Mistress Wife Patricia
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My Mistress My Wife free porn video
He has been home all day cleaning and cooking. Throughout the day he’s considered how things have gotten to this point. He no longer works and his wife is a CEO for a trading company in the city. She’s had two k**s and his job is basically taking care of the k**s, making sure they get off to school, as well, he keeps the household kempt and ordered. She’s given him the keys to the castle and he spends his days vacillating between keeping the yard manicured, gardening and tending to the herb and flower beds, and cleaning the house. He gets online and pays bills, he goes shopping for food and drives his k**s to practice, lessons and any other afterschool activities they need to be.
When he’s alone, just after the k**s have gone and before he starts the daily cleaning routine—she is particular about keeping an immaculate house—“The c***dren,” she’d said so many times, “Need to have a place they can be safe darling.” Not that she was “anal” by any measure, her cleanliness habit was one that developed over years and now it was just an embedded ideal that she’d come to associate with a mark of a refined life. When he’s alone enjoying his coffee and, as I said before, just before he begins his routine, he often considers how he’s gotten to this point.
Many men were stay-at-home-dads these days. It wasn’t so unusual, and if he was honest, he could admit that the role was quite suited for him. He loved his k**s, and they loved him…it seemed they must be too young to know or, they—he and his wife—were very good at keeping their bedroom affairs quite discrete. He’d hoped it was the latter, but felt sure that sooner or later the c***dren would inherently come to recognize the truth.
“Baby,” she’d charmingly assuage his fears. “The c***dren will never learn of our arrangement…we are too careful. Do you think it would be something I’d wish to be? The neighborhood gossip that you and I are some sort of sexual lascivious deviants? Hardly honey…I can’t afford to have anyone in our world know…I’d lose everything.”
And this always assured him because he knew that their fun was only between them…it was like a magical charm that bonded them together and because she was so certain of her intent he knew that this was her way of letting him know that no matter what, she loved him and him alone.
When the k**s were young—babies—it was easy. Now they were going to school and had minds of their own. He knew from his own c***dhood that if it was in the house, the k**s would find it and he had to convince her that they would need to store their toys off-site, so, thankfully she keeps a little box stashed in her office closet. And, once, when Sara’d come waddling into the kitchen with a box of cigars he’d stashed in a closet, under a pile of linens, that he was glad they’d agreed to keep their toys at her office….she was happy he’d let her talk her into it as well.
He loved his relationship with his k**s. And he wasn’t totally strapped to the house and its duties—it was difficult at first, but once the k**s started going to school, he’d developed a routine that was quite efficient and he was able to continue his studies. He was a literature enthusiast and in his spare time he attended graduate courses in Romanticism at the nearby university. She encouraged him…she liked his writing. He could write stories that drove her libido absolutely wild.
The course-load was easily maintained, one or two classes per semester and he always had time to write. He was concerned his drinking was getting out of hand…but she wasn’t catching on. He was discrete enough, and he never got completely plastered any more, save for a rare occasion—say, the k**s were gone at camp or he and she would be on vacation in which the only thing on the agenda was sex. Besides, he was getting older and the effects of a rowdy drunken night would last a day and a half, so that restrictive side-effect was reason enough to taper his drinking habit. Nonetheless, he’d often spend time considering that he was drinking too much. But, he liked to write and sip on a whisky…he said it made him feel like Hemingway, or Coleridge…his own days of taking opiates long gone…he’d settle for fine bourbon whisky.
For all intents and purposes, he would seem a typical stay at home. This evening the k**s were in bed, his wife was out for the evening and he was writing a story for her. He was writing a “fictional” story with all of the elements of their life. His life was his own fantasy come to fruition and he’d wanted to tell the story but to make it slippery enough that his wife wouldn’t immediately recognize them…if he could do this, and make it sexy enough to turn her on, then he would consider his piece a success. If his classmates had learned that a doctorate candidate in the Romantics was actually writing eroticism they’d laugh him out of school.
She was baffled when she’d first found out about his “fetishes.” It started with a story. She’d read erotica before and something about the story made her stomach flutter. There was an element of danger and perversion that combined to release something nasty within her. And, once she’d revealed how turned on the story had made her, he wrote more…even tailoring the stories to her fantasies. Then once, he revealed a cross-dressing character…just a small cameo role. But, then the character reappeared in a more prominent role and she asked him if he would like to wear a pair of nylons.
“We could go to Victoria’s Secret and buy them together,” she said while slowly touching his member. “We could even buy two pairs, one for me and another size for you,” she paused her lovely caressing. “That way, the clerk would be sure to know one pair is for you,” and then resumed her playing.
And they did. And she had to admit that she was probably just as turned on by the adventure as he was. She was actually wet when she’d sat down in the passenger seat of their VW. She’d reached over and felt his crotch and he was hard…they smiled deviously at each other and she realized that somehow she was turned on by exposing her husband to a stranger…that somehow, her exposing him, exposed her own wildness to a stranger too. The look the clerk had given her was of admiration and envy—she’d thought she recognized the smile of a flirt and her face seemed even to flush.
She realized the clerk knew what they were going to do with the pantyhose, Wolford Stockings by the way, the very finest in hosery, and the clerk’s reaction was just as much of a turn on for her as the actual act they would soon perform.
She had intended only to wear the pantyhose together. Take a bath together and light some candles, and then spend some time under the 1000 thread count sheets and playing and feeling the nylons on their respective bodies. But, while they bathed in their tub…it was a lavish tub…one of his creations. When she’d gotten partner after their first c***d, he’d designed and had the bedroom and bathroom remodeled. He’d knocked out have the bedroom to make room for their bathroom re-design. The walk in shower is a detail better saved for another occasion, but the bath was figuratively the sweetest cloud for a goddess to bathe in. When she lay back in it, the curves of the tub are padded with air-pillows, like a pool raft, and each cul-de-sac was in the shape of a reclining figure with elbow rests built in so you could prop a book up out of the water and read. It had temperature control and he’d bought them the most luxurious soap and bath bead collection as well as had candle holders strategically mounted at varying heights in the tiled walls. Taking a bath in their bathroom, she’d come to the sensual conclusion, must have been like taking a bath in the home of a wealthy Roman.
As I was saying—while her husband bathed her in the bath, he was paying special attention to her hairless legs and crotch—it occurred to her how much she loved clean-shaven legs. She used depilatory cream on her own legs and crotch, but she always let her husband shave her really private areas, god she loved her smooth ass. It was as he spread the shaving cream all around her private areas and making her stomach flutter, she realized she wanted him to be shaven clean too. After he finished cleaning her, she went to the cupboard and got two bottles of depilatory cream and as he stood on the heated tile floor, naked and wet, she coated his legs with cream.
She could tell he was turned on because his member stood out at a better than 90 degrees the entire time. She even coated his entire body under the pants line. She made him stand extra long…but not too long on the crotch, and then she walked him into the shower. Natural candle lighting, shower heads from 6 different heads at varying heights and all rain-action effect heads cascaded a steady pulse of warm-water-heaven. She watched…and more intently he watched…they both watched as his lower body suddenly transformed from manly strong legs, to elegant female stems in as much time as it’s taken me to explain it in words.
She found herself strangely and deeply drawn to her husband’s feminine lower body and when she used her hands to help smooth away any stray hairs she found herself become more feminine in how she used her hands on his body. She seemed to caress him and his body seemed to respond differently…softer.
She used some shave cream and finished the transformation by getting all the hair.
As she caressed his smoothly shaven ass with a slow hand she whispered in his ear… “Your pussy feels good.” And breathed her hottest breath into his ear canal and he seemed to melt as if she’d just cast a spell on him.
They got into bed and languished in the sensation of nylon on nylon and freshly shaved bodies…they appeared to each of them staring into the mirror that lined the facing wall, like two lesbians lost in another world. She found herself grow more enthusiastic and rubbed herself all upon her husband’s body, as if marking every inch of her and staking her claim. He seemed to revel in the rush of being and behaving more feminine…it was as if he could be her in his mind, then he could please her every sexual desire. The gossamer hose flipped a switch and he suddenly stopped being a typical hunt and peck, he started paying attention to her body’s responses. It was as if he’d lost his male ego, but not his drive, because he touched her like he wanted her to surge higher and higher in desirous lust and he steadied and merely lay with their bodies fully pressed against the others. They swished and swiveled their pubis against each other kissing and licking one another’s lips and it occurred to her that she wanted to kiss her husband’s mouth while they both wore lipstick.
She got up and went to the vanity and brought over two sticks. Both the wet-look, almost like a cream sundae, and one bright pink, and the other dark rose, and she applied hers without thought save to apply it as thickly as possible. And then she brought him over by the hand to sit at the vanity and she applied eyeliner, just a swipe across the top, shaded plum to sky-silver on the eye-lids, and accentuated the eye-lashes to bring out his eyes…then she bathed his lips in light pink lipstick. The entire time she was working on her husband’s face, she was able to watch him and as she worked she began to confuse him in her mind as to whether or not her husband was male of female and it occurred to her that she found the notion extremely invigorating. The while she never allowed her husband to see himself…she wanted it to be a surprise.
He was surprised, and if he admitted it, he was actually more turned on looking like a woman than he ever was as a man, and deep down he knew this…and would struggle with it.
He looked at himself in the mirror and she went to stand behind him and cradle his head in her gentle loving arms. She saw the same glimmer in his eye that he felt and she knew then…when she looks back on it, she knew that was the moment she began taking control.
That night they made love as women. He even created a way of massaging his balls to mimic the way a woman masturbates. She encouraged his behavior despite tiny, almost insignificant flashes of….doubt, is the best way I can describe it. But she was too generous a lover to divulge her doubts to him and besides, it was 99 percent of the time ever-increasing in heights of new enlightenment about how sex can be so, so, good.
He was writing this, “fictional memoir,” and she was out. It was a bachelorette party.
“No,” she’d smile. “I don’t really want you to know the details…” she thought about it for a moment. “I have cum inside me from several sources, you can know that and that alone honey.” She walked up to him at his computer and leaned over and cradled her husband’s head in the way she’s learned to cradle him at these times of inner conflict. She pretended to be reading as she kissed and licked her tongue all around his naked neck. She demanded he type in the nude, or sheer-to-waist Wolford pantyhose, and nothing else. And she licked his mouth a he tasted the cum on her mouth and on her lips and it was as if he fell off a cliff and knew he’d never hit bottom. She used her husband’s mouth that night until she’d exhausted her true lust, the lust she had for his services, and then she left him without an ending and sent him off to continue is work. He did have actual research to undertake after all.
He went to work. He was working on Coleridges, Rhyme and while he worked on school stuff he was allowed to work as a man. And he did, and he enjoyed it. He wore fashionable primitive, Columbia, Patagonia, REI, shit like that when he went to school. Very cliché in a way, but endearingly sentimental at the same time. She liked it and made sure he never crossed the line to the lower halves of fashion. The shoes always ensured a good standing.
He thinks about it and it goes back to his c***dhood when he snooped on his parents room. He was 13, knew nothing of anything about sex…never even heard of masturbation, let alone knew how to do it. He was alone for a long autumn Saturday night. His sister was over night at a friend’s. Mom and Dad were with baby brother on a weekend trip to Ashtabula. He got into his dad’s Playboy collection and then found his mom’s slip and panties drawer. He put them on almost as soon as he’d held them, they were such arousing items. He put on big satiny panties and rubbed his stiffness all around the material….lightly back and forth, back and forth, until it became strange and hyper, and stopped because he’d already gotten his fingers on the nylon of his mother’s pantyhose. He knew he had to wear them and attempted to pull them on. He remembered how instinctive it was for him to gather them up from the thigh to the toe and then pull them up releasing in reverse direction in order to slide them tightly and neatly up the leg….this last part being especially for any designer hose that may have lines that need to be straight. But he knew this the first time he experienced the lovely material.
He remembers that once he had his mother’s hose pulled all the way up as far as the material’s resistance would allow, he’d pulled the waistband all the way up to his neck…the first time he’d ever put on a pair of nylons, he basically encased his body in them and masturbated for the first time.
He didn’t know what masturbation was let alone how to do it. He’d been hard, liked being, really, really liked being hard but he never was able to do anything about it. Until that day, encased in his mother’s nylons he slipped a pair of her satiny panties over his cock and humped his hand like a girl would. His cock was pressed back against his stomach, the sensitive underside pinned between a tightly stretched pair of nylons and a satiny smooth feeling of panties and rubbed and rubbed his cock in big back and forth circles like a little girl…at least that’s how he likes to recall the memory. In reality his raging teenage boner was aching to be released and for lack of information figured out how to do it on its own and it happened to be a very feminine way of doing it. And he rubbed and rubbed until he thought his head would explode…he was drawing so eternally close and exponentially distant at the same time that he could do nothing else except continue and he did until finally as if the earth had opened up he shot white liquid that scared him almost to a very early grave and an unfortunately difficult one to explain, but he didn’t die.
She is a strong woman. The part of her that doubted is becoming more prevalent. She has come to the honest conclusion that she loves the sex and she kicks herself for not being satisfied. She is a woman and her desires are to be taken, to be desired. She loved her husband because she knew all she had to do was continue loving him and showing him how she loves him, he’ll always love her. She liked that…but she wanted to be fucked.
She played a long-term game with her husband. She urged him onward in his endeavors, she even enjoyed them for what they were, her basically teasing him into behaving like a girl, and she liked that occasionally but what she secretly wanted was to be fucked like a real woman. But she was such an encouraging lover, that when she brought up the prospect that she go out and find a proper fucking occasionally and he could clean her up since she liked behaving like such a girl, his pertained feigning of resisting the whole idea was betrayed by his growing stiffness. She knew he would bend…and she pressed, all the while triggering his pressure points. Lightly playing with him like it’s a woman’s parts not a man’s. oh her fingertips drove him wild with lust, such a simple gesture and she divvied them out like candy on Halloween, and the piece de resistance, she would coat her fingers in her own soaked juices and spread her fingers along his perineum and kiss his cheek gently encouraging him to behave like his instincts inspire him to.
After that kind of treatment he relinquishes any power and abides willingly and happily. She is an angel to him and the comfort of having her even if it means she fulfills her needs as required, then he was happy she was returning to him…always coming home and making it all OK again.
She eventually convinced her husband that she understood how he would resist committing to such a marginalized lifestyle, but that it would be a hobby, not openly practiced and only on occasions that are conducive to safety and discretion. He simply needed to accept that they both agree it’s ok! And her rhetoric was ever-present, like an hypnosis. A constant reminder that your place is submissive is hard to deal with when you have to go be a college adjunct.
He never considers himself a professor, these k**s are not in need of professors, they’re in need of writing instructors. He has never crossed a line as an adjunct, never even considered it a possibility. He saw these k**s as in need of whatever tools he could give them, and if they genuinely wanted to fix their writing, they could if they paid mind to his instruction. It’s strange when he really contemplates his life. He has this really strange orientation, that would even be classified as an orientation by sexual habits standards, it would be considered a deviation at best. And somehow, he’s able to perform as a regular man. It seems to him an impossible prospect that nobody knows about his proclivities.
She has only had one serious doubt about whether or not someone knows…and it was at a holiday party at the office. She thought she recognized a woman. One of her lovers, a young escort from the city, had accidentally run into one another at a coffee shop and he was with his sister, so he said. And his “sister” was at the party with one of the associates vying for partner…anyway, she decided not to worry when they got rid of him and gave her partner.
After that first night, they talked. He told her everything about the first time masturbation, the obsession with panties and pantyhose that followed. Then finally living on his own and how different girlfriends always seemed to respond to his naturally soft and feminine method of sex, but none of them ever stayed. She was the first to capture him, expose him, teach him what could be. He told her how wonderful it felt to finally open up to someone about his…sexuality…such as it is. And from there they discussed where to go next and the process was a slow and gradual one. She was patient and introduced slowly what she had learned from internet searches is a dominant/submissive personality. She loved controlling her husband but also loved being a…a slut basically.
And as she role played different scenarios with her husband she became distinctly aware that he wanted the same things, he would have to feign resistance, she knew this. She was prepared for this and she reacted in such a way that he knew she knew him too well and he relinquished. She was free in her mind to go and seek out men who would fuck her properly.
She recalled the first time. The k**s were upstate at summer camp. She was in fantastic shape and feeling good one warm summer night of drinking on the patio deck. She was teasing her husband.
“I’m certain I could have a man over here in less than an hour.”
“I think you could too, some old skeever who wants some young hot slut.”
“I could post a picture and a set of demands and have a guy in his twenties, hot body, and hot face, here in under an hour…and happy to let you watch.”
She held her palm up and went to the computer and brought up craigslist. Found personal ads locally and posted an ad, with a picture of her with a strap-on, and him giving her a blowjob in full makeup.
“Mistress looking for a young stud to treat like a whore….only real pics of full body and face receive reply.”
Ten minutes later, after he’d poured them another drink, they checked her email. 27 replies. Clearly this is too good to be true. This is what the guys replying must be thinking as they reply. But 100 percent send full body and face pics, and not even half have pics of cocks. And all of them are in their early twenties, the pics look authentic, not a one copied from the internet.
She narrowed the field via replies and then from there cut the field to three. After Josh’s reply, “I’ve been with cuckolds before.” She knew he was the one. In under an hour by 15 minutes, Josh was standing in the doorway. She was naked and behind her, he was kneeling in lingerie.
Josh fucked her and outlived any expectations she had for him. For being 25 years old, he was remarkably dominant and unusually adept at commanding her husband around.
“Put my cock in your wife’s pussy, slut!”
And, “Get down in there and lick both of us.”
He was a dream come true for both of them. He fucked her and made her perform the most lascivious of acts while her husband either licked and kissed them, or watched in fascination as she serviced this muscular stud. She was completely taken control of and forced to service Josh in ways that amazed her own sexuality, but only served to inspire her to greater heights. Finally when Josh had orgasmed inside of her abused pussy, then her husband was allowed release as he used his horny mouth to gently bring her to orgasm once more and spilling her lover’s seed into his mouth. He was so driven to desire that he came on her used sex organ and gently spent the next 30 minutes cleaning her completely of two men’s sperm.
She realized that night as she paid Josh on his way out the door that she had the best of both worlds laying before her and she need only to exploit her husband enough to give her this advantage. But she knew it was the realization that her husband wanted this as much as she did that gave her the courage to make it a reality.
When he’s alone, just after the k**s have gone and before he starts the daily cleaning routine—she is particular about keeping an immaculate house—“The c***dren,” she’d said so many times, “Need to have a place they can be safe darling.” Not that she was “anal” by any measure, her cleanliness habit was one that developed over years and now it was just an embedded ideal that she’d come to associate with a mark of a refined life. When he’s alone enjoying his coffee and, as I said before, just before he begins his routine, he often considers how he’s gotten to this point.
Many men were stay-at-home-dads these days. It wasn’t so unusual, and if he was honest, he could admit that the role was quite suited for him. He loved his k**s, and they loved him…it seemed they must be too young to know or, they—he and his wife—were very good at keeping their bedroom affairs quite discrete. He’d hoped it was the latter, but felt sure that sooner or later the c***dren would inherently come to recognize the truth.
“Baby,” she’d charmingly assuage his fears. “The c***dren will never learn of our arrangement…we are too careful. Do you think it would be something I’d wish to be? The neighborhood gossip that you and I are some sort of sexual lascivious deviants? Hardly honey…I can’t afford to have anyone in our world know…I’d lose everything.”
And this always assured him because he knew that their fun was only between them…it was like a magical charm that bonded them together and because she was so certain of her intent he knew that this was her way of letting him know that no matter what, she loved him and him alone.
When the k**s were young—babies—it was easy. Now they were going to school and had minds of their own. He knew from his own c***dhood that if it was in the house, the k**s would find it and he had to convince her that they would need to store their toys off-site, so, thankfully she keeps a little box stashed in her office closet. And, once, when Sara’d come waddling into the kitchen with a box of cigars he’d stashed in a closet, under a pile of linens, that he was glad they’d agreed to keep their toys at her office….she was happy he’d let her talk her into it as well.
He loved his relationship with his k**s. And he wasn’t totally strapped to the house and its duties—it was difficult at first, but once the k**s started going to school, he’d developed a routine that was quite efficient and he was able to continue his studies. He was a literature enthusiast and in his spare time he attended graduate courses in Romanticism at the nearby university. She encouraged him…she liked his writing. He could write stories that drove her libido absolutely wild.
The course-load was easily maintained, one or two classes per semester and he always had time to write. He was concerned his drinking was getting out of hand…but she wasn’t catching on. He was discrete enough, and he never got completely plastered any more, save for a rare occasion—say, the k**s were gone at camp or he and she would be on vacation in which the only thing on the agenda was sex. Besides, he was getting older and the effects of a rowdy drunken night would last a day and a half, so that restrictive side-effect was reason enough to taper his drinking habit. Nonetheless, he’d often spend time considering that he was drinking too much. But, he liked to write and sip on a whisky…he said it made him feel like Hemingway, or Coleridge…his own days of taking opiates long gone…he’d settle for fine bourbon whisky.
For all intents and purposes, he would seem a typical stay at home. This evening the k**s were in bed, his wife was out for the evening and he was writing a story for her. He was writing a “fictional” story with all of the elements of their life. His life was his own fantasy come to fruition and he’d wanted to tell the story but to make it slippery enough that his wife wouldn’t immediately recognize them…if he could do this, and make it sexy enough to turn her on, then he would consider his piece a success. If his classmates had learned that a doctorate candidate in the Romantics was actually writing eroticism they’d laugh him out of school.
She was baffled when she’d first found out about his “fetishes.” It started with a story. She’d read erotica before and something about the story made her stomach flutter. There was an element of danger and perversion that combined to release something nasty within her. And, once she’d revealed how turned on the story had made her, he wrote more…even tailoring the stories to her fantasies. Then once, he revealed a cross-dressing character…just a small cameo role. But, then the character reappeared in a more prominent role and she asked him if he would like to wear a pair of nylons.
“We could go to Victoria’s Secret and buy them together,” she said while slowly touching his member. “We could even buy two pairs, one for me and another size for you,” she paused her lovely caressing. “That way, the clerk would be sure to know one pair is for you,” and then resumed her playing.
And they did. And she had to admit that she was probably just as turned on by the adventure as he was. She was actually wet when she’d sat down in the passenger seat of their VW. She’d reached over and felt his crotch and he was hard…they smiled deviously at each other and she realized that somehow she was turned on by exposing her husband to a stranger…that somehow, her exposing him, exposed her own wildness to a stranger too. The look the clerk had given her was of admiration and envy—she’d thought she recognized the smile of a flirt and her face seemed even to flush.
She realized the clerk knew what they were going to do with the pantyhose, Wolford Stockings by the way, the very finest in hosery, and the clerk’s reaction was just as much of a turn on for her as the actual act they would soon perform.
She had intended only to wear the pantyhose together. Take a bath together and light some candles, and then spend some time under the 1000 thread count sheets and playing and feeling the nylons on their respective bodies. But, while they bathed in their tub…it was a lavish tub…one of his creations. When she’d gotten partner after their first c***d, he’d designed and had the bedroom and bathroom remodeled. He’d knocked out have the bedroom to make room for their bathroom re-design. The walk in shower is a detail better saved for another occasion, but the bath was figuratively the sweetest cloud for a goddess to bathe in. When she lay back in it, the curves of the tub are padded with air-pillows, like a pool raft, and each cul-de-sac was in the shape of a reclining figure with elbow rests built in so you could prop a book up out of the water and read. It had temperature control and he’d bought them the most luxurious soap and bath bead collection as well as had candle holders strategically mounted at varying heights in the tiled walls. Taking a bath in their bathroom, she’d come to the sensual conclusion, must have been like taking a bath in the home of a wealthy Roman.
As I was saying—while her husband bathed her in the bath, he was paying special attention to her hairless legs and crotch—it occurred to her how much she loved clean-shaven legs. She used depilatory cream on her own legs and crotch, but she always let her husband shave her really private areas, god she loved her smooth ass. It was as he spread the shaving cream all around her private areas and making her stomach flutter, she realized she wanted him to be shaven clean too. After he finished cleaning her, she went to the cupboard and got two bottles of depilatory cream and as he stood on the heated tile floor, naked and wet, she coated his legs with cream.
She could tell he was turned on because his member stood out at a better than 90 degrees the entire time. She even coated his entire body under the pants line. She made him stand extra long…but not too long on the crotch, and then she walked him into the shower. Natural candle lighting, shower heads from 6 different heads at varying heights and all rain-action effect heads cascaded a steady pulse of warm-water-heaven. She watched…and more intently he watched…they both watched as his lower body suddenly transformed from manly strong legs, to elegant female stems in as much time as it’s taken me to explain it in words.
She found herself strangely and deeply drawn to her husband’s feminine lower body and when she used her hands to help smooth away any stray hairs she found herself become more feminine in how she used her hands on his body. She seemed to caress him and his body seemed to respond differently…softer.
She used some shave cream and finished the transformation by getting all the hair.
As she caressed his smoothly shaven ass with a slow hand she whispered in his ear… “Your pussy feels good.” And breathed her hottest breath into his ear canal and he seemed to melt as if she’d just cast a spell on him.
They got into bed and languished in the sensation of nylon on nylon and freshly shaved bodies…they appeared to each of them staring into the mirror that lined the facing wall, like two lesbians lost in another world. She found herself grow more enthusiastic and rubbed herself all upon her husband’s body, as if marking every inch of her and staking her claim. He seemed to revel in the rush of being and behaving more feminine…it was as if he could be her in his mind, then he could please her every sexual desire. The gossamer hose flipped a switch and he suddenly stopped being a typical hunt and peck, he started paying attention to her body’s responses. It was as if he’d lost his male ego, but not his drive, because he touched her like he wanted her to surge higher and higher in desirous lust and he steadied and merely lay with their bodies fully pressed against the others. They swished and swiveled their pubis against each other kissing and licking one another’s lips and it occurred to her that she wanted to kiss her husband’s mouth while they both wore lipstick.
She got up and went to the vanity and brought over two sticks. Both the wet-look, almost like a cream sundae, and one bright pink, and the other dark rose, and she applied hers without thought save to apply it as thickly as possible. And then she brought him over by the hand to sit at the vanity and she applied eyeliner, just a swipe across the top, shaded plum to sky-silver on the eye-lids, and accentuated the eye-lashes to bring out his eyes…then she bathed his lips in light pink lipstick. The entire time she was working on her husband’s face, she was able to watch him and as she worked she began to confuse him in her mind as to whether or not her husband was male of female and it occurred to her that she found the notion extremely invigorating. The while she never allowed her husband to see himself…she wanted it to be a surprise.
He was surprised, and if he admitted it, he was actually more turned on looking like a woman than he ever was as a man, and deep down he knew this…and would struggle with it.
He looked at himself in the mirror and she went to stand behind him and cradle his head in her gentle loving arms. She saw the same glimmer in his eye that he felt and she knew then…when she looks back on it, she knew that was the moment she began taking control.
That night they made love as women. He even created a way of massaging his balls to mimic the way a woman masturbates. She encouraged his behavior despite tiny, almost insignificant flashes of….doubt, is the best way I can describe it. But she was too generous a lover to divulge her doubts to him and besides, it was 99 percent of the time ever-increasing in heights of new enlightenment about how sex can be so, so, good.
He was writing this, “fictional memoir,” and she was out. It was a bachelorette party.
“No,” she’d smile. “I don’t really want you to know the details…” she thought about it for a moment. “I have cum inside me from several sources, you can know that and that alone honey.” She walked up to him at his computer and leaned over and cradled her husband’s head in the way she’s learned to cradle him at these times of inner conflict. She pretended to be reading as she kissed and licked her tongue all around his naked neck. She demanded he type in the nude, or sheer-to-waist Wolford pantyhose, and nothing else. And she licked his mouth a he tasted the cum on her mouth and on her lips and it was as if he fell off a cliff and knew he’d never hit bottom. She used her husband’s mouth that night until she’d exhausted her true lust, the lust she had for his services, and then she left him without an ending and sent him off to continue is work. He did have actual research to undertake after all.
He went to work. He was working on Coleridges, Rhyme and while he worked on school stuff he was allowed to work as a man. And he did, and he enjoyed it. He wore fashionable primitive, Columbia, Patagonia, REI, shit like that when he went to school. Very cliché in a way, but endearingly sentimental at the same time. She liked it and made sure he never crossed the line to the lower halves of fashion. The shoes always ensured a good standing.
He thinks about it and it goes back to his c***dhood when he snooped on his parents room. He was 13, knew nothing of anything about sex…never even heard of masturbation, let alone knew how to do it. He was alone for a long autumn Saturday night. His sister was over night at a friend’s. Mom and Dad were with baby brother on a weekend trip to Ashtabula. He got into his dad’s Playboy collection and then found his mom’s slip and panties drawer. He put them on almost as soon as he’d held them, they were such arousing items. He put on big satiny panties and rubbed his stiffness all around the material….lightly back and forth, back and forth, until it became strange and hyper, and stopped because he’d already gotten his fingers on the nylon of his mother’s pantyhose. He knew he had to wear them and attempted to pull them on. He remembered how instinctive it was for him to gather them up from the thigh to the toe and then pull them up releasing in reverse direction in order to slide them tightly and neatly up the leg….this last part being especially for any designer hose that may have lines that need to be straight. But he knew this the first time he experienced the lovely material.
He remembers that once he had his mother’s hose pulled all the way up as far as the material’s resistance would allow, he’d pulled the waistband all the way up to his neck…the first time he’d ever put on a pair of nylons, he basically encased his body in them and masturbated for the first time.
He didn’t know what masturbation was let alone how to do it. He’d been hard, liked being, really, really liked being hard but he never was able to do anything about it. Until that day, encased in his mother’s nylons he slipped a pair of her satiny panties over his cock and humped his hand like a girl would. His cock was pressed back against his stomach, the sensitive underside pinned between a tightly stretched pair of nylons and a satiny smooth feeling of panties and rubbed and rubbed his cock in big back and forth circles like a little girl…at least that’s how he likes to recall the memory. In reality his raging teenage boner was aching to be released and for lack of information figured out how to do it on its own and it happened to be a very feminine way of doing it. And he rubbed and rubbed until he thought his head would explode…he was drawing so eternally close and exponentially distant at the same time that he could do nothing else except continue and he did until finally as if the earth had opened up he shot white liquid that scared him almost to a very early grave and an unfortunately difficult one to explain, but he didn’t die.
She is a strong woman. The part of her that doubted is becoming more prevalent. She has come to the honest conclusion that she loves the sex and she kicks herself for not being satisfied. She is a woman and her desires are to be taken, to be desired. She loved her husband because she knew all she had to do was continue loving him and showing him how she loves him, he’ll always love her. She liked that…but she wanted to be fucked.
She played a long-term game with her husband. She urged him onward in his endeavors, she even enjoyed them for what they were, her basically teasing him into behaving like a girl, and she liked that occasionally but what she secretly wanted was to be fucked like a real woman. But she was such an encouraging lover, that when she brought up the prospect that she go out and find a proper fucking occasionally and he could clean her up since she liked behaving like such a girl, his pertained feigning of resisting the whole idea was betrayed by his growing stiffness. She knew he would bend…and she pressed, all the while triggering his pressure points. Lightly playing with him like it’s a woman’s parts not a man’s. oh her fingertips drove him wild with lust, such a simple gesture and she divvied them out like candy on Halloween, and the piece de resistance, she would coat her fingers in her own soaked juices and spread her fingers along his perineum and kiss his cheek gently encouraging him to behave like his instincts inspire him to.
After that kind of treatment he relinquishes any power and abides willingly and happily. She is an angel to him and the comfort of having her even if it means she fulfills her needs as required, then he was happy she was returning to him…always coming home and making it all OK again.
She eventually convinced her husband that she understood how he would resist committing to such a marginalized lifestyle, but that it would be a hobby, not openly practiced and only on occasions that are conducive to safety and discretion. He simply needed to accept that they both agree it’s ok! And her rhetoric was ever-present, like an hypnosis. A constant reminder that your place is submissive is hard to deal with when you have to go be a college adjunct.
He never considers himself a professor, these k**s are not in need of professors, they’re in need of writing instructors. He has never crossed a line as an adjunct, never even considered it a possibility. He saw these k**s as in need of whatever tools he could give them, and if they genuinely wanted to fix their writing, they could if they paid mind to his instruction. It’s strange when he really contemplates his life. He has this really strange orientation, that would even be classified as an orientation by sexual habits standards, it would be considered a deviation at best. And somehow, he’s able to perform as a regular man. It seems to him an impossible prospect that nobody knows about his proclivities.
She has only had one serious doubt about whether or not someone knows…and it was at a holiday party at the office. She thought she recognized a woman. One of her lovers, a young escort from the city, had accidentally run into one another at a coffee shop and he was with his sister, so he said. And his “sister” was at the party with one of the associates vying for partner…anyway, she decided not to worry when they got rid of him and gave her partner.
After that first night, they talked. He told her everything about the first time masturbation, the obsession with panties and pantyhose that followed. Then finally living on his own and how different girlfriends always seemed to respond to his naturally soft and feminine method of sex, but none of them ever stayed. She was the first to capture him, expose him, teach him what could be. He told her how wonderful it felt to finally open up to someone about his…sexuality…such as it is. And from there they discussed where to go next and the process was a slow and gradual one. She was patient and introduced slowly what she had learned from internet searches is a dominant/submissive personality. She loved controlling her husband but also loved being a…a slut basically.
And as she role played different scenarios with her husband she became distinctly aware that he wanted the same things, he would have to feign resistance, she knew this. She was prepared for this and she reacted in such a way that he knew she knew him too well and he relinquished. She was free in her mind to go and seek out men who would fuck her properly.
She recalled the first time. The k**s were upstate at summer camp. She was in fantastic shape and feeling good one warm summer night of drinking on the patio deck. She was teasing her husband.
“I’m certain I could have a man over here in less than an hour.”
“I think you could too, some old skeever who wants some young hot slut.”
“I could post a picture and a set of demands and have a guy in his twenties, hot body, and hot face, here in under an hour…and happy to let you watch.”
She held her palm up and went to the computer and brought up craigslist. Found personal ads locally and posted an ad, with a picture of her with a strap-on, and him giving her a blowjob in full makeup.
“Mistress looking for a young stud to treat like a whore….only real pics of full body and face receive reply.”
Ten minutes later, after he’d poured them another drink, they checked her email. 27 replies. Clearly this is too good to be true. This is what the guys replying must be thinking as they reply. But 100 percent send full body and face pics, and not even half have pics of cocks. And all of them are in their early twenties, the pics look authentic, not a one copied from the internet.
She narrowed the field via replies and then from there cut the field to three. After Josh’s reply, “I’ve been with cuckolds before.” She knew he was the one. In under an hour by 15 minutes, Josh was standing in the doorway. She was naked and behind her, he was kneeling in lingerie.
Josh fucked her and outlived any expectations she had for him. For being 25 years old, he was remarkably dominant and unusually adept at commanding her husband around.
“Put my cock in your wife’s pussy, slut!”
And, “Get down in there and lick both of us.”
He was a dream come true for both of them. He fucked her and made her perform the most lascivious of acts while her husband either licked and kissed them, or watched in fascination as she serviced this muscular stud. She was completely taken control of and forced to service Josh in ways that amazed her own sexuality, but only served to inspire her to greater heights. Finally when Josh had orgasmed inside of her abused pussy, then her husband was allowed release as he used his horny mouth to gently bring her to orgasm once more and spilling her lover’s seed into his mouth. He was so driven to desire that he came on her used sex organ and gently spent the next 30 minutes cleaning her completely of two men’s sperm.
She realized that night as she paid Josh on his way out the door that she had the best of both worlds laying before her and she need only to exploit her husband enough to give her this advantage. But she knew it was the realization that her husband wanted this as much as she did that gave her the courage to make it a reality.
Charlize
- 29.08.2021
- 18
- 0
