Katrina has been out with her girlfriends. There are five of them, three married and two single. It doesn’t seem to matter, my wife like the others flirt outrageously. Rumour control has it that both the other two married girls have got lovers, taking cock on evenings out. It seems that marriage was an acquisitive act. You don’t necessarily swop one male for another, you accumulate options. Some men are simply better at some things. Me, when I was a kid, I collected postage stamps. That was the limit of acquisition.
When Katrina gets home from her evenings out she is definitely horny. She’s been at a bar, a club, down at some gig or other and there’s a lot of talking about sex, there’s a lot of kissing and touching. I know she does it, at one club Brian my mate and I chanced upon her as she was snogging with a guy. It was open mouth necking…you know.
Anyway, she comes in wearing tight leather jeans, a black lace top that makes her tits look big and a slouch belt with a massive brass buckle that rides across her crotch. She looks like a rock chick, the sort of camp follower who would ride all the band members if that was what it took to stay in touch. She pours herself as red wine as if the drink out there wasn’t enough. Pretty soon she is snuggled up against my on the sofa and her manicured fingers play across the crotch of my trousers. She knows how to do this, the right amount of pressure, the suggestive looks, the little mewing sounds that she makes.
‘You have a good evening Derek?’ she asks playfully, feeling my cock start to stiffen. I really want her when she’s dressed like that. She knows that I do because I stared at her like a love lorn idiot watching her dress to go out. I don’t get nooky that often though. Katrina teases me that quality is better than quantity and that in any case I need to polish up on some skills before she would want to fuck me a lot.
‘Watched a film’ I say trying to concentrate on the telly now. But she won’t let go of the teasing. Its like a scalp everytime I ejaculate in my pants. Three points if I spurt with barely a touch, two points if I lose it just through rubbing my crotch and a single point if she fingers go inside and massage my erection.
‘Dirty film’ she asks casually running her fingers across my bulge. I moan softly. I wish that she would leave off. If she gets a hold of my cock then I’m no longer in charge of proceedings. She determines how and when it spurts and she rules my thoughts.
‘A western’ I answer. In fact it was a period western with the good Mr Wayne at his grisly best.
‘They fight over a woman’ she asked, unzipping me. She slips her red nail fingers inside my fly and she fondles my cock. Its not huge, even when stiff, but she seems to enjoy playing with it. As to her question, well yes, they fought over the woman. That’s a cliche. Still when I conform that fact she is pleased. She likes men getting hurt in their fights over a woman. It is as if it makes life zesty, worthwhile, real…something like that.
‘It’s not like that in real life.’ she whispers and undoes my shirt with her free hand. I know what she’s going to do fuck it, she’s going to get her mouth on my left nipple and then shit, I’ve lost it. I spunk when she wants me to! ‘In real life the woman signals which of the men she wants, the loser drops his head and slinks off to the corner and then the favoured guy gets to enjoy her.’
That’s a particularly raw and dirty thought when your wife is working your cock. It’s a dirty, dirty, instinct thought. I fervently wish she was talking bollocks but she isn’t. As far as I can tell the other two husbands linked to her girlfriend group have quietly acquiesced to their wives lying with other men. I don’t know how they do that? I don’t know how they look in the mirror when another guy is squirting his load inside your wife.
‘Women should chose, shouldn’t we’ she muses. Her fingers are around my shaft and she’s working my cock meat up and down, as if she is teasing out the flesh to form a thick sausage roll.
Her mouth goes down on my nipple and I gasp.
‘Christ Katrina, please…..god!’
My cock is being tugged, slowly, languidly and my nipple is being sucked. I want to explode in the bitch’s hand. I want to spurt three feet in the air, the semen splashing down her arm.
‘I kissed Lewis tonight, when we danced’ she told me, working, working my cock. Lewis, the smiling black lothario who spends quite a lot of time around Katrina’s circle. I think that he wants to own a bitch. He’s assessing things.
‘You like that Derek…thinking about Lewis kissing me?’ She asks that gum chewing way, as if its an aside, a thought along the way to normal bitchood.
I like the idea of Katrina being a siren. I like the idea of her causing dozens of men to go home and then to stuff their paws in their pants because she is the hottest, the raunchiest bitch they’ve ever seen. A lot of men feel this way about their wives. They like to think that there is a chase, that they have catch and own her again.
‘Yes’ I concede. But Katrina’s not interested in my why. She’s not interested in running my fantasy. When she catches hold of my cock she runs her own and my brain gets dragged along down her route. Once I have started that road, ‘yes’ she admits no turning, no reversing.
‘He pushed his tongue in my mouth, he wouldn’t take no for an answer’ she told me quickening the pace of her masturbation a little. I groan. Fucking hell. The way she talks, the way she talks…
‘Shhhh’ she coaxed, ‘you’re mine…you’re mine. Just do as you’re told’ she cooed. I arched against her hand. She is expert, loosening her grip on my cock so there is nothing substantially to push against. I could be arching up against a blancmange!
‘You know Derek…you know, I sensed it, he wanted me…’
Rub, rub, rub, rub. Now I am allowed to press a little, against the ball of her hand.
‘He was pretty insistent…he unzipped my jeans and fingered me.’
Christ that was so horny. It was so fucking horny! She knew that it was. It was thought of Lewis wanting her so fucking hard, aching for her. I imagined his fingers tracing their way through her curly haired minge inside those leather jeans.
‘I was wet darling. I was wet because of the way he kissed me. He knew, he could feel that…’ she confided. I wanted to masturbate her, but my hand was pushed back.
‘Do as you’re told’ she whispered.
I whimpered. Fucking hell! For goodness sake.
‘You know what…he was such a dirty sod. He worked my sex on his fingers, then he pulled them out, made me sniff and then suck them…’ Her voice was husky. I was bucking against her then.
‘You got him pretty stiff…?’
She ignored that. I felt her free hand catch the back of my head. My nose was forced down against the crotch of her leather jeans. She pulled down the zip fly so that I could intoxicate on the full scent of her sex.
‘That’s what I smelled like…he got me so hot and dirty…’
Tug, tug, tug, tug….
‘He wants me in his bed and you asking him to take me there…you know that Derek’ she breathed, kissing and teasing my nipple.
I groan loudly. I am off down he route. My head is open to suggestion. Its so malleable…perhaps…perhaps like the other husbands.
‘If you do that darling…if you accept things…yo’d have to lick me out after he took me…just to show how nice and compliant you were…’ Her words are like the sweetest strychnine. They poison your thoughts, corrupt your mind. She is imagining that, Lewis fucking her with big thick strokes and then me lapping up the mess.
Tug, tug, tug, groan, tug, she is really working my tool now. My glans peeps in and out of the foreskin which gets dragged vigorously back with every downward stroke.
‘Can you imagine that darling, smelling him on me? Can you imagine tasting his spunk dripping out of me?’
She wants Lewis. She always wants Lewis. Every fucking fantasy comes back to this. She is teasing her lips against my nipple.
‘If he fucked me, I’d have us sleep together all night long, me smelling of what he had done with me…’ she teased her voice huskier still.
Tug, tug, tug, tug.
‘Would you like that sweets….to know….to know that I’d milked Lewis with my cunt?’
God, my mind flooded with the idea. It flooded with the dirty of idea of him loosing it inside her. She would have bettered him. She would have used him. Katrina orchestrated the words.
‘I could never get him to wear a sheath, he would just spray and spray and spray inside me. His cock would just thrust and thrust and thrust…’
Tug, tug, tug, tug.
‘Yeah’ I moaned, my balls were knotting. Fucking hell!
‘You going to ask him to do that Derek…to put me in my place with that cock of his…..?’
‘Yeah!’ I think that I answered in response to her touch. It was meant to be a response to her teasing fingers. But I doubt that Katrina read it that way. She jerked my cock and the spunk shot in hot and sticky globules into the air before splashing down on my trousers.
‘There…..’ she breathed, ‘good boy….he could show you how to fuck me. He could try and teach you to be a man with me.’
More loads launched into the air. My balls were clenching and with each sharp spasm another blast of spunk shot into the air.
‘Write him a note sweets, I’ll take it with me Friday night…’ she mewed.
I grunted. I grunted like a pig. I was there, her fantasy, her path, watching Lewis fuck her, his lithe great dick burying itself back and forth inside her. He would be growling as he filled her cunt, making her tits dance and her neck flush pink.
‘You needing to lick my sex honey…you needing that as though he’s just had me?’
I stared at her, my eyes bulging. My cock in hand was shuddering like a joy stick out of all control. She pushed down her leather jeans and without somehow ever letting go of my slimy cock she got my head between her half mast jeans and her wet slimy cunt. I started to lick her like an animal. It was as if I had smelled her on heat and stuck my face between her legs.
‘That’s nice isn’t it, imagine, Lewis’s spunk dripping out’ she enthused.
Tug, tug, tug, tug.
‘You going to write Lewis a note hun, you going to write him a note like a good hubby?’