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The Art Of Sharing

Mona likes the idea of fucking strangers and her husband is eager to offer his assistance. He arranges the trysts, carefully selecting each of her new lovers like he is curating a museum exhibit of fine art.

There are rules to ensure that the new physical connections Mona is going to explore never evolve into anything more.

Rule one: She will be blind-folded throughout each encounter.

As her husband whispers these words, his full lips brush against her ear. Her nipples harden into buds and the muscles inside her cunt clench involuntarily. The idea of sitting on the bus, watching men board, knowing any one of them could’ve cum inside her the night before is such a thrill.

Rule two: The men won’t be allowed to speak. Mona may ask them yes or no questions. The responses will be nonverbal: A kiss on her shoulder for a yes and a bite for a no.

Rule three: Mona’s husband will always be nearby, for safety purposes.

Her heart thuds at the thought of him listening to her sex sounds, while some other man elicits them. Won’t he be jealous? Mona asks. He says maybe, but he thinks their own lovemaking will be hotter as a result.

Rule four: The assignations will always take place in a hotel of his choosing, never in their home.

They quickly find that Mona has an insatiable appetite for anonymous sex and her husband indulges her every weekend night for months. She begins pretending he is her pimp and she is his whore and the men fucking her find her so desirable, they are willing to pay top dollar for the privilege.

“This one is an athlete,” her husband stands behind her, presses his mouth against the side of her neck. “College hoops. Insane stamina.”

That’s all she’s allowed to know about the nameless young stud. She’s been with an array of men and has been told a mere few facts about each. They are only bodies. Hers a willing vessel for him to empty his desire into and theirs instruments of sex built for her satisfaction.

“Get naked,” her husband says, after blindfolding her. Her fingers tremble with anticipation as she unbuttons her blouse, slipping it off. She lowers and steps out of her skirt. “Stop.”

He unhooks her bra himself, exposing her breasts, caressing them with his thumbs briefly, before tugging her panties down. Once she is nude, he leads her to the bed, guiding her until she is laying down. She can feel him watching her. She imagines him with his head tilted, his eyes appraising, no longer seeing his wife, but only her feminine form.

She pictures him, brow furrowed in concentration, as he mentally rifles through every dirty magazine he’s ever jerked off to, trying to recall the perfect pose to recreate. Excitement spreads through her, a pulsing gathering in her clit, as her husband adjusts her limbs like she’s a sex doll. She concentrates on the ache in her tits as they tighten. Her stomach flutters as he lifts her legs one at a time, bending them at the knee. Her feet flat on the mattress, he pushes nudges her thighs apart. She swallows hard, a soft moan escaping the back of her throat, as the air hits her exposed cunt.

“I’ll send him in,” her husband says. “Play with yourself. The wetter the better.”

Heat flushes across her cheeks, as she slides her hand between her thighs.

“Oh, and he wants you to pretend to be asleep while he fucks you.”

She parts her folds with one finger, masturbating as told. She teases her opening, denying her clit contact.

The door to the suite closes and opens again a few moments later. Goosebumps rise across her bare skin at the sound of footsteps. The door closes again. Silence. No, the sound of breathing.

There’s the sound of a belt being unbuckled, a zipper being unzipped.

Mona holds her breath, then plunges two fingers inside herself, her hips rising.

As he’s been instructed, the man her husband has chosen for her comes and stands next to the bed. She reaches out with her free hand until she touches his cock, already rock hard. Her fingertips roam the surface of his hot, veined rod. There is something about it familiar to her.

“You’ve had me before,” she says, delighted to consider the fact that someone may have enjoyed their experience with her enough to request a second. Had he just called her husband and said, “I’d like to fuck your wife again, please”?

She wraps her hand around him, holding his heat and heft against her palm. “Have you had me before?”

She feels his presence draw closer as he leans down over her. His open mouth molds around her shoulder like it is a piece of ripe fruit, his teeth sinking slightly into the flesh.

No.

Mona settles, closing her eyes and growing still, pretending to drift off. When her breath is even in a faux sleep, her new young lover reaches down plucks her hand from her pussy, which is his now, at least for the next half hour.

Unable to see what he’s doing, she flinches a little as he puts a strong hand on each knee, sliding them down her thighs, his fingers splaying, before giving them a squeeze. Then mattress shifts as he joins her and he wastes no time. She feels his body spreading her thighs even further apart, the head of his thick cock against her opening, and then he plunges inside.

Mona gasps as his length and width claim her, but then she lies still and lets him fuck her the way he wants. Damn, she wants to dig her nails into his back and rock her hips, to squeeze around him. Her cunt feels filled to stretching. The pressure builds. Her clit throbs. She’s desperate to rub it, but she restrains herself, concentrating on the wet, squelching sound as he pumps into her over and over. The air is so thick with the smell of pussy she can almost taste it on her tongue.

He pants, thrusting into her again and again, as if he can last for hours. She loves getting pounded like this, but needs more than dick in her pussy to find the release she needs. Then like that, it’s over. He shudders and gets off. They both wince as he pulls out, leaving her empty and unfulfilled. He gets up and a few moments later, the door opens and closes again.

“Did I do a good job pretending to be unconscious?” she asks, when her husband climbs in bed with her and takes off her blindfold.

“Did I do a good job pretending to be a young college athlete?” he asks with a smirk, moving his hand down to her swollen clit to finish what he’d started.

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The Art Of Sharing

5 thoughts on “The Art Of Sharing

    1. Thank you, Marie! This is the first sexy story I’ve shared with anyone. Being wicked is kind of fun. ;)

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