cock, wanting to cup it in my hand, to squeeze it and feel it pulsating. And when I do, when I feel it, a real cock in my real hand, even though it’s still covered with the coarse material of the blue jeans, it feels like a small, hot-blooded animal.

‘Try this for size,’ he says.

Before I can unzip him, he pushes me backwards, down onto the kitchen table, causing cups and plates to rattle, then he tugs my dress up over my hips and gropes between my spreading, slippery thighs. He strokes and squeezes me there, pressing down on my pubes with the palm of his hand, rubbing his hand to and fro, massaging me, driving me crazy, then he slips a finger under my knickers and dips it into my wet…

No, I can’t say it. That’s one of those words that John would never let me utter. Another word like ‘cock’. He’d never let me use words that might have made us excited. Crude words. Sexy words. Words deemed to be erotic or pornographic. So I could never say…

Fuck! I could never say fuck. And of course I could never use the word… Cunt!

Lord Almighty, I’ve finally done it – described my cunt as a ‘cunt’. And, even sweeter, young Marlon, my nameless stud who looks like Brando, is moving his finger in and out of my wet cunt, first a finger, then a thumb, to make me writhe and moan, a slave to whatever he might desire. Then he takes hold of my clit and plays with it while I gasp and groan helplessly.

‘God, yes, fuck me!’ I cry out. ‘In my cunt! Fill my cunt with your cock!’

He rips my knickers off, unzips himself, takes out his cock, hard, engorged and pulsing, then puts the tip of it to me – down there, where I’m wet, warm and soft – making me open out like one of John’s flowers, offering honey to the bee. Then I feel his cock moving up inside me, in my cunt, and he’s fucking me.

Yes, he’s fucking me. I can use that word at last. And just using it excites me all the more, encouraging me to raise my hips up off the table, opening my legs farther, my feet meeting on the blade of his curved spine, locking him to me. ‘Don’t stop, Marlon,’ I moan, forgetting who he is, imagining for a moment that he’s actually the real item. ‘God, just do it to me. Do what you want to me. Anything!

Any way! Just do it and do it really quick, before my husband comes in. Do anything you want, show me everything you know, and don’t stop until you hear the front door opening. Oh, Christ, oh my Lord, oh my master, I’m all yours for the taking. Fuck me blind. Fuck me rigid. God, I want you, I need you, I love you. Anything you want. Anything!’

He’s thrusting in and out, first violently, then more slowly, in deep, languid motions, moving this way, then that, touching me here and there, filling up my insides in a way that I haven’t known before…because John is so useless.

Ah, God, that’s beautiful. Ah, Jesus, give me more. Belly slapping on belly, groin to groin, as he squeezes my tits, bites my neck and puts his tongue in my mouth. Just keep doing it, don’t stop, keep going for now and all time, till death do us part.

What…?

God, no! He’s pulling out. Straightening up to look down at me. He’s grinning and letting me see what he’s got and it’s something to see. I’ve never seen a real cock close up like this before. I mean, I’ve never looked at John’s. When we do it, we’re always under the blankets and John does it furtively. Him and his damned religion. His puritan thinking. Pretending he’s not really doing it, even when he’s hard at it, though in his inexperienced, woefully inept way, held back by his many inhibitions.

No such inhibitions with Marlon. He’s looking down at me, grinning, as he curls his fingers around his cock, pumps it gently, teasing me, then leans forward to put his hand behind my head and tug me upright. I slide off the table, onto my knees, and there it is right in front of me.

He’s still holding it, thrusting it at my lips, letting me know what he wants. I’ve never done this before (it would

shock John if I tried) but right now I want to make a meal of it and so I open my lips. I’m taking it in, sucking it, licking it, trying to swallow it, and he’s holding my head with his free hand to ease it backwards and forwards. It’s so thick and smooth, so hot and hard. I feel its tip at the back of my throat and almost swoon from the feeling.

‘Yes, baby,’ he drawls, withdrawing, ‘that was nice. Now let’s try it this way.’

He slides his hands over my shoulders and down to my breasts. After squeezing my tits, he cups his hands under my armpits and raises me off my knees. When I’m standing upright, breathing heavily, feeling dizzy, wet as a swamp down below, he flips me over to press me face down on the table.

I spread my hands out to grip the sides of the table, my feet on the floor, my arse in the air. I think he wants to enter me from the rear, but he needs to prepare me.

‘Where’s the butter?’ he asks.

Instantly, I think of Marlon Brando again. This time the mature Brando of Last Tango in Paris. The infamous butter scene. Marlon and Maria, one on top of the other, him slipping his buttery finger in before penetrating her with the real thing, though still wearing his pants.

God, no, I can’t! It’s too awful to contemplate! On the other hand…

How will one learn if one doesn’t experiment? I mean, John would never attempt it. He might secretly think about it, licking his puritan lips, but I doubt that he’d have the nerve to try it. Poor John, so religious, so inhibited, that neither of us has ever had a good time between the sheets, never mind stretched out on the kitchen table, as I am right now.

‘The butter’s in the jar behind my head,’ I hear myself whispering. ‘But I don’t think…’

‘Be quiet,’ he says.

As he stretches out over my spine, trying to reach the butter-jar, the tip of his cock slides along my arse cheeks as if trying to get in before its time. It’s hot. It’s hard. My buttocks twitch in response. I hear the butter-jar rattling, feel his chest on my shoulder-blades, then he straightens up again, breathing heavily, until he’s standing behind me. I close my eyes and clench my teeth and hear a groaning that can only come from me. He pushes into me, slow and hard, and at first it feels too tight, but then, as I shiver with pain and pleasure, he pushes in all the way.

My thoughts scatter and spin.

Oh, God, this can’t be true. I can’t really be doing this. I’ve often thought about it, wondering what it would be like, but it’s not the kind of thing that a decent, Christian woman dwells upon.

I think I’m going to die. Now I’m nothing but sensation. I turn my face to the side and look out through the front window to see John bending over some flowers, sniffing them lovingly. He loves those flowers, I’m convinced, even more than he loves me. He loves me in his own way, but doesn’t know how to please me, because he wouldn’t want to believe what it is that I truly need. He’s a Christian, a puritan, and that makes him strictly limited. I’m deprived because he thinks it would be depraved to do what I dream about.

God, he’s just turned to look back at the front door. He can’t come in now!

Yet the fear of that thought only makes me more excited so I clutch the sides of the table even tighter, groaning with delight.

‘Don’t stop now!’ I cry out.

Thank God, he doesn’t stop. He just moves ever faster, thrusting ever more violently, breathing harshly and

grunting like an ape having a romp in the jungle. I’m feeling really horny now. Like an animal in heat. I couldn’t stop him now if I tried, but I’ve no intention of trying.

He’s standing right behind me, thrusting in and out, a stallion. Leaning forward, he runs his fingers through my hair, then slips his thumb between my lips and starts moving it in and out, just like his cock in my cunt, making me feel that I’m sucking on a second cock.

Instantly, I have visions of two men at me at the same time, one behind me, the other in front, and as his thumb moves in and out, as I hungrily lick and suck, imagining the thumb to be bigger and harder than it actually is, he continues to attack my rear passage with the real thing. He’s reducing me to a pulp, protoplasm, pure sensation, turning me into an animal that knows nothing but physical need, wanting only to satisfy its base instincts, wallowing in the mud.

‘Yes!’ I beg. ‘Yes!’

Then I see John again. He’s wiping dirt from his hands as he glances at the house. That means he’s about to come back in and tell me it’s time for us to leave. The very thought of it fills me with panic and the panic excites me more.

‘Don’t stop!’ I cry out in desperation. ‘Oh, God, don’t stop now!’

He doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls out of my rear passage and flips me onto my back, preparing to slip into me that way. But he doesn’t get the chance. I’m now awash in my own juices. When I see him standing there, his huge cock thrusting arrogantly out of his unzipped jeans, I simply have to taste it again. So I slide off the table and fall onto my knees to slip my lips over his rigid tool and start gobbling frantically.

‘Oh, boy,’ he says, ‘that’s your husband out there. And I think he’s about to come back in. Christ, I’ve got to get out of here!’

‘Not yet!’ I cry, releasing his cock from my mouth, then I stand up and fall back onto the table, spreading my legs.

‘Oh, please God, just finish it!’

As I frantically reach up to pull him down upon me, the fear of being caught by my husband lances through me, making it all the more exciting. Young Marlon falls upon me, all muscle and bone. He’s biting my neck and his tongue is in my mouth and then I’m licking his ears, nose and throat as my legs lock around his rocking hips and my feet drum frantically on his buttocks. His belly smacks on my belly, his cock fills me up again. We move together, one on top of the other, my groin rising to meet his groin as he presses down upon me and pushes brutally into me.

I’m sobbing and groaning, whispering, ‘Fuck me! Don’t stop!’ as my husband, that dear man, that innocent buffoon, commences the short walk to the front door, about to enter the house.

‘Now!’ I shriek. ‘Come now!’

Marlon comes like Niagara Falls, like a dam breaking loose, and I come at the same time, spasm piling on spasm, everything pouring out as it’s never done before, satisfying me for the first time in my life. A sexual Nirvana, heaven- sent, a dream come true. And we both shudder convulsively and collapse into each other. And I’m just returning to earth, getting my senses back, when I hear the front door opening and realise that John, my dear husband, is entering the house.

Luckily, he’s entering through the front door, two rooms away from here.

Marlon pulls out on the instant, tucks his wilting cock back in, whispers, ‘You’re terrific,’ zips himself up as he

hurries to the back door. I roll off the table, sexually satisfied, feeling terrific, depraved on account of being deprived throughout the long years of marriage. Marlon leaves by the back door. I adjust my rumpled clothing. I quickly comb my hair and touch up my lipstick (always modestly, respectably, applied), then rearrange the crockery on the table, until everything looks normal again.

Which, of course, it is.

Because none of that happened. It’s only what I wanted to happen. What I often desperately wish and dream might happen.

I’m looking through the back window and can see that young man out there, a vision of pure masculinity in his T- shirt and blue jeans. He’s certainly not Marlon Brando. In fact, he looks quite ordinary as he lazily lays the bricks of that new house. He looks common, a bit of rough trade, but that’s what makes him sexy.

John has just made his way from the living room, through the dining room, and is now standing in the kitchen doorway, smiling lovingly at me. He has a kind face, but he’s prematurely bald, has a burgeoning pot belly, and  wears a black suit and clerical collar. He’s the one who’ll be giving the sermon and it’s rarely exciting.

‘Time for church, dear,’ he says.

‘I’ll just fix my hair and put on my hat,’ I reply. ‘I’ll meet you outside, darling.’

‘Excellent,’ he says.

When he leaves the kitchen, I look through the back window and see young Marlon Brando out there, laying brick upon brick in the rising heat. He knows I’m watching him. He sometimes smiles in my direction. Some day, if I get up the nerve, I just might invite him in for a drink – a glass of lemonade or a cup of tea, maybe something stronger. And if I ever get up the nerve to do that, who knows what might happen?

But right now, alas, I have to pin up my hair, cover it with my broad, respectable hat, then put my arm through the arm of my dear husband, so loving, so boring, and let him walk me to church, this sunny Sunday morning.

I’m a decent, Christian woman, after all, and we’re the kind who have to keep up appearances.

All the rest is a daydream.

The post Erotic visions of a middle-aged Christian housewife appeared first on sexstories.org.