Mrs. Makepeace - Hotwife Adventures: The Mechanic

From back in 2016. I write under the name shown below. This scene is part of a series. It was due to seeing Lady Sonia here: https://xhamster.com/videos/taking-care-of-mechanic-2446598

Just thought I'd put the scene up here. I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is appreciated.

Ricky - Cambridgeshire, UK - 15 June 22

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Mrs. Makepeace - Hotwife Adventures:
The Mechanic

By

Tia Lascivo

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Copyright © 2016 by Tia Lascivo

All Characters are 18 and Over  

One
“You do know I’m married?”
He sat in the chair. The exact same sprawl as when I’d first walked in. His arms were folded across his chest, legs thrown out in front and crossed down at his ankles. He wore tan work boots, one heel resting on the rough concrete floor. It was an arrogant pose. Confident. Almost belligerent. The look on his face suggested he didn’t care about my marital status. Or maybe he liked it that way?
He grinned and said, “That’s the deal.” I watched him make a skating motion with the palm of a hand while he went on to add, “If you want to get bumped to the front of the line.” “You’ve got to be joking,” I said, looking him over.
And while I felt a compulsion to smack the grin off his face, I still liked what I saw. Young. Somewhere in his mid- to late-twenties. Short, dark hair cropped close to the wood. Goodlooking in the physically menacing and dangerous kind of way I can’t resist. His expression was mischievous, like a cheeky young boy’s while his physique suggested he’d move like a jungle cat on the prowl. His dimpled smile and twinkling eyes already had my pussy clenching with need.
“You don’t even know me,” I added. “Of all the nerve…”
I stared at him for several more seconds before turning my head to survey his untidy kingdom. I Saw bare walls and grimy windows. Last year’s calendar on the wall behind him. Something with bosoms and butts. It was the middle of the morning outside, but the light within came from three rows of over overhead fluorescents and, under the falsely bright lights, I saw some heavy-duty machinery bolted to the floor. Big, specialized machines. The kind of equipment about which I had no clue yet which was very likely essential to his trade. Dirty and oily and very useful in the kind of way that just isn’t part of my world. Maybe lifting a car’s engine out of its well? I saw a pegboard and tools. Tires stacked in a corner. Some trash s**ttered around. An inspection pit and hydraulic ramp.
There was an old metal desk behind him. It looked to have had years of use and a lot of neglect. The chair he was sprawled in was almost as abused as the desk. Had the look of an item scrounged out of a dumpster, something saved from the junkyard. Picked up and dusted off and set to work in a mechanic’s workshop. Casters and torn black fabric, with the ancient yellow foam padding showing in places like an overfilled sandwich. As he sat with his legs in front, his hands were resting on his stomach, fingers locked together. He stared at me and then shifted his backside and sat upright. Looked at me as though he was getting ready for some hard-nosed negotiating.
“It’s business,” he told me.
I glared at him and said, “What is? You call it business when a lady comes in to ask you about her car and you ask if she’ll give you a look at her breasts?”
He shrugged and pulled a face. Said, “Just a bit of fun.”
“You’re disgusting,” I said, injecting as much venom as I could muster into the words. Then I looked at him, suspicious as I asked, “You are Paul, aren’t you? You do run the place? You’re not just some jerk trying it on?”
“I’m Paul,” he said. “Honest.”
I gave him another look, still dubious.
“Well … Paul,” I went on as I looked around. “You’re not very busy.”
“Got a big job coming in,” he said. “Some limo outfit out of the city. Have to be ready to go as soon as they say. Whole fleet. Gonna get busy.”
“You know you’re not the only mechanic in town. I could go elsewhere.” He just gave me a look and didn’t reply.
My heels went pick-pock as I shifted my feet and folded my arms beneath my breasts. It was make-your-mind-up-time. I could turn and walk out. He was rude and cock-sure and appeared to have a very high opinion of himself. The way he’d casually propositioned me had been a surprise, downright indecent. Although I don’t know why I was so taken aback, it wasn’t the first time I’d been hit-on that way.
It became a contest between us. I glared hostility at him while he returned the look with an implacable stare of his own. I didn’t particularly like the guy, but still felt the pull of sexual attraction.
And, for me, sex makes the world spin.
So I looked at him and made up my mind. “If I do it,” I said, “you’ll look at the car today?” His eyes went wide, just for a second. “Front of the line like I told you.” “I don’t believe it,” I said with a sigh.
I kept up the charade of being offended. Like I was only doing it because I was desperate to get the brakes on the Mercedes repaired.
My fingers were at the bow holding the wraparound blouse closed when I added, “I just don’t believe I’m going along with this. It’s revolting…”
I was going to do what he asked, but still wanted to make him work a little before I gave it up.
“Doesn’t mean a thing,” he told me. “I just wanna look is all.”
I slipped the knot and felt the blouse go loose, then eased it open to expose my breasts.
“There,” I said, watching his face.
He reacted just like I’d expected. When he saw my boobs his eyes bulged and his jaw fell slack.
“Fuuuck,” he drawled, agog.
I’m what they call well-endowed. I’ve got large, round breasts, which is probably what prompted him to ask in the first place. But what he hadn’t known was I was wearing a shelf-bra underneath the blouse. I hate those visible lines from a conventional bra under my clothes, so I wore the quarter-cup apparatus for a bit of support while leaving my tits all bare.
His response wasn’t unusual. I’ve seen that same look many a time, and, predictably, as normal, he gawked for several moments. Which is a common reaction from men. They all stare at my tits.
I felt smug when I saw him boggle. Even though my boobs have always been a magnet for men, more so as I get older, it never gets old seeing them looking. I get a buzz out of the teasing and leading them on, but, having said that, there’s no way I could ever be called a prick-tease. I see a guy I like the look of checking me out, I’ll play up to him and definitely make it worth his while. So I was quite happy that my big breasts and shelf bra had the mechanic’s mouth hanging open. I’d been confident about what was going to happen the very moment I’d made up my mind to show him the girls. I couldn’t help my smirk when his throat went tight and he gulped down on the astonishment I saw in his face.
He gawked and then eventually spluttered, “Jesus Christ … How big are those tits?”
“34G,” I told him, putting some contempt into my tone.
He pushed out of the chair, dark intent in his eyes.
“Oh!” I blurted, startled by the sudden lunge.
“I just want to feel,” he said, as he came forward.
“Oh, God,” I sighed, rolling my eyes to give the impression it was biggest bore in the world before going on to add, “What is it with men and tits?”
He cupped my boobs like he was testing the weight of a couple of melons.
“You’re k**ding,” he said. “These are friggin’ fantastic. Shit,” he went on, palms under my breasts. “Perfect size,” he breathed. “Their shape. Perfect…” “So, you’re a fan,” I quipped. “A lot of men are.” He fondled my breasts a little while longer.
“I bet,” he gasped. “Jesus,” Paul added, letting me go. “I’m not surprised.” I decided I enjoyed his enthusiasm, so let him keep looking.
I asked, “So you’ll look at my car? The front of the line, right?” Paul continued to stare, like my breasts were magnets drawing his gaze.
“Yeah, front of the line,” he said, distracted.
When he said it, I stepped back a couple of paces to ask, “What time will it be ready?”
He finally looked at my face and stroked his chin while sucking at his teeth the way those guys do when they’re about to rip you off.
“Today you mean?”
I nodded, suspicious.
“Yes. Today.”
He looked around the workshop. Must have seen the same lack of industry I’d observed yet still had the gall to say, “Well, I dunno about today.” I glared at him and put ice in my tone.
“We had a deal. I don’t believe you’re doing this. I’m standing here in your grubby shop with my boobs out. You asked to see them. That was what you wanted. I did it. There they are.”
To emphasize the point – and just to mess with him – I hefted my breasts in both of my hands and jiggled them up and down so they shivered like jellies.
When I let them go I saw him focus on their hefty sway.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Those really are fine ta-tas.”
He looked at me again with what seemed to me to be an immense effort to drag his focus up from my chest.
“Tell you what,” he said with a leer. “Lose the skirt and I’ll think about maybe doing it today. Right now. As soon as we’re done.”
I stared at him, making out I was revolted.
“My skirt?” I said, aghast. I looked down along my front, past the thrust of my breasts to examine the pencil skirt tight against my hips and thighs.
“Yeah. Maybe walk around a little, too,” he said. Paul made some vague scribbling motion with a forefinger. “You know, strut. Show me some moves.” He grinned and finished with, “Make ‘em bounce.”
That grin he gave me was wolfish with his intent, and it got me hotter to see it. His eyes glittered with mischief, the look and tone warming my pussy and, as the heat flared down between my thighs, my clit was already starting to pulse, I thought about what he’d said. I mulled it over but was already more than halfway decided. He had no way of knowing, but I quite liked the idea of strutting around for the lecherous perv. It would be exciting to exhibit myself to his hungry stare. The thought of walking and posing for him was getting me going.
Plus, I had another surprise to show him, so I made up my mind and, regardless of the arousal I felt, curled my lips in contempt.
“God, you’re ghastly,” I said.
He didn’t reply, just took a step backwards and folded his arms while he tilted his head and watched me like he was just waiting for the show to begin.
I made another display of reluctance by sighing and shaking my head. Then I slipped the big leather bag off my shoulder. Went to the desk and dumped it down.
“I don’t believe it,” I breathed as my hands went to the zip in back of the skirt.
A shimmy and a shove with my hands had it down over my hips.
His murmured obscenity told me he’d seen the nylons and six drop garter belt I’d worn underneath.
The air hissed out of Paul’s nose before he muttered something I couldn’t make out.
Then he asked, “The fuck are you wearing?”
His eyes moved all over my body, the stare so intense I swear I could feel the heat against my skin.
“Stockings,” I said. “High heels. I went to a meeting earlier on. Business. I’m developing a property and had some financial issues to discuss down at the bank. That’s why I’m in this skirt and blouse.”
“Stockings?” he asked. “That what you call them in England?”
I nodded and said, “It is. And this is a suspender belt.”
He studied the six-drop arrangement: three straps, each two inches thick clipped to the dark band at the top of black stockings.
“Man, that’s the best,” he told me, following on with a chuckle.
He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“I’ve never known a woman who went around in that kinda stuff during normal hours.” He surprised me by keeping his attention up on my face. “In the bedroom, yeah,” he added. “But not day-to-day.” Paul’s gaze raked me like a machine gun again.
“Fuck, you’re one sexy lady,” he finished.
“So I’m told,” I replied, doing my best to sound haughty. I laid it on thick, made out I was the ultimate disdainful British bitch.
He ignored the scorn while I acted aloof and pretended I was totally unconcerned about standing there in my underwear.
“Walk around,” he said, painting the air with a finger. “I wanna see you move.”
I tutted, clicking my tongue off the roof of my mouth while I rolled my eyes and breathed a weary sigh at the same time.
I breathed, “God, you’re just a perv,” the excitement making me wetter.
He watched me while I paused, carnal desires uncurling inside me as I studied his face. Then I turned and walked away, stepping briskly for ten paces or so. As I moved I could almost feel the weight of his stare on my backside, so I put some swing into my hips and, when I turned, saw his expression feral with desire.
“Wait,” he said. “I gotta get a photo of you.”
“What for?” I asked while he went to a drawer in the desk.
“Personal use,” he informed me.
“You sure? I don’t want to find anything on the internet. I’m married, remember.” He aimed the cell phone at me. Squinted and said, “I promise.” The device clicked and buzzed like it was a real camera.
“I don’t want any hassle,” he added when he’d fired off a couple of shots. “I got a good thing going here with the business. I wanna keep my life quiet. The last thing I need is a pissed-off husband giving me hell. These won’t go anywhere. I promise. It’s just me.”
“And your friends?” I said through a contemptuous sneer. Then I walked back towards him, putting a little nudge into my step to make my boobs bounce. “Okay? Seen enough?” “Do it again,” he said.
I sighed and shook my head, a quick movement deigned to convey exasperation.
“God, you’re so bloody greedy,” I sighed.
But I did it again. I strode around and put some wiggle into it, walking around, strutting so my heels went tick-tock off the bare floor, the sound bouncing back off the walls.
He muttered again when I paused and pretended to examine one of the large machines. My boobs jiggled and swayed on the return trip, the expression he wore even more hungry than the one I’d seen earlier. He was back against the desk, his butt resting on the edge, eyes almost bulging as he took in my breasts.
“Okay?” I asked from a couple of feet away. “That really is enough.”
It took a moment or two for him to respond. He leaned against the desk, arms folded, his gaze going from my precipitous heels right up to me face.
“I like that look you’ve got going on,” he said. “The business lady thing. You came in here all dressed up. Sexy, yanno? I never dreamed you’d be wearing that get up underneath. Goddam,
I can’t get enough of looking at you.”
“Glad you approve,” I said in my most British accent.
“You always wear nylons?” he asked.
It struck me that he was getting more and more horny when I heard the catch in his voice.
“Quite often,” I said. “Under a skirt. They make me feel sexy. More feminine. The suspender belt makes it sexy, too. My little secret,” I told him.
He looked at the six-drop arrangement and nodded with approval.
“You’ve got a hot body,” he said. “I love the way you dress. When you first came in … I dunno … I guess I went crazy for a minute or two. I looked at you and got all hot and horny. That’s kinda why I asked you to show me what you’ve got. I’m between girlfriends right now. Got a lot of … emotion backed up, you know? I saw you and got all wild. And I’ve always been partial to blondes.”
There was no appropriate response I could think of, so I just stood there and let him look at me until he continued to talk.
“I couldn’t stop myself from asking,” he told me. “There’s something about you that made me think you’d do it, too. You’ve got this … aura kinda deal going on.” “Thank you,” I said.
“Great legs,” he muttered, then looked at the swell of my hips.
His attention lingered before moving on past my waist and on up to my tits where it stayed for half-a-minute or so before he eventually made it up to my face.
“I hafta tell you,” he said. “You’ve got me all revved up here. I won’t ask how old you are, that’d be an ungentlemanly thing to do.” He grinned in response to the smirk I threw his way, then shrugged and said, “Yeah, a gentleman like me, huh?”
“Gentleman is not a word I’d use to describe you,” I said. “And I’m thirty-eight, by-theway.”
A second after that the atmosphere turned serious. I saw his Adam’s apple bounce and heard him say, “I’ll do the car today. Right now. I promise. But, well, I was thinking maybe…?” “What?” I asked, excitement making my legs tremble.
“Well, how about a blow-job to seal the deal tight?”
I made one last play at pretending to be appalled. Truth be told, I was already thinking of doing it before he’d asked.
“What!” I cried. “I don’t believe it? I started to think you were a nice man after all. Now you want me to … to suck you? Here?”
He groaned out an apologetic, “Aw, I can’t help it. I’m looking at you and…” His cheeks ballooned as he sighed, his interest all over my body again.
I sighed along with him and wondered how long I could keep on pretending I wasn’t enjoying myself.
“God, you don’t give up, do you?” I said, supposedly annoyed. “But you’ll do the car straight away?”
He gulped, nodding as he did.
“Promise?” I asked, folding my arms while giving him a stern look. “No more little tricks? I do it for you and that’s it? If I suck your cock you’ll look at the brakes?”
“Yeah. Absolutely.”
“I don’t believe it,” I muttered, still playing the game. “I don’t believe I’m actually considering this…”
He was undoing his belt as I said it.
“Go on,” I added when he unzipped. “Let’s see it. Get it out and let me have a look.” He gawked for a moment.
“Shit,” he said, poised on the brink of hauling it out. “Really?” I thrust out my bottom lip while nodding.
“Really,” I told him. “I want to see you. But don’t take long about it. Don’t forget, my husband’s waiting outside.”

He stood with his pants and shorts bunched down at his knees while I knelt on my skirt as meager protection for my knees.
When I got down there, my eyes were about level with his cock.
I looked at it and said, “It’s quite big, isn’t it?”
He stared down at me while I looked at his dick. I examined the jut of his length, impressed at his bulk. It was a lovely cock. The shaft was nice and thick and crisscrossed with gnarly protrusions, the bulb a big helmet.
“Thanks,” he said, then sighed when I reached up to take him in hand.
I shifted my knees and slowly caressed his erection, my attention fixed on the long, curved jib.
The stiffness of it sent a pulse through my core. I felt my insides tighten with need while I savored the rigid length of his gorgeous appendage.
“Big and stiff,” I breathed as I started to stroke it. Then I added, “You’re a very naughty man,” grinning at him.
“You’re pretty wild yourself,” he told me. Then he paused before going on to say, “Is your husband really waiting outside?”
I kept on working a hand over his cock.
“Yes. The plan is I leave my car here and then take him out to the airport. He’s going away this afternoon. I’m meant to drop him off and drive his car home.” “What if he comes in? What if he decides to check up on you?” My hand went still. I looked up at his face and gave a half-shrug.
“Don’t you worry about that,” I said, then went back to the stroking.
“Fuck! you’re crazy!” he cried.
I paused again.
“I can stop this right now. If you’re worried,” I said.
Air hissed out of his nose before he gurgled his response.
“Shit, no. Please don’t quit.” His tongue slipped over dry lips before he asked, “Do you cheat on him a lot?”
I was purposely casual in my reply.
“Oh yes, often,” I said, my tone bright and cheerful. Like it was nothing at all to fuck other guys.
“How long have you been married?” he asked, the question followed up by a low moan of pleasure.
I let out a dry chuckle and said, “Fifteen years.”
Pre-cum leaked from his dick as my fist worked to-and-fro, the shaft slick with the desire sliding from the slit in the bulb.
It felt so sweet to have his cock in my fist. jacking his length. Doing that to him, a complete stranger in his skanky workshop, had me squirming with need.
Tasting his pre-cum only made me worse when I took a lick the swollen cock-head, a gasp coming out of my throat while male gristle filled my mouth.
“Huh-how long was it before you first cheated?” he asked.
I glommed at him for a few seconds, loving the thrill of taking a new man into my mouth before easing off him and gasping a reply.
“Straight away,” I said, no hesitation. “If you must know, I cheated the day I got married.”

Two
A church wedding and a reception in the rugby club. The reception was a simple bar, buffet, and disco kind of deal. Standard for those days. Not too expensive. There wasn’t much money around. Not for us. Not then. That would come later, when we moved to America and my husband’s business got boosted into the stratosphere A Saturday in June and I’d been a wife for nine hours when I sucked a fucked another man’s cock.
11 p.m. and the music was at its peak. The fifty guests had thinned to two dozen, and most of those remaining were in varying degrees of intoxication. A few had been tempted onto the dance floor by boozy lack of inhibition and the retro classic of Soft Cell’s Tainted Love. I was a couple of vodkas in myself, and that was on top of the champagne and wine earlier in the day.
I sat and watched it go on. The disco lights flashed color with photo-flash bursts freezing the dancers into monochrome snapshots, the poses caught mid-frenzy when the strobes kicked in for a few seconds at a time. My new husband was at the bar, locked into conversation with the best man, so I was alone for the moment, tired from the day, but buzzing with the excitement and vodka.
I saw movement from the corner of my eye a moment before I heard him speak.
“So, you did it,” he said.
I turned and saw Luke sitting in the chair next to mine, his suit a little tired, tie loose, the top shirt button undone. I don’t suppose he was entirely sober, but there was no glaze to his eyes, no slurring and he looked okay.
I noticed Luke had his eyes on my husband as I said, “Yes, I did.”
Luke thrust out his chin, focus locked on my husband while the music slipped from Soft Cell into another classic: Duran Duran and Girls on Film, the upbeat tune designed to keep the dancers throwing it all around on the floor.
Luke flicked a look at me and leaned in close so I could hear over the music.
“So you’re going to America with him, huh?”
When his attention came up to my face I noticed his eyes took a quick visit to the deep crease of my cleavage. As always, I felt the flicker of arousal at his interest, and, as usual, stuffed it down and tried to ignore it.
“He’s going ahead,” I said. “Tomorrow. I’m staying here for another fortnight. He’s got a lot of business to be getting on with. And we need somewhere to live before I can join him.” “He’s so much older than you,” Luke put in.
“I prefer to think of him as mature,” I said in response. “Anyway, he’s only thirty-nine.”
“You’re twenty-three!”
I shrugged and didn’t comment.
Then Luke said, “I’ll miss you at work.”
He said it quietly, expression morose. I hadn’t expected Luke to be that way. We weren’t exactly close friends, but I liked him a lot. Luke was always good for a laugh, constantly engaging in flirty banter which sailed close to the wind. Not that I minded, I gave as good as I got. He’d make crude propositions which I’d bat away with nothing more than a laugh and some quick riposte. Sometimes I’d masturbate and think about him. The scene something sleazy and sordid, like the toilets at work.
I ignored his expression and said, “You’ll only miss perving at my boobs, Luke.” Luke gave me his lop-sided grin while his eyes dropped to my bosom again. “Well, yeah, that’s true,” he said, talking to my tits. “I don’t suppose you’d let me have a look at them now, eh, Julia?”
I was mildly amused. I was used to Luke. This was tame for us.
“On my wedding day, Luke?” I rolled my eyes before I chuckled and said, “How many years have you been asking?”
Luke pretended to think about it.
“At least three,” he said.
“It was a week after I started working with you.”
He nodded. “Well, I didn’t want to rush in and frighten you, so I left it a week. Besides, I had to suss you out. You might have gone running to the higher-ups. If you’d been the sort to make a fuss. Sexual harassment and all that malarkey.”
“I was never frightened of you, Luke,” I said. “You always made me laugh.”
“The way you’re talking,” Luke replied with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. “It’s like I’m dead.”
“Past tense?” I asked, then grimaced an apology. “Sorry,” I told him. “It must be because going to America seems so … final, I suppose.”
Luke shifted his chair closer. He threw a glance towards the bar. Looked at me again.
I saw the change in his face change. His expression turned furtive all of a sudden. As I watched, I saw something darker, something clandestine which caused me a ripple of unease as I
sensed the atmosphere change between us. An abrupt shift towards the dark and illicit.
In what would be a pivotal moment in my life, an awakening of some part of me that loved the taboo and forbidden, I watched Luke’s face, arousal quick and hot between my legs. I’d always been one to get easily turned on, but I was surprised and a little shocked that my body responded to the situation in the way it did. After all, it was my wedding day.
“Will you show me your boobs?” Luke asked again. And while it was a phrase I’d heard him utter countless times, on that night I got the impression he actually meant it. He wasn’t just k**ding around in the hope I might do it.
The realization was a cold water shock while I watched his Adam’s apple bounce and he gulped after he’d said it. All of a sudden I was squirmy with need.
Then Luke added, “You’re leaving soon, Julia. It won’t mean anything. Just a little flash. For me. Before you go. Just for the memory.”
I can’t explain why his suggestion seemed so reasonable. I was married by then. I shouldn’t have even been letting him speak to me that way anymore. The ceremony and my vows were an invisible line. I had a ring on my finger. I was a wife, committed to someone else.
But there was just something about the way he said it that made it seem like no big deal. So what? He wanted to look at my breasts? Did it matter so much? I’d held out for three years, denied him a little glimpse at my boobs. If I was by a pool in some Mediterranean hotel, I wouldn’t think twice about going topless. Bare tits were quite the norm. What harm could it do?
One little look and I could leave him something to remember at least.
I blinked a few times while I thought about it, then scooped up my glass and drained it dry.
“You really mean it, don’t you?” I said, gawking at Luke.
He nodded and grimaced, then looked down at the table. Luke heaved a sigh and shook his head. Looked to me like he was engaged in some internal dialogue.
“Yeah,” he admitted, eyes on mine. “You know I’ve always fancied you, Julia. I was only half joking all those times.”
“Luke, it’s my wedding day,” I said on a sigh as I gave a tiny shake of my head. “I can’t show you my breasts today, can I? Come on, you can’t really expect…?” But, even while I was talking, I kind of wanted to do it.
Then there was an almost manic intensity about Luke when he cut in with, “Fucking hell,
Julia.”
His intensity made me send an anxious look towards the bar. I looked at my husband, checking to see if he’d noticed anything going on. But he was still engrossed in conversation. Probably business, I thought to myself.
Then, apparently oblivious to everything except his own desires, Luke went on with, “You’re leaving soon. I’ll probably never see you again. It isn’t such a big drama. It’s only your boobs.”
His words matched my thoughts. He was right. It would be the last chance. I’d be in America soon. What would it matter? Just a flash of my breasts?
“Have you had a lot to drink?” I asked.
“A few,” he said with a shrug.
“Thought so,” I said.
I sighed and held onto Luke’s stare with one of my own while sensations and emotions boiled within.
“Look, Luke,” I added, struggling with what was going on inside me. “I’ve always liked you, too. But I never thought there was anything in it. I just thought you were joking around. You’ve always had girlfriends. The thing at work, you know, you always being mucky and everything … Well, I thought it was just a bit of fun. A laugh.”
He sighed. I saw his throat working again as he gulped down against what I took to be his own struggle inside.
“It was,” Luke said, after swallowing heavily again. His eyes searched my face when he continued with, “But then he turned up…” Luke looked over to my husband.
“…with all of his blather about what he’s going to do when he goes home. When you started to go out with him, I don’t know, I realized I liked you more than I thought. I was going to tell you, but then you got engaged. I was pissed off about that, but thought it might not happen. I hoped you’d chuck him over or something.” “Oh, Luke,” I breathed, saddened to hear it.
He nodded and shrugged.
“Yeah,” he said. “Then you got married in such a rush. Jesus,” Luke gasped. “It all came on so fucking fast in the end.”
I kept quiet and tried to make sense of it around the surprise and the vodka.
“He got the offer to start the business with his friend,” I said by way of explanation. “We had to bring it all forward.”
“And here we are,” Luke said, leaning back and spreading his arms. He looked around, the music still crashing away while the dancers carried on with their crazy gyrations. “You’re married and I missed the boat.” Luke sighed yet again, his eyes going back to my cleavage as he gave a wry grin and slowly shook his head. “Now I’m never going to get a look at your boobs.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, a thrill going through me. And, in one of life’s spur-of-themoment decisions, one which would have a profound effect, while wondering what I was thinking even as the words came out, I said, “Buy me a drink. There’s a room near the front doors. It’s just to the left. It’s where I got changed out of my dress. It’s private. I’ll wait for you there.”

Three
Fifteen years later, I walked into Paul’s auto-repair shop and encountered almost the exact same request as I’d had from Luke on the night of my wedding.
The guy had come recommended by my friend. Melanie swore by him, so I thought I’d give him a try. I should have known what he’d be like if he had any dealings with her.
The Benz was out in the lot, with my husband waiting in his own big GLS SUV in the next space along. I was dressed for business, lingerie under the tight skirt, a blouse that was decent enough yet still let the guys know I had it all going on. I wore killer Louboutins, the heels as lethal as an assassin’s blade, my long, thick blonde hair piled up and held in place with a combtoothed clip at the back of my head.
Without wishing to sound conceited, I knew I looked hot. I knew I had it all going on when I walked into the workshop.
Paul had laid on the hard word soon after we started negotiations. He cajoled me into exposing my breasts, which, not that Paul had any idea, didn’t faze me one little bit.
Then I was down on my knees, jerking and sucking his cock while recounting the wedding day escapade.
“Shit,” Paul groaned, his butt on the chair by then. “Your wedding day? Fuck, that’s a bad thing to do.”
“Wicked,” I said. “Deplorable. But that’s what I did. That’s what turned me into who I am now.” I cranked his dick with a backhand grip, twisting my hand as it moved over the shaft. “I can’t explain why I did it. Vodka, perhaps,” I said with a chuckle. “And I did like Luke. He was very good-looking.”
“Did you suck him?” Paul asked with a gasp.
I looked at his face and shook my head.
“No. I didn’t want him to come over my clothes or face or anything.” I stopped working Paul’s length long enough to add, “Besides, he was fucking huge. I might have dislocated my jaw trying to take his thing in my mouth. It was bad enough as it was. I got so turned on seeing his size I lost it and told him I wanted to feel it inside me. I was just about screaming the place down when he took me from behind. Good job the disco was loud. God,” I breathed while my pussy all but pissed desire at the memory of that sordid encounter. “He left me in enough of a mess. He just fucked me until he came. He went at me like a wild man and pumped me full of cum.”
“And your husband didn’t notice?” Paul was amazed. “Later, I mean. You musta had sex on your wedding night.”
I gave a half shrug and went back to tugging at Paul.
“He’d had a lot to drink. My husband was bladdered when we went to bed. Not completely out of it, but bad enough. We had sex, but he didn’t seem to register I was so much wetter than I’d ever been with him before. God, I was brimming with semen by the time Luke had finished, but a lot had leaked into my knickers. My husband might have thought I was just excited. He was pretty out of it. Anyway, whatever, he still fucked me and came and fell asleep and left me to finger myself. I was still so bloody randy because of what I’d done with Luke. I felt guilty and ashamed but more aroused than I could remember because of it. The guilt mixed in with being all horny. It’s wrong, but I loved that feeling. It got me so wound up I had to fuck myself with my fingers. I had two servings of jzm inside me. It was so fucking filthy recalling what I’d done when I played with myself that I came and came and came.”
Then I put an end to the talk by once again pursing my lips around Paul’s big dome.

His groans and the way he thrust his hips while trying to fuck my mouth made me go at him harder. I felt the usual rush, exhilarated by the power I had over Paul. He wanted me and I could say yes or no to any request. What happened in there was up to me.
“You’re a very bad boy,” I purred, laying the accent on thick once again. In my experience, just like Paul had confirmed, American men loved to hear me speak.
He responded exactly as I knew he would. Paul sucked in air and let out a groan.
“Fuck that accent is hot,” he said on a gasp. “Tell me more stuff like that. Tell me nasty shit.”
“Got a thing for British ladies with big tits, have you?” I asked, playing it crude, and loving it too.
I took his cock back into my mouth. Felt the girth of him stretching my lips. While I sucked at him, my fist cranked Paul down at his root. I cupped his balls in the palm of one hand, gently teasing those delicate eggs before making a show of glomming his cock-head, glugging and gagging when it went in deep before I slurped and licked him from his nuts to the tip. I grinned at him with my eyes while looking up into his stare, deliberately using his dome against the inside of one cheek to distort my face.
I know a lot of tricks to get a man excited when I’m giving him head.
“Do you like it?” I asked after letting him plop out of my mouth. “Me sucking your cock? Are you horny, Paul? Is it sexy to see me down on my knees with your fat thing between my lips?”
He let out an indeterminate noise, something which went between a gurgle and a groan and a choked sob as he nodded his head, mouth hanging loose.
When he made that sound, I made it even nastier for him. I slobbered and gulped at his length, my eyes locked with his, the glug-glug-glug coming up from the back of my throat. Paul’s expression told me I was getting it right, and I had an idea he was the type who would brag to his buddies and show them the pictures he’d taken. So I was going to make sure he had a story to tell.
“This a lovely big cock,” I said, holding the length of him against my cheek.
I gave him a doe-eyed look, his erection resting against my face while I kept on staring into his eyes, smiling an appreciative smile as I added more compliments over his size and potential virility.
“Like married ladies, do you, Paul? Does it make you horny to see my wedding ring on my finger when I wank your cock?”
He moaned and gasped when I laid it on in spades.
“Are you going to come?” I asked, hand again starting to crank.
“If you keep talking dirty and pulling my dick.”
I grinned and said, “I’m going to keep pulling your dick,” then dropped an eyelid onto one cheek in a lewd wink before I spat saliva over the bulb.
His fingers were clamped tight around the edge of his seat when I worked my fist over his gooey shaft. It looked to me like Paul was really having trouble holding off the surge. I could tell he was close, that he was near to orgasm by the way he gritted his teeth and the cords in his neck stuck out as stark as knife blades and he tried to fuck at my mouth.
He snorted defiance, eyes blazing while his face was all twisted up in a grimace.
“I … I wanna fuck you,” he moaned.
I pretended to be shocked.
“Fuck me?” I said while my fist continued its relentless back-and-forth over his length. I sucked in air and offered him the doe-eyed look again, like I was frightened by the idea. “With this?” I asked casting a meaningful look at his dick.
“Please,” he gasped.
I let him grunt some more. I risked the explosion, took a gamble on him not spitting cum all over me while I kept up the pressure.
Paul moaned and gulped and clenched his teeth, his eyes scrunched up as though her were in pain.
Then, as I judged he couldn’t possibly take much more of my teasing, I smirked into his face while asking, “Got any condoms?” “Shit… No,” he told me.
I felt the disappointment squeeze my insides. In this day-and-age it pays to be more than a little discerning when it comes to sexual encounters. Especially in the frequency I conduct extramarital affairs. It was tempting, he was very good-looking, and he did have a beautiful cock, but the risks were too great. Even more so when I considered Paul might be of a promiscuous persuasion. I had no idea where he’d been, or with whom.
“My husband’s waiting outside,” I said. “I can’t let you fuck me bareback, can I? What if you come inside me? I’ll be leaking spunk all the way to the airport.”
I smirked and let it sink in. I’d used the perfect reason for balking at the suggestion we fuck. The mention of the potential for contracting some hideous disease isn’t too sexy. I didn’t want to kill the mood, so I came up with the cheating slutwife-slash-cuckold husband excuse instead.
“My husband might smell the sex,” I added for the effect. “And besides, being full of your cum would only make me more horny. I’d have to stop and masturbate on the way home. You know,” I sighed, “all alone in the car with my fingers slipping through all the sticky jizm you left inside me. A lady could end up being gang-fucked that way.”
His cock and my fingers made for an obscenely liquid fap-fap-fap as I let him have the dirty talk. My coarse delivery combined with the sensations Paul must have felt through his dick made him grimace and gasp, his eyes set on his length as I just kept on tugging. The eruption was imminent. I knew he couldn’t hold it off any more. I’d been pushing it as it was, now it was time to ease it back a little.
While I jacked at Paul, I had a vague thought about how quickly I’d taken him to the brink of orgasm. It seemed like no time at all. Only a couple of minutes. “Ah, fuck … I’m gonna blow,” Paul gasped out in warning.
When he confirmed my expectations about him being close, I moved my knees back a couple of inches. Then I straightened up and kept on with the handiwork while my attention flicked up to his face. I saw the struggle and focused back on his dick, my thoughts centered on what kind of cummer he was. I most definitely didn’t want his goo on my face. My make-up already needed some light repairs, and even those minor adjustments would consume more minutes than I could really afford. So I watched Paul’s dick, wary about the potential for a huge outrush of ejaculate. I could cope with his semen spattering over my breasts. It was a sexy idea to have his musk on my tits as I sat next to my husband on the way to the airport. Easy enough to wipe up the mess yet still be redolent of sin.
I continued working his length, gauging how close he was by the way he shoved at the floor with his heels. The sounds coming out were getting more urgent. He grunted and groaned and muttered incomprehensible nonsense and, when I judged his climax to be seconds away, I shuffled back further on my knees, thrusting my chest forward to offer my breasts.
“Come on,” I breathed with a quick flick of my eyes up to his face. “Show me the cum. Let me see it, Paul. Come for me, sweetheart,” I murmured.
Paul gave a groan and got to his feet. He took over the cranking, tugging himself with an urgency that brought the moans bubbling up.
While he did it, I positioned myself in a way that meant my tits would take the brunt of any vehement burst. I was well aware his cock might spit cum in a high, dangerous arc. It was my experience that you never could tell if a guy could fling the hot stuff across the room, or if it would just dribble out of the end. There’s just no way of knowing. There are no physical signs. It doesn’t matter if they’re young or old, fat or thin. They can be lithe and athletic and in their early twenties and only manage a slide, while an older man who’s gone to seed can drill holes in cement with the force of his burst. With a new conquest like Paul, I had to be careful. A snotty string of jizm in my hair wouldn’t be a good look at all.
“Where is it?” I said, coaxing him over the edge. “Where’s all that spunk? Come on,” I breathed. “Do it all over my tits.”
I stretched upright and hefted my breasts in my palms. I rubbed myself over his dick, smearing goo onto my skin before I enveloped his shaft.
Paul fucked into my cleavage, my hands pressing the outer flanks of my boobs to squeeze myself around him. He went at me for about fifteen seconds or so, then pulled out with a gasp, fist at his length.
He used the head of his cock to paint my skin with his pre-cum while I knelt and talked dirty, filth pouring out of my mouth as my own excitement burned hotter and hotter. It was getting to the point where I was about to succumb to my own desires and let him fuck me. Condom or not, I was very near abandoning caution and taking his cock into my body.
But, just as the words started their way out of my mouth, Paul let it go.

It turned out he wasn’t a shooter. When it happened Paul grunted and moaned and made noises like he was one of the ones whose cum would strip paint from the walls. He burbled nonsense and grimaced and groaned, then let out a gasp as the stuff poured out in almost one continuous stream. Semen rushed out of his cock in a thick outpouring with no v******e to send it squirting over my breasts. He sucked in air and moaned out how good it was to let it go. He told me he thought I was incredible. He sighed about my body and made burbled comments about how much he loved the lingerie and shoes, how he thought my tits were so fucking gorgeous.
Through it all, he kept on working his dick. He milked himself with one hand until the goo ceased its steady stream, eventually squeezing his length to get every last drop up through his cock.
“I’ll get straight onto the Benz,” he said in-between gulps of air. Paul gawped at his dick and then looked at my face. “Today,” he gasped. “I’ll get right on it.”
I looked at his expression and then examined my front. I had my chin on my chest and was looking for cum, wondering where it was because I hadn’t felt a single squirt of the stuff spatter over my skin. Even though he’d pumped out a lot of jizm, not a blob had hit my body. I looked at my boobs, then checked my blouse. But here was nothing to see. A moment later I saw what had happened and let out a yelp.
I gasped and cried, “Oh, God, you’ve come all over my skirt!”

Four
Blobs of cum glistened against the black cloth. There were at least half-a-dozen globules of the stuff shimmering there.
“Oh, God,” I breathed. “Look at it all.” I was thrilled and appalled.
Paul looked down, a frown on his face as he studied the mess.
“Problem?” he asked, still sucking in air.
I kept silent for a couple of seconds, aghast at the ruin.
“A dry cleaning bill,” I told him. “God,” I breathed, shaking my head. “What a mess.” Then I looked at Paul and added, “You do know my husband’s outside? You remember that, don’t you?”
I got to my feet, the ache in my knees making itself known. Tutting, I stepped around my skirt, shoes pecking the floor before I squatted to pick it up.
“You really have made an awful mess of it, Paul,” I said with a frown while surveying the damage. “That’s a lot of cum,” I told him. “You must have been storing it up.”
Regardless of my husband being outside, Paul just grinned and held up his hands in a gesture that said Well, what can I say?
“Told you,” he said through a smirk. “I’m between girlfriends right now.” “So, my car?” I asked, changing the subject.
It was over as far as nastiness went. My frustration would have to bubble for a little while longer. I could see my husband away at the airport and go home and use one of my toys to get myself off. It was time to get the details sorted and leave.
“I’m at the head of the queue, hmm?”
He chuckled and managed to look slightly abashed.
“Yeah,” he said. “Right at the front of the line.”
The idea occurred to me out of the blue. All of a sudden, I had the perfect solution to my sexual needs and the issue of getting the Mercedes back to the house.
“Will you bring the car to my place?” I asked him. “If I leave you my address, can you drop it off later?”
“Your husband’s going away, right?” he asked after a momentary pause.
“You catch on fast.”
“Leave the address,” he said, his voice more than a little husky.
I moved to the desk and lay my skirt down. Looked inside the voluminous interior of my bag.
Found a pen and a notebook.
“There,” I said, tearing a page from the book.
Paul looked at the scrawl, saw my address and mobile number.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
I smiled. “You can call me Mrs. Makepeace,” I purred.

I left Paul in his workshop with his cock at half-mast, the note in his hand as I walked away, swinging my backside from side-to-side as an enticement.
I strode along the corridor towards the front of the building, skirt in my hand, breasts still bare, my bag over one shoulder. I tutted when I reached the vestibule near the front door and I held up my skirt. Then I shrugged because there was nothing I could do. Any attempt to clean it up would only make it worse, so, supporting myself with one hand braced against the wall, I stepped into the skirt and tugged it up past my hips to my waist. Then I went for the zipper in back. After that, to complete the transformation, I tucked my breasts into my blouse and secured the ties. A quick look at the small mirror I took from my bag showed me what little adjustments I needed to make to my lipstick and hair.
Damage limitation took less than a minute. Then I went back into my bag and pulled out my cell.
“Yes, it’s me,” I said when Melanie answered the call. “I’ve just been to see that guy you told me about … The mechanic. Paul...” I listened for no more than three seconds, then went on to add, “You didn’t tell me the horny bastard would want me to suck his cock. He’s come all over my skirt! And I’ve got Ralph waiting in the car, too. No,” I said on a chuckle after listening some more. “I had fun with him. He’s mad for my boobs. I couldn’t fuck him but I’ve got him
bringing the car round to the house. You know Ralph’s away for a few days, yes?” I listened again.
“Of course I’ll give Paul a bonus,” I said after a burst of input from Melanie. “Anyway, I better go. Talk to you later. Bye.”
I dropped the cell into my bag, looked down at my skirt, and clicked my tongue off the roof of my mouth one more time.
“Dirty bastard,” I muttered.
Then I yanked the door open and stepped out into the lot.  

Five
The anxious anticipation squeezed my insides when I heard the intercom buzz, the sound telling me someone was down at the gates.
I was still in my bedroom, the intercom handset resting on the dressing table where I was adding the finishing touches.
“Uh, it’s Paul,” he said, when I responded.
“Paul who?” I asked, just to rattle his cage.
“Uh, Paul from earlier. The mechanic. I’ve got your Benz.”
“Bring it up to the house. The front door will be open. Come in and close the door behind you.”
I issued the instructions and cut him off. Then I sat on the stool and checked the preparations. A touch up here and there and I was ready to go.
From the upstairs window, I watched the coupe move past the gates. It came along the upward slope of the curving driveway towards the building, with the car disappearing from my sightline as it moved close in to the house. I took a quick glance at San Anselmo down the hill and wondered at what people were doing down there while I was poised on the brink of yet another sexual adventure.
I heard the thunk of the car door and, a few seconds later, the door bell sounded its chime.
Using the button on the handset I unlocked the door. Spoke into it the mouthpiece. Told Paul to come in and close the door behind him.
His shout came up the stairs not long after.
“Hey!” I heard. “Hello? Mrs. Makepeace…? I’ve got the keys. To the car,” he added. “I’ve left it out front right there. Is that okay?”
I examined myself in the mirror. There wasn’t a lot of clothing to check, a very brief and ragged pair of Daisy Dukes which were little more than a scrap of denim belt around my hips with a black bikini on top. My hair was loose, the blonde waves way down past my shoulders while my lipgloss glistened in the afternoon light. In the style of Barbara Bach, the original Daisy, I was wearing high heels, their height putting tension on my calves in a way I thought really made my already long legs look even better.
“Oh, God,” I breathed, nervous.
It doesn’t matter how many years have passed, how many men I’ve been with, it’s always a buzz when it’s a new one.
“Hello? Mrs. Makepeace!” Paul called again.
I took a glance at my rear, saw the undercurve of my buttocks peeping from the ragged hem and felt that rush of horniness warming my pussy.
“Slut,” I grinned at the voluptuous blonde in the mirror.
Then I walked out into the hall. Moved to the bannister rail, the mezzanine level overlooking the vestibule near the front door. It’s a big space down there. A wide, square hallway, like a smaller version of a lobby in an upscale hotel. Marble flooring, a long corridor running towards the back of the house. Up above, I stood and watched him for a few seconds, with Paul oblivious to my presence.
Then I said, “Hello, Paul,” his face tilting towards me. “Close the door,” I added. “And don’t look so frightened. There’s nobody here. It’s just us.”
I knew what he was seeing: white paint on the walls, blinds up at the windows, the horizontal slats bunched together on their cords. No d****s. Afternoon sunlight came in through the big windows to make the place look bright and fresh. Minimalist décor. No clutter. No frills.
And, of course, me in that bikini top, boobs spilling over the cups.
“Close the door, Paul,” I said yet again as he carried on gawking up at me.
“I brought your car,” he said. “Shit,” he managed to add. “I mean, wow. Mrs. Makepeace…”
I beamed a huge smile when I saw the appreciation in his expression, moving to the top of the stairs so he could get a look at the whole package.
Posing, I stood with my pelvis thrust forward, fists on my hips.
“A bit different to earlier on, eh?” I said. “No skirt, no blouse. No stockings and suspender belt.”
It thrilled me to see him taking all of me in through his eyes. Paul just gazed. Said nothing.
“But I’ve got the shoes on,” I added. “Do you like these?” I asked, glancing down at my feet. “They cost over a thousand dollars, Paul. But I’ve got a thing for Louboutins. Red soles, sweetheart.” I said on a chuckle. “The color of sin.”
I tried to ignore the desire pulsing down at my clit. I could feel it throbbing, my nipples long and thick while lust was a storm through my veins.
“I’m assuming you’ll stay for a drink,” I said, head tilted towards one shoulder.
He nodded, still silent.
“Good,” I breathed, taking a step down. “But do shut the door, Paul. There’s a good boy.”

I led the way along the hall, taking Paul into the kitchen after teasing him with the sway of my hips. The way I acted was as though I was just being polite and offering a tradesman a drink before paying the bill and sending him on his way.
It wouldn’t be that way, of course. It was just the mood I was in. I wouldn’t make any overt reference to wanting to fuck. I’d just lay it on him with my body and clothes and the way I moved around. If it went further, Paul would have to make a move. If he didn’t, although that was an outcome I seriously doubted, then I would make do with my dildo and my own imagination. Maybe call up a memory or two to help me along.
“What can I get you?” I asked. “A soda? A beer?” I went to the fridge, a gargantuan thing with a dull metal finish. I looked at Paul and added, “You look like a beer kind of man.” “Uh, yeah, thanks. A beer is good,” he said, still gawping at me.
I smiled and pulled the double doors open. Made a show of leaning in from the waist, my buttocks thrust back.
“My nipples!” I cried. “They’ve gone all stiff with the cold!”
I smirked at Paul and turned to face him, heels pecking the tiles. Showed him the evidence outlined against my bikini.
“There’s IPA or lager,” I told him. “Any preference?”
Paul looked at my breasts and stammered out his choice. I turned again and reached in to take out a bottle.
“There you are, darling,” I said, laying it down onto the counter.
Paul moved to take it. He twisted the cap and dropped it on the counter and took a deep swallow.
“So, how’s the car?” I asked. “Was it much of a problem?” Paul did his best to focus on the question.
“Well, it’s a Mercedes, Mrs. Makepeace,” he said. “I’m not really qualified – you know. But it was only brakes. No problem at all.”
“Thank you for being so good and putting me in front of the queue. I’m grateful,” I said.
“Especially since you had that limousine company lined up.” Paul gave me a rueful grin as his cheeks flushed.
“Well, you asked so nicely,” he said. “You showed me your boobs and walked around. You sucked my dick … And I guess I did make a real mess on your skirt.”
I chuckled and said, “You did, you dirty bastard.”
“Did you get away with it?” he asked before taking a pull at the beer. “Did your husband … uh … notice anything?”
“Don’t worry. Everything was fine,” I said. “My husband drove to the airport. I took over at the drop-off lane. I even got out of the car to go round to the driver’s side and to kiss him goodbye.”
Paul took another swig and said nothing. He drank and swallowed and swept his gaze over my body.
I watched him do it, lust bubbling inside me.
Then I said, “Actually, I’d better give my husband a call. Soon. Just to show I’m concerned for his welfare.”
Paul looked puzzled when he went to take another swig at his beer. “Empty?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“That was quick,” I said. “Another?” Paul held out the empty bottle.
“Yeah, sure, thanks,” he said.
I moved to him, close enough for Paul to reach out and touch me if he had a mind to do so.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he groaned.
I smirked and said, “Thank you.”
“Cuh-can I fuck you?” he stammered. Paul stared at my breasts again. Licked his lips and then blinked into my face. “I really wanna fuck you,” he added.
To which I let out a deep sigh and moved in further and pressed my frontage against him. “I thought you were never going to ask,” I breathed.

We kissed on the stairs. Paul had followed behind me, my bottom level with his face. I suppose it all just got to be too much for him because when we reached the landing he just gave out this growl, and the next thing I knew he had his hands on my waist and was turning me around to face him.
I loved the look on his face. His expression told me he was going to try to dominate me. Paul was all hot-eyed intensity as his breath came out ragged and urgent, his throat working again while his gaze moved over my torso in a hot tide of lust. He pulled me in close and I let out a yip of surprise. Then I chuckled and told him he was a very bad boy, at which point he just jammed his mouth to my lips and pushed his tongue inside.
My pussy, which was already sodden, clenched and just about squirted with my own rush of desire. I let Paul kiss me for a couple of seconds, and when he did, he was in charge, his hands moving over my body while he gasped into my mouth and I squirmed against his thigh. Then I sandwiched his cheeks between my palms and pulled away from his face. I looked him in the eye and murmured I wanted him to smash me with his gorgeous fat cock, my words making his jaw drop to his knees. After that, I moved in and took charge of the kissing. I moaned and gasped and made it very clear I wanted him to use me like his personal slut.
“I want you to use my cunt,” I told him. “You’re young and gorgeous and fit. I want you to show me what a man can do, Paul. I hope you’re up to the job. I hope you can satisfy me.” He gulped again, eyes as round as full moons.
“You’re just too fucking nasty, Mrs. Makepeace,” he said with a quick shake of his head.
“Sweetheart,” I purred, moving away. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” I got four or five paces away before Paul recovered enough to come after me.
“Easy,” I said as I blurted a laugh.
Paul had grabbed me again. He was groaning and gasping, his fingers kneading my breasts until I took a pace back and scooped out one heavy orb.
“There you go,” I said on a purr while hauling the other boob free. “All yours, lover-boy.” He sucked at my nipples, an arm around my waist so I couldn’t get away.
“The bedroom,” I gasped as he pawed at me. “Get in there and take off your clothes. Let’s get this thing started.”
Paul released my nipple and grinned into my face. “Fuck yeah, Mrs. Makepeace,” he said. “Okay.” I shook him off and pointed to the bedroom door.
“Get in there,” I said. “Go through to the en-suite. I want you to shower so you’re all lovely and fresh.” He almost ran into the bedroom when I finished with, “Get clean and then I’ll suck your cock some more.”
I had to force him into the shower. It took a little persuading to get him in there, Paul was really worked up, all riled up and horny, his eyes wild with the strength of his need, but I eventually got him into the stall and declined to join him.
I laughed and said, “You’ll only lunge and try to fuck me and then it’ll all be over before we’ve really gotten going. Go on, get in. Get clean so I can get you all dirty again.”
In another deliberate ploy to crank up the nastiness, I left the phone call until my boy was out of the shower.
When Paul came into the bedroom, I was out of the shorts and bikini. I kept the shoes on because it makes me feel really sexy that way. Besides, I know guys like it.
I savored the sight of a male in his prime, taking in the wide shoulders and hard slabs of plated muscle on his chest. Paul was gorgeous, a really good-looking man, and I could have groaned out loud with the desire rushing through me when I looked at his tightly-muscled stomach and saw the long jib of his erection. His cock was thick and long, a stiff, arrogant jut arcing up, the big thing so obviously ready for action.
“That really is a magnificent penis,” I told him, unable to keep the moan out of my voice after I said it. “I’m going to have fun with that.”
He gasped and mumbled my name when I moved in and kissed his mouth in a long and hard expression of my own desire. I moaned and wriggled against him, my tongue swirling with his as I worked a hand over his cock and he slid his palms over every part of me he could reach.
We groped and gasped and kissed at the foot of my bed. The marital bed. The one I share with my husband.
The situation was getting out of control. Kissing Paul while relishing the iron-stiff glory of his cock in my fist was getting to me. His hands were at my breasts, pawing and squeezing before he went to the cheeks of my ass. Paul massaged my butt and slid a hand between my legs, his fingers sliding over my pussy. If it kept on going that way, I’d only end up with my legs wide open while begging him to fuck that dick into me. It was so hot and intense between us I’d take him on bareback for sure. So, with an immense effort of will, I stepped away from the kiss, raked a needy stare over his face and his body, my attention locked on his hard-on as I picked up my cell before climbing aboard the big bed.
I placed the call and then beckoned Paul to join me and, with us both on bed – me perched on the edge while Paul lay full length – I held the phone to my ear with one hand and leaned in to crank at his dick with the spare.
“Hi, it’s me,” I said into the device when my husband picked up. “Good flight?” I asked.
Paul lay with his neck and shoulders propped by a couple of pillows, his gaze fixed on where I was working his length.
“The car?” I said. “Yes, it’s back. All fixed. No problem.”
I looked at Paul’s face and rolled my eyes, held the phone to my ear and listened to my husband while I leaned over to kiss Paul’s mouth.
“Tonight?” I said, breaking the kiss. “I’ll probably just stay in and watch a film. I might have a glass of wine. I’m already slobbing around in my pajamas, darling. I’m not in the mood to do anything else.”
Then I went down to suck Paul’s cock, the phone still at my ear. Somehow, despite my efforts to make him groan, Paul kept it all in. He didn’t make a sound, just lay there as his muscles went tense and I sucked his dick. He even kept quiet when I winked at him and painted my face with his big, spongy dome.
The pre-cum was cold on my cheeks when I sighed a “No…” into the phone.
My lipstick was gone, my hair over my face while I carried on the conversation in a bored tone.
“Nothing planned for tonight,” I added. “A glass of wine and a film, perhaps? Or maybe I’ll finish that book?”
I went down and sucked Paul again, popping my lips of the big bulb before I rolled onto my back and made it obvious I wanted Paul to get busy down at my pussy. I babbled into the phone and pointed to my sex, thrilled to see the sparks flash in Paul’s eyes when I flicked my tongue at him and indicated what it was I wanted him to do. Then, to make it lewdly plain, I splayed my labia like butterfly wings to expose my arousal and slid a forefinger over my clit, the bean swollen, my flesh scarlet with lust.
Paul shot up off the bed. He sat upright and stared at me, the heat in his expression while I lay there all casually sprawled for our cuckold encounter.
“I better go,” I said with a definite catch in my tone. “I’ll call you tomorrow. We could Skype?” I added, then closed the call with a throaty, “I love you.”
When I finished, Paul was looking at me over the pronounced hump of my bald pubic mound. He stared past my breasts and their tips of elongated flesh to where he watched me ensure the call had been properly cancelled.
I checked the face of the phone, then dropped it aside.
“Lick my pussy,” I sighed. “Make me feel good. Make the cheating worthwhile.” Paul’s eyes stayed on me for a few more seconds. He stared at my face and said, “Show me your hand.” “What?” I replied, not getting his meaning.
“Your left hand,” he insisted. “I saw your wedding ring when you were on the phone. You were using your left hand on my dick again … It was bad watching that. … While you were talking to your husband.”
“My wedding ring,” I said, showing Paul the bling. “The other ring, the one with the big jewel, is an engagement ring my husband bought me when the money started coming in. I had a much smaller one before that.” I waggled my finger while grinning at Paul. “The third ring is an eternity ring. What do you think?” I asked.
“You’re a cheating bitch,” Paul said.
I didn’t take offence at what he’d said because it had come out of him as an expression of his desire. An I’d been winding him up deliberately. He was just horny to fuck me, and, besides, as far as he was concerned, I was a cheating bitch.
“Yes,” I breathed, squirming around. “But you’re here with me right now. You don’t have to stay and cuckold my husband, Paul. You’re free to leave if it makes you feel guilty.” His response was a predictable gulp and shake of his head.
“You’re k**ding,” he breathed with a glance at my vulva. “I ain’t going anywhere. Not until
I’ve sucked on those big old pussy-flaps, Mrs. Makepeace.”
“Don’t you like them?” I asked with a pout while spreading my legs.
He swallowed heavily again, his eyes on the ungainly folds down at my vulva. He was right in his observation. My labia are big, meaty flaps, like miniature elephants’ ears, as my husband says.
“I think they’re fucking beautiful,” he told me. “I think everything about you is fuckin’ hot,
Mrs. Makepeace.”
I loved to hear his breathless enthusiasm.
“Then don’t just lie there and talk, Paul,” I said, squirming some more. “Get on with it. Show me what you can do.”

He lapped at me, his tongue moving over my labia and clit while I urged him to use a finger inside me. He was keen to impress. Paul did everything I asked him to do until I was writhing and gasping and clawing at the bed and, sometimes, his shoulders.
Paul worked me into a moaning frenzy, lust making me vocal in the crudest terms.
“God, Paul,” I gasped after he’d triggered a vehement orgasm inside me. “Do you think we could fuck now?”
“Yeah, Mrs. Makepeace,” he growled.
Paul rose up onto his knees. He jacked his dick, fire in his eyes.
“I wanna fuck you. I’m gonna go crazy if I don’t get into you soon.”
“Condom,” I said, keeping it together enough to insist. “You can’t fuck me bareback, Paul.”
He was reluctant to waste time. I saw Paul’s jaw work as he gritted his teeth, the tiny muscles bunching as the boy struggled against just plunging in up to his balls.
To be honest, in that moment, if he’d just gone for it and put that thing inside me, I wouldn’t have stopped him. I was as desperate to do it as he was. The desire was hot down between my thighs. Need was already sluicing out of my body, my pussy hungry for meat, my clit a tingling bundle of excited nerve endings while my tits ached to be man-handled by my gorgeous young lover.
“Aw fuck, Mrs. Makepeace,” Paul grunted, a hand stroking his dick.
“In the bedside cabinet, Paul,” I managed to gasp, my own fingers stirring my pussy. “I picked some up on my way back from the airport. Quick. Hurry. Get one on and give me that cock.”

I allowed him be in control at first. I lay on my back and offered myself, holding my labia pinned back with the tips of my fingers after he’d fumbled with the condom, eventually rolling the thing down over his length. He moved over my body, holding himself there with one arm straight, a hand on the bed, the other holding his cock down at its base.
“Steady,” I said with a gurgle. “Just let it slide in. I’m wet. There won’t be a problem.”
I groaned when he eased into my body. He felt so thick in there as each inch filled me up and split me open I gasped and moaned and gaped into his face.
“Fuck,” I mumbled, going up onto my hands so I could watch. “Yes, baby, give that thing.”
Paul gave me a share of his length before slipping back out, the big head remaining inside while he moved around on his hands, both of us looking down to where our bodies were joined.
I breathed out, “Oh, fuck,” when he went in again.
“Yeah,” Paul sighed in response as he gave me more of his dick.
“Gorgeous,” I groaned on his long, slow outstroke.
“I thought you’d be loose,” he told me, filling me until his balls nudged my crease. “Your pussy,” Paul added, wincing as he began to move. “I mean, those lips, Mrs. Makepeace. They sure make it look like they’ve seen some action.”
I snickered with dark amusement and grinned up into his face while I started up with a quick shunt of my hips.
“Darling, they have,” I informed my latest lover. “My pussy had fucked a lot of men.” “Bitch,” he mumbled, but still ducked in to kiss my mouth.
We kissed, with Paul going at me. He snorted and grunted, moving me about the bed until he had the backs of my knees hooked around his arms. My pelvis was angled so he could fuck into my body, my sex completely vulnerable to his whims while he drilled at me. I think it was all to do with male ego and the need to mark his territory, to claim me in some way, to mark me as his. It’s something I’ve experienced before. Some men, when they hear about my promiscuity, seem to feel the need to be the best I’ve ever had. They work extremely hard to be the one who sticks inside my head by giving me the most pleasure they can possibly bestow upon me. It leads to some very wild, very rough sex – which is usually welcome, but which can also be a bit of a bore at times. I’m a woman with complex wants and needs. My appetites vary. Sometimes I want my hair pulled and my bottom spanked. I want a man behind me while we’re both standing up, usually in some sleazy setting where the risk of being caught rutting are high. It’s hot to have a guy fucking at me while grabbing my tits and whispering his dirty thoughts into my ear. But, occasionally, I like a little romance.
With Paul, however, it was all about bestial grunting and snorting while he tried to smash my cervix with his big cock. And I went along with it, too. It was just how I wanted to play it after an afternoon of edging myself close.
“Go on,” I snarled, shoving up to meet him on the way down. “Smash me,” I groaned. “Use my married cunt.”
That crude delivery made Paul gasp.
“You gotta stop saying that shit, Mrs. Makepeace,” he mumbled. “It makes me wanna come.”
“God, not yet!” I squeaked in reply. “Don’t come yet. Don’t you fucking dare.” The bed bounced beneath me while Paul kept up the pressure.
“I’m only just started,” I added. “Don’t you dare fucking come!”
He kept going for a half-minute more, then gave out a groan and pulled out of my body.
“A minute,” Paul said, breathless as he held up a hand. “Just a sec, Mrs. Makepeace.”
He sucked in air and shook his head while staring at me. He groaned, “If you keep talking dirty … Your accent…” He gasped and winced, eyes set on my face.
“I’ll come, Mrs. Makepeace,” he told me.
With that, I decided it was time for a change of position and pace.
“Lie down,” I told him. “On your back. I’m going to ride you.”
We glared at each other, combatants locked in a contest. For me it was all about the thrill of deceit, about the corruption. I was aroused and desperate. I needed to come on his dick before letting my lover to let go of his seed.
Power. Control. My need to dominate.
“Lie down,” I repeated, impatient. “I told you, get on your back.”
He did it as soon as I said it that second time. Paul got down and I immediately threw a leg over his body, a heel scything the air. I held his cock upright and mashed the head through my folds, whining with the pleasure of it when the spongy dome bumped over my clit.
Paul’s hands were on my waist to hold me steady when I shifted around and made the necessary adjustments to ensure I could slide down over the shaft.
“Hold me,” I gasped, taking half of his dick.
I squatted above him, fingers splayed over his chest, heels of my shoes gouging the cover.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I said with a moan. “Let me do it. Let me ride you.”
He was huge inside me again, his girth stretching me open as I went down over his dick. With me on top, I could control how deep I took him. I was in charge of the speed and angle and every little detail of that wonderful time.
The swing of my breasts held Paul’s attention. He took a glance at my face while my butt flattened against his thighs. As he looked at me, I made sure to show him how good I was feeling by smiling down and loving him with my eyes. Suddenly, as happens from time-to-time, I felt a huge upsurge of emotion. I occasionally invest some love in my men, the intimacy of having them inside me eliciting tender feelings within.
“I want you bare inside me,” I moaned. “Without a condom, Paul. God, I want to feel you in there with nothing between us.” “Yeah?” he gasped.
I nodded and sucked at my bottom lip while squeezing my breasts, our bodies smacking together.
“Uh-huh,” I groaned, fucking his dick. “Can I trust you, Paul?”
I slowed it all down and moved around until I was resting on my knees with all of him inside me. I studied his face, my hips never quiet still as I looked at Paul and kept on moving slowly back-and-forth, just enough to feel him against my clit, his whole length wedged in my body.
“What do you mean?” the boy mumbled.
“It’s a risk, darling,” I breathed. “Taking you bare.”
“What? I might knock you up?” I chuckled at that.
“No,” I replied. “Other nasty things…”
“I’m okay, Mrs. Makepeace,” he said. “I’m cool. I’m good.” I stared at him for a very long time.
“Promise?” “Yeah,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“I get a screening every three months. My last girl insisted.” I grinned, delighted.
“Me too,” I said. “So let’s take that condom off. you, shall we?” I lifted up off him, my fingers going to his dick.
When I pulled the flaccid giblet off Paul, I flicked it away in mild disgust before I put him right back inside me, a low mewl of delight coming out while he groaned and grabbed for my tits.
“You know,” I said with a smirk, the devil inside me making me say it. “You won’t make me pregnant … But it’d be lovely if we pretended you could.”
And didn’t Paul’s eyes go wide and his Adam’s apple bob when he heard that. “Jesus,” he said on a moan. “You’re the nastiest--” I was so hot by then it could only get worse.
“You could fuck a baby inside me,” I told him cutting him off. Then I went on to whisper, “Or you could come all over my face…”  

Six
“Slowly,” I groaned as I moved on Paul’s shaft. “I’m going to take it slow, Paul,” I murmured. “I want us to love.”
“But you’re married,” he replied, choking it out. “Love isn’t a thing we can have.”
“But you’re here now, Paul. You’re the one inside me right now. That’s your big cock I can feel filling me up. Forget that I’m married. Forget about my husband. Pretend I’m your wife and you’re going to put a baby inside me.”
After that I closed my eyes and simply wallowed in the sin. I moved against my lover, his hands sliding all over me while he got into what we were doing. I took him deep and then gave it a couple of minutes of robust action, bouncing on Paul while grunting and gasping my pleasure.
He made all the same noises, occasionally blurting out what he was feeling. Paul groaned and snorted and let his hands wander over my skin. He clasped his fingers against my buttocks and went up to fuck into my pussy while we rutted like b**sts. Then I slowed it down again, curling in low to kiss him, my breasts compressed between us while our tongues slid and slithered in a serpentine whirl.
I had him inside me right down to his balls as I grimaced in ecstasy, moans and gasps issuing forth as squatted over him once again, heels digging into the bed, the muscles working in my thighs while Paul did his best to hold me upright. Then he looked at my breasts and made a comment about their shape and weight. He complimented my nipples and the saucers of their areolae.
“Mrs. Makepeace,” he muttered. “Get those bug fuckin’ jugs down here.”
Paul tried in vain to rise up enough to get my nipple into his mouth. He couldn’t manage to lift his head more than a few inches, straining against the pressure of my hands against his chest.
“I wanna suck your tits,” he gasped. “Man, I just gotta suck them.”
A heel jagged in the cover when I went to move onto my knees. I mumbled an epithet, almost tearing the Egyptian cotton in my frantic haste to free myself and feed my lover my teats.
“Fuck,” I spat, wriggling around.
Eventually, I extricated myself, hands going down to the bed to rest one either side of Paul’s head. As soon as the weight lifted off Paul, he reached for my boobs.
Paul squeezed, one breast in each of his hands when I muttered, “There they are.” I leaned in low to offer them to him.
“Suck them,” I whispered, my hips working slowly. “You like them, don’t you?” I said with a chuckle. I watched his lips suck at my nipples, his head moving from one to the other while I made a shelf with my forearm and offered my breasts. “Those big tits,” I finished.
“Fuck, Mrs. Makepeace,” he mumbled, hands at my bottom, fingers kneading my buttocks. “You’re the absolute best. I mean,” Paul went on with a gasp. “Your accent, the way you dress…” He moaned and smacked the palm of a hand down over my backside. “The nasty shit you say,” he eventually finished.
“It’s what I love doing, Paul,” I told him. I curled in low to press my breasts against his chest again, kissing my lover while he slapped his hand down against my flesh several more times.
“I really love fucking other guys,” I purred. “I love men and their cocks. I love to feel a man’s muscles. I love to watch my pussy taking a dick.”
My hips went back-and-forth, my tongue in his mouth as his hands moved over my body.
“I love the anticipation when I’m getting ready for a date,” I added as his fingers went tight around my waist. “I get so bloody randy,” I breathed, eyes on his face. I watched his expression while going up onto straight arms. I saw him wince as I groaned. “It’s the sheer excitement of being so fucking wicked. I’ve been hooked on fucking other men ever since I gave it up to my friend on my wedding day.”
Then I started to ride. I slid up Paul’s length, his shaft slick with our combined desire as I went straight back down. My movements became more urgent, flesh slapping flesh as I carefully gauged how close my lover was to letting loose with the flood.
“You want to get me pregnant, baby?” I purred, watching his face. “Do you want to dump all of that cum in there and knock me up?”
“Ah, shit,” Paul said with a grimace.
Spank me again,” I said with a squeal. “Go on,” I urged, thrusting down, hard. “Smack my backside. I’ve been a very bad girl.”
“Fuck,” Paul grunted. “Will you just quit it. Don’t tell me any more stuff like that, Mrs. Makepeace.”
He held onto my hips and fucked up into my pussy. Paul thrust up as I went down. Our bodies collided, my tits bouncing and swinging while Paul lifted a hand and brought it down against one shivering buttock.
“It’s too hot to hear,” he said. “You fucked another guy the day you got married … You talk about me knocking you up. You cheat on your husband … Fuck, Mrs. Makepeace, you’re about the worst bitch I’ve met in my life.”
He smacked me again, the spank bringing a low groan out of my throat.
I moaned and curled in once more so I could kiss him again.
“I know. Isn’t it filthy?” I murmured into Paul’s ear. “I’ve tried to stop. I’ve tried to be a good wife.”
I fucked onto his cock, corkscrewing my pelvis so his length stirred me inside.
“But I must be an addict,” I said on a moan. “I’ll have good intentions and then see a hot guy. I can’t stop myself from doing it, Paul. I can’t stop the fucking.” Paul groaned again.
“I’m gonna come, Mrs. Makepeace,” he snarled.
To me, he looked close. He was snorting and gritting his teeth, his fingers digging into my hips as he drove at me like a man possessed.
“You’re a whore,” Paul growled, reaching up to pull at my hair.
I gasped at the sting in my scalp and spat a reply while Paul held my head back at a sharp angle.
“I’m not a whore,” I told him, tone vehement. “I do it for free,” I insisted with my face tilted up to the ceiling. “I don’t fuck for money. I do it because I love it.”
When Paul’s fingers loosened their grip and went to my hips, I really got going against his cock. It didn’t matter to me if he couldn’t hold off with his climax. I was too pent up with my own desperate need to concern myself with his impending surge. It had been a hot and sordid encounter; one of my nastiest for quite some time. I was close to a climax myself, close to sobbing with joy as I experienced the jangling paroxysms of absolute pleasure. This is what my body was made for. The dirty sex and the raging orgasm which loomed up in front of me were my universe at that moment in time.
Nothing else mattered. It was all about me and the joy I felt when I let it all go,
I grunted and sobbed and moved my pelvis so I was riding up-and-down the whole of his length. My hands were flat against the bed, my breasts brushing his face, our skin smacking together.
“And you should be thanking me,” I added on a gasp.
I ducked in for a quick kiss, barely more than me licking his tongue as we carried on the frenzied conjoining.
“If I wasn’t so fucking dirty,” I groaned at my lover. “I wouldn’t have sucked your cock in your grotty workshop.”
I shut up for a second or two so I could look at Paul’s face while I carried on fucking myself onto his cock.
“If I wasn’t a slut, you wouldn’t be here now … in my husband’s bed … with your cock inside his wife. Bareback. No condom. He’d go crazy if he knew we were fucking this way.” The breath hissed out of his nose while Paul stared up at me.
He grimaced and gasped, then went on to say, “I wanted to fuck you as soon as I saw you walk into my shop.”
“Men usually do,” I said in reply. “Every day, Paul. Somebody hits on me every single day. There’s always some guy who wants to fuck me.”

I finished it as crude as I could. For me, the way it ended suited my mood at the time. It turned out that Paul held himself together long enough for me to rub my clit and hit a juddering climax. I squealed and gasped and generally made an almighty fuss as I ground my pubic bone down against his, his cock inside me about as deep as it could go. I juddered and shook, blurting my joy to the ceiling while Paul lay there and watched me disintegrate into a gibbering wreck.
When it was over, when I’d calmed down enough to make sense of where I was and what I was doing, as I gulped down huge amounts of air and looked down at my lover, I considered taking his seed into my body. I thought about getting onto my back so he could power at me until his jizm spurted against my cervix, thought about keeping up with insemination talk, but then had another idea.
I knew how I could make it nasty for my lover.
“You want to fuck me from behind?” I asked as I slid off his dick. “Come on,” I urged, getting onto my hands and knees. “Let’s fuck like the a****ls do.”
Paul got straight back there and held my hip while aiming himself at me with his free hand.
He slid in up to his balls and started up with a robust action straight away.
Seconds later we were both making all the noises again.
It went on that way for a couple of minutes. He was behind me and letting me have it, his taut stomach slapping up against my buttocks while he held on and fucked himself into my pussy.
“I don’t think I can keep going like this,” Paul said on a moan, his mouth right next to my ear.
He was laid over my back, his hands grabbing my tits as he went at me with short jabs of his dick. “I’m about to blow, Mrs. Makepeace,” he added. “Shit, your body … The nasty, freaky fuckin’ games you play… This morning – those goddam nylons and your big tits...” “Don’t do it inside me,” I said, slipping forward and off his dick.
“Hey!” cried Paul, cock waggling around.
“I want to taste it,” I told Paul, turning around on all fours to face him.
I all but forced him down onto the bed. I gave him a shove and then got down onto my front.
“My pussy off your cock,” I said, grinning at him. “I’m going to suck myself off your dick.”
I lay between his legs and grabbed his length. Smirked into his face and, with my weight on my elbows, licked at the shaft.
“Man,” drawled Paul, eyes wide when I held his cock and made noises about sucking my own essence off him.
“You can come all over my face,” I sighed, before swirling my tongue over the dome. I smiled at Paul and went on to add, “Cover me with cum.”
Just to show him I meant it, I glazed my cheeks and forehead with the big, slippery bulb, slapping the keel of his cock against the extended flat of my tongue. Then I cranked up the lewdness by smacking the shaft against my cheek, moaning at Paul before I popped the end between my lips and sucked my cheeks concave. “Yeah?” gasped Paul. “Really?” “Really,” I told him.
I nodded and gave his cock a juicy suck. I swirled my tongue over his dome a few more times, cranking his length while smiling at him.
“If you want to come over my face … Just go for it, Paul. Bathe me with semen.”
After I breathed it out, I lifted up and smeared his gloopy pre-cum over one nipple. I painted one breast and went on to repeat the action against its twin while staring into his eyes.
I purred, “Show me the hot stuff,” after sucking his dick some more, the first burst rushing over my cheek a moment after I said it.
I didn’t flinch when the cum poured over my face. I just held myself steady and took it.
“That’s it,” I murmured before I stuck out my tongue. “Give it to me.”
I lapped at his cock as the goo kept on flowing in what seemed to be one continuous stream. I laid on the appreciative groans and gasps, giving it my best pornstar impression as I took my lover’s ejaculate like a seasoned professional.
He bucked and snorted while I slurped at his jizm, groaning for effect while I next smeared goo over the bridge of my nose.
“Come for me, Paul,” I whispered. “Cover me, babe.”
I moaned in apparent appreciation when more of the stuff dribbled over my chin.
Then Paul took control of his cock. He tugged at his dick, cum dripping down onto the bed while I shoved a hand under my body and rubbed at my clit.
“Man, I don’t fucking believe it,” Paul gasped when I glommed the cum-smeared dome, slurping and sucking and making out like he tasted delicious.
When I looked at him again he was surveying the carnage, mouth hanging open.
“Man, I don’t fucking believe it,” he said again. “Over your face? Jesus, I’ve never had a girl who actually told me to do that.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” I said.
I leaned to one side and painted my breast and nipple with cum. Then I let him go and dabbed at the gunk on my face. Scooped some off with a finger before sucking the digit clean.
“Oh, god, I’m dripping with spunk,” I gasped while staring at Paul.
The way I said it, I sounded all shocked, like I hadn’t asked him to let it loose over my face. I sat upright and grinned at Paul, then examined my breasts, chin on my chest.
“God, look at it all,” I said, then looked at my lover. “Think what my husband would say!” “You told me to do it,” he said.
I laughed and said, “I know. And it’s okay. I don’t mind it at all. I’m here, at home, I can shower later, or…”
I paused and grinned at him, purposely setting out to shock Paul when I went on to say, “…or
I could just keep your cum on me all night.”
“Aw, man, Mrs. Makepeace. Don’t you ever quit?”
“It would be different if we were out somewhere,” I told him. “Although I don’t mind spunk on my tits sometimes. It’s delicious having cum on my boobs while I’m in a restaurant with my husband sat across the table from me. A stranger’s cum. His scent wafting up. But I wouldn’t be pleased if someone did it over my face. Time and place, Paul,” I added, gesturing to the mess he’d made. “Every once-in-a-while. Like here, at home, yes, it’s something pervy to do. But could you imagine what a nightmare it would be if I was out in public and some guy did this to me?”
“Unbelievable,” Paul said with a gasp. “Incredible.”
“Thank you,” I said on a sigh as I rolled onto my back, legs falling wide so I could finger my sex.

He watched as I masturbated to a noisy climax. When I came I groaned and made a fuss, thighs shivering while I blurted out a single huge sob, three fingers inside, the other hand mauling my breasts. I felt it all go as I squealed out in joy, the debauchery making the orgasm sweeter. I had his ejaculate on my skin, the dark urges calm, for the time being at least.
It had been fun.
“Oh, God,” I sighed, when it was over.
Then I looked at Paul and waved him away with the backs of my fingers.
“Let me know how much I owe for the car,” I said. “Send a bill. Now, I’d like you to go.”
“Huh?” Paul said, blinking. “Go? Now? Can’t I stay? I wanna do this some more.”
I shook my head and said, “No, I’m afraid you can’t stay.”
He gawked for a moment, then went on to say, “Can I see you again, Mrs. Makepeace? You know, like some other time?” I shook my head again.
“No, Paul. That won’t be possible. I don’t normally go in for second visits. I’ve found it gets messy. Some men start to get too big for their boots. They get feelings. Make demands. Try to convince me to leave my husband. It gets too emotional.”
“Shit, you mean that’s all I get?”
“That’s the way it usually goes, Paul,” I told him, not unkindly. “But, perhaps, if I need something doing to the car again…? Who knows.”