David and Libby have been happily married for 16 years one cook out with BBCs will change it all
Hi, my name is David. I’m 45 years old, 5’9″ tall, 200 lbs, with an average build, bald, blue eyes. My wife of 16 years is Libby. We have three boys: hers, mine, and ours. The last boy is 12 years younger than his middle sibling. She begged me for four years to get her pregnant, and I finally did.
Libby is 40 years old, 5’4″ tall, with somewhat long brown hair and hazel eyes. She used to color her hair dark brown with blond highlights. It made her look like a lady—a sexy one. She used to weigh around 300 lbs, but she carried it very well. About eight months ago, Libby started taking a weight loss shot that my insurance paid for. She’s a stay-at-home mom, so she started walking during the day and found an aerobics plan that she does with a stepper we bought from Walmart. Now she weighs around 190 lbs, and gloriously, she kept her voluptuous curves—DD tits and a phat booty that all the guys, especially me, like to look at. I’ve always loved her body, but I won’t pretend the weight loss hasn’t made me nervous. She’s getting attention now in ways she never did before.
Recently, she’s started coloring her hair with pinks and purples and blues. I think it makes her look trashy instead of sexy. I’ve told her so, but she does it anyway. She just laughs and says, “It’s my hair, babe.” She’s never been hard to look at, but now when we go to the grocery store or out to eat, women compliment her hair. Guys always come up to her trying to start conversations. We lost her wedding rings quite a few years ago and can’t afford to replace them. I tell myself it doesn’t matter, but I notice how men’s eyes linger on her bare finger.
Our sex life is great. As she loses weight, she’s building confidence, and our bedroom is active. We’ve also been more social—going to weddings, going to parties with friends. Seeing her come out of her shell has been inspiring. I’ve always thought she was beautiful. Now everyone else can see it too. I should be happy about that. Mostly I am. But there’s this knot in my stomach that tightens every time some guy looks at her a second too long.
We ran into her longtime friend Tasha at a Halloween party. She was a bridesmaid in our wedding. Tasha invited us to a cookout at her house a couple Saturdays away and insisted we come. Ive always came to your events but we never go to hers,” she said, and you could hear the hurt underneath the teasing. Libby squeezed my hand when Tasha said it.
We both love Tasha, but she can get a little rowdy—drinks, smokes weed, and she only dates black guys. Not that we’re racist, it’s just that Libby has always had the body black guys like in women. It’s a stereotype, I know, but I can’t help thinking about it. Libby knows I would feel uncomfortable there, and extremely uncomfortable if she went without me. We talked about it for two weeks. She kept saying Tasha was important to her, that we couldn’t keep avoiding her life. Finally we decided we would go. The last thing Libby or I want to do is hurt Tasha. My wife has known her longer than she’s known me, and that means something.
Saturday finally comes. That morning, Libby goes with her mom to get their hair done and do a little shopping if they have time, because the cookout doesn’t start until late—around 7 p.m. that night. That seems a little late to start a cookout to me, but I brush it off and try not to get too anxious about it. I spend the day cleaning the house, keeping my hands busy so my mind doesn’t wander.
Libby and her mom get back around 2 p.m., and you guessed it—she’s dyed her hair a brown color with pink and purple layers. Not the worst I’ve seen, but I’m nowhere near crazy about it. She’s excited, though, spinning around to show me. “What do you think?” It’s untypically warm for November where we live, and she’s bought a pair of blue jean shorts—not booty cutters—and some kind of white braided shirt with diamond-shaped holes in it that she’s excited to wear. She holds them up against herself. “They’ll go well with my open-toed sandals from the summer.”
I tell her she’d better take some extra clothes, like a hoodie or some pants, just in case it gets cold. Libby waves me off. “I talked to Tasha. There’ll be a fire.” She says it like I’m worrying over nothing, which maybe I am.
It’s 5 now, and I’m dressed for the occasion—blue jeans, a nice red shirt, and my Hey Dudes. Libby comes out of our room, and she is beautiful. Even her hair is on point. She’s not dressed slutty or scantily, but her hips are filling out a perfect hourglass shape, with her butt bulge popping out like she’s 20 again. She’s found a green mesh blouse she’s put over her white shirt. If she just had one, it would be see-through, but with both of them, you can barely see her white bra she got for Christmas—nothing extravagant, just a bra. She catches me staring and does a little turn. “You like?”
I ask if we can stay and have fun taking her clothes back off. She just laughs and says, “We’d better get moving. We have about a 45-minute drive, and we need to get me some alcohol. We don’t want to be late.”
My anxiety gets a little higher, but I just take a deep breath, swallow my emotions hard, and press on. This is what she wants. This is what Tasha needs. I can do this for them.
The car ride is nice. We’re laughing and joking like we always do. She tells me about her mom’s gossip from the salon, and I tell her about the mess our youngest made in the kitchen this morning. I stop off at the liquor store and pick her up some kind of margarita in a bag. She holds it up, examining it. “We’ll have to put it in Tasha’s freezer as soon as we get there.”
As we get closer, I start getting quiet. The streets are getting rougher. Libby notices and asks me what’s wrong.
I smile and say, “Absolutely nothing. I’m with the most beautiful woman on the planet. What could be wrong?” I mean it, but my voice sounds tight even to me.
She looks at me—really looks at me—and tells me she loves me, she loves our children, and there’s nothing she would ever do to hurt any of us. “Let them look, if they do. They probably won’t, and you’re worried about absolutely nothing.” She reaches over and squeezes my thigh.
I ask her if she’s seen how beautiful she is. She laughs and tilts her head back with her wonderful smile. “You’re sweet,” she says, like she doesn’t quite believe it but loves that I said it anyway.
I do love her. She and the boys are my everything. I’d do anything to keep them safe, to keep us together.
We pull up to the house. There are already two cars in the small driveway. We’re not in a great part of town—not the worst, but not somewhere Libby or I would normally be. The sun is starting to go down, and you can see the smoke coming from the backyard. BBQ is in the air.
I park on the street so we can leave without being blocked in if a lot of people show up. I’m almost shaking when I turn our SUV off. My anxiety is starting to take over, but Libby unbuckles her seat belt, leans over, caresses my chin with two fingers, and tells me she loves me and everything is going to be okay. Then she kisses me—delicately, tenderly. She calms my nerves down to the bottom of my stomach. She always knows how to calm me down. “We’ll have fun,” she whispers. “I promise.”
We get out and head to the house. I’m holding Libby’s hand and her bag of margaritas in the other. We start walking up the driveway. One of the cars in the drive hasn’t moved in a long time—flat tire, faded paint. It’s a small white aluminum-siding house with an old white garage behind and to the left.
We’re going up the gradual incline of the driveway when Tasha opens the front door and yells, “You made it!” Her voice is pure joy, and I feel a little guilty for dreading this.
Tasha is a little taller than me with long jet-black hair. She has enormous—like EEE—titties that are still somewhat firm. I’ve always liked watching her bounce around at our kids’ birthday parties. She’s wearing a pink lace shirt with a black V-neck over top of it to show her cleavage. She has on dark blue jeans that show off her somewhat round booty, and nice black loafer shoes with a small flat heel. She’s a very pretty woman, older than Libby and me, with little signs of a hard life in her face—laugh lines around her eyes, a tightness in her smile that comes from years of working too hard.
“David, it’s nice to see you too. I’m glad both of you could finally make it.” She pulls me into a hug before I can react, and her perfume smells amazing.
She and Libby start to talk, catching up fast. I drift off, focusing on my surroundings. The grass is cut, but there are overgrown vines growing up along the house on the corners and what looks like overgrown shrubs at the edge of the front yard between the street and the house, kind of hiding everything from the street. You can really only see the garage and a corner of the house from the street.
Then Tasha snaps me back. “Hey David, this is Jeremy.” There’s something in her voice—pride, maybe, or a little warning.
I look up. Jeremy is about 6’3″, a light-skinned black guy with dreadlocks down past his shoulders and a rough goatee. He’s wearing a white wife beater, green and brown camouflage shorts, and white Jordans. He has squinted eyes that only look at me long enough to shake my hand and smile at me with a shit-eating grin—one silver tooth in the front. His grip is firm, confident. Then all his attention is on Libby.
Tasha tells him, “And this is Libby.” She says it like she’s presenting something special.
He says, “Sup,” and looks directly in her eyes. Not at her body, not at her chest—her eyes. Like he’s measuring something.
Libby smiles back with her big warm smile and reaches up to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.” Her voice is friendly, open. She’s always been good with people.
I show Tasha the margarita bags and ask where the freezer is because Libby has brought alcohol. Tasha lets out a howl, looks at Libby, and says, “Git it, girl. Tonight is gonna be off the hook.” She grabs her by the arm, leading her up the driveway. Libby glances back at me with an excited smile.
Jeremy and I follow behind. He’s making sure he keeps his distance, but I know his eyes are locked on Libby’s ass. I can feel it. The way he walks, the angle of his head.
We turn the corner, and there’s an older, bigger, dark-skinned black guy with a dark ball cap—brim up—a round face with a graying goatee, dark blue shirt, black jersey shorts, and some kind of white sneakers. Tasha introduces him as Cecil. He gives a short wave and gives me a “what’s up,” then looks at Libby and gives her a “sup, girl.” His voice is deeper, more relaxed than Jeremy’s.
Libby must already know him. She responds, “Nothin’, not much. How have you been?”
“Ah, you know how we do,” Cecil replies with a chuckle. He looks at Tasha and says, “Ribs are done.”
Tasha smiles and laughs, grabs me by the arm, and says, “Let’s go get those margaritas on ice.” She opens the back door and takes me up a couple steps to the kitchen. She’s telling me how glad she is we came and how much fun we’re going to have. “Libby needs this,” she says. “She’s been cooped up with those boys too long.”
I tell her we can’t let Libby have too much to drink. “She’s a lightweight.” I try to keep my voice casual, but Tasha hears the worry underneath.
Tasha laughs and says, “There’s plenty of room to crash here.” She opens the fridge, hands me a beer, and says, “No designated drivers needed.” She winks at me.
I smile and say, “No thanks, I don’t really like beer.” I’ve never been much of a drinker. I like being in control.
Tasha shrugs. “We got wine, whiskey, anything you want.” She’s already pulling out bottles, showing me options.
Just then a new girl walks up. It’s Debbie. She’s about 5’6″ tall, with blackish-brown hair just down to her neck. She’s wearing a purple sundress that shows her average tits and just covers about a quarter of her thighs. She has on high heels and she’s drinking wine. She holds out her hand, cupped down, and I grab it and kiss the back of her hand. She’s somewhat pretty—long teeth, button nose—but her best attributes are her thighs. My god, they’re thick, and they lead to a gorgeous thick ass. It doesn’t stick out like Libby’s, but it looks tight and fit under that dress. It makes me want to see her panties. She smiles at the gesture, amused.
She introduces herself, and I say, “Hello, you look beautiful in your dress.” The words come out automatically. I’m good at compliments.
She laughs and twirls, playing along. “Why thank you.” She is tight.
Tasha says, “Simmer down, girl. Help me get this food ready.” She’s grinning, though. She tells me I can go back outside and they’ll be out in a few with the food.
When I get outside, it’s already gotten dark. Night has arrived. Libby is standing between Cecil and Jeremy, and they’re talking. I walk up, and Libby says, “There’s my husband, there he is,” and laughs. She sounds happy, relaxed. The guys laugh too.
Cecil goes and flips a switch that lights up the whole backyard and says, “I’m going in to help Tosh.” He gives Jeremy a look I can’t quite read.
We stand outside for a couple minutes talking to Jeremy when a couple walks up. It’s Paige and Kris. Kris is a black guy about my age, I guess, about 5’9″ like me. He’s wearing a blue Adidas jacket with blue shorts and a black do-rag tied tight over his head. Paige is pretty. She’s 5’7″, thick with wide hips, but her booty is tight and round. She has beautiful blond hair, a short chin, and a little nose. She’s wearing a white tank top with straps around her shoulders and booty-cutter shorts with thick phat legs, and cowboy boots that make her look amazingly hot. She looks nervous, excited—like she’s trying to impress Kris.
Kris walks up to Jeremy and introduces Paige, and Jeremy introduces us. We find out Kris and Paige had just met and this is like their second date. Lucky man! Paige blushes when he says it, and Kris puts his arm around her waist possessively.
Tasha, Cecil, and Debbie start bringing out the food and setting it up on picnic tables outside. Libby and I help them. We all sit down and start eating. Libby and I sit at a picnic table with Jeremy and Debbie across from us. We all sit, talk, and eat. It’s nice. The ribs are good. The conversation flows easy.
It turns out that Cecil, Kris, and Jeremy all have kids with Tasha. That’s pretty good if all three guys can get along. I wonder how that works, how they manage the jealousy. Or maybe they don’t feel it the way I do.
Libby keeps looking at Jeremy the whole time, and when they speak, she always makes eye contact. He says something funny, and she touches his hand or taps his forearm. It’s the way she touches people when she’s comfortable, when she likes them. She asks if he and Tasha are still dating, and Jeremy says, “Sometimes,” and smiles. “We keep it casual.”
He asks if we’re still married because she doesn’t have any rings, and Libby answers, “Most of the time.” They all laugh. I laugh too, but it sounds hollow in my ears.
Then she tells the story about the guy who asked for her number outside of Texas Roadhouse. Jeremy’s eyes widen. “Did you give it to him?” There’s genuine curiosity in his voice, maybe a little challenge.
Libby shakes her head and says no, laughing. “I told him I was married.” She glances at me when she says it, like she wants me to know she’s still mine.
We get done eating, and everybody just kind of lingers around the backyard. More people come and go. Libby gets her margaritas out and drinks from a red cup. You can smell the weed from a mile away with all they’re smoking. Jeremy and Cecil keep trying to get me and especially Libby to take a hit. “Come on, just one,” Jeremy says, holding it out to her. Libby keeps saying no, but she’s smiling, flattered by the attention.
It’s around 12:30. It starts getting cold outside, and Tasha yells, “Okay, let’s take this party inside!” She leads the way, and everyone follows her in. Libby shivers and rubs her arms. I want to say I told you so, but I don’t.
Debbie asks me if I’ll help her pick up the last of the food and take it in, so I do. We talk as we’re getting everything together. She’s nice, and I enjoy watching her dress lift and flip around. She tells me about her job, her ex-boyfriend. I’m completely comfortable. It’s weird. Libby was right. I was worrying about nothing. Everyone is cool. I enjoy talking to them. Maybe I’ve been too paranoid all these years.
When Debbie and I get done, I start looking for Libby. It’s a small house, and it’s crowded in there. I find Libby talking to Jeremy—her new best friend. They’re standing in front of a fireplace, his arm lying across the mantel, and Libby is in front of him, close—like less than a foot away. She’s looking up at him, animated, telling some story. Kris and Paige are sitting on the couch, his hand on her thigh. Tasha and Cecil are in the other room at the kitchen table.
Debbie comes over and starts talking to me. Everyone is laughing and joking. Cecil keeps yelling in to Libby, asking her to try hitting this blunt. She says no, and everyone laughs. “She’s a good girl,” Jeremy says, and Libby swats his arm playfully.
I sit down in a chair, and Debbie keeps talking to me. I’m watching Libby, and she’s getting drunk. Worse, she’s getting even closer to Jeremy. She keeps scooting closer and closer to where, if he wasn’t a head taller than her, their faces would be touching. She just keeps looking up, smiling and laughing and drinking. Occasionally they brush up against one another. Each time it happens, my stomach tightens a little more.
I’m starting to get a little anxious. I don’t like what I’m seeing. I don’t want to say anything and make anyone mad or think I’m being a dick. I don’t want to be the jealous husband, the controlling one. I just keep talking to Debbie and watching Libby.
Cecil comes into the room with something in his hand and starts talking to Libby. Libby squints at it, then says she needs her glasses and asks if I’ll go get them from the car. Her voice is a little slurred.
I hesitate to say anything, and Tasha walks up to me and gently says, “Will you please go get that girl her glasses? She’s in no state to walk all the way out there, lol.” She touches my shoulder, reassuring.
I reluctantly go. I hurry to the SUV and find the glasses. It takes me a minute to find them—they’ve slipped under the seat. I hurry back in. When I get to the living room, everyone is huddled around Libby.
I hand her her glasses and say, “Here you go.” I’m a little out of breath from rushing.
She says thanks and puts them on. When she does, Cecil says, “Damn, girl, you are fine as hell.” His voice is appreciative, hungry.
Libby just kind of slumps back and falls into Jeremy. He gently puts his arm around the back of her waist and stabilizes her. She wraps her arm around him and says thanks. She looks around a little dazed for a second, then composes herself. “Whoa,” she says, laughing. “Head rush.”
She asks Tasha to pour her another drink. Tasha comes back with an empty margarita bag and says, “You’re all out, honey.”
Libby immediately yells, “David, please go get me more alcohol.” It’s not a request. It’s a demand, playful but firm.
I walk over to her. She still has her arm around Jeremy. I say, “No, I think it’s time for us to go home.” I try to sound gentle, not controlling.
Libby says, “I don’t want to go home yet.” She pushes away from Jeremy and comes over to me, putting her hands on my chest. “Please, I’ll love you forever.” Her eyes are glassy, pleading.
Cecil comes up and says, “Yeah, man, can you go? We need some other stuff too.” He’s casual about it, like it’s no big deal.
Tasha says, “I’ll get you a list,” laughing. She’s already moving toward the kitchen.
I say, “It’s like 1:30. The liquor stores won’t be open.” I’m grasping for excuses now.
Tasha says, “Yes, they will,” and starts telling me which one I need to go to. She knows the hours by heart.
I turn to Libby and say, “Can’t we just go home? It’s late.” I’m almost begging now.
Everyone is around me now, staring at me. Kris says, “Can’t you just go, man? We need this stuff to keep the party going.” There’s an edge to his voice, like I’m being difficult.
Debbie comes up, caressing my arm, saying, “Please, for me. Haven’t we been having fun?” Her touch is soft, persuasive.
I don’t know if I have a contact buzz from all the weed everyone’s been smoking, but I say, “Okay, I’ll go.” The words come out before I can stop them. I don’t want to be the bad guy. I don’t want to ruin Libby’s night.
I take the list from Tasha and go over to give Libby a kiss. She just kind of backs away from me, turning her head so I catch her cheek instead of her lips. I turn around and make my way to the door. Everybody yells out, “Thanks!” as I go down the steps. I feel like I’m abandoning her, but I don’t know what else to do.
I get to the SUV, get in, and start driving to the liquor store Tasha told me about. It’s a ways away. It feels like forever to get there. I throw the attendant the list and ask, “Please just get this.” I pace back and forth. He’s still fumbling around getting stuff. I’m starting to get anxious. I ask him to please hurry. He puts everything in a bag. I pay, and I’m back on the road, my mind racing about what’s going on in that house. Is Libby smoking weed or doing something even worse? Is she still standing close to Jeremy? Are his hands on her? I push the accelerator harder.
I speed back there, put the car in park, and head up the driveway. I’m listening, trying to hear what might be waiting for me inside. I hear grumbles, maybe moans. I can’t make things out. My heart is pounding.
I turn the corner and open the door. As soon as I do, my heart starts to sink. That’s not weed I’m smelling. That’s pussy. The scent hits me like a wall.
I walk up the steps to the kitchen, and there’s Tasha with her clothes off, riding Cecil’s dick while he sits at the kitchen table. Her huge tits glide across the table as she grinds on his cock. He looks at me and just smiles, unbothered. “Hey man,” he says casually.
I turn the corner, and Paige is in the middle of the living room, slightly bent over with Kris’s hands on her hips, just slamming into her pussy. Her hands are on his. Her firm titties are bouncing up, but by the time they can rock back down, Kris is pounding her pussy so hard they bounce back up. She’s completely naked except for her cowboy boots, with a surprised look on her face. Her cheeks are red like she’s blushing. I guess this is the first time she and Kris have had sex. She’s moaning, overwhelmed.
I look over at the fireplace. Libby and Jeremy are not there. My stomach drops. I see her green blouse on the floor.
Debbie walks up. Her purple dress is gone, and I finally see she’s wearing green lace panties. I’m not going to lie—her thick thighs are amazing, and now I’m imagining what her panties look like. She’s smiling at me, confident.
I ask her, “Where are they?” My voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from someone else.
She touches my elbow and says, “Oh, baby, don’t worry about them.” Her lipstick is a little smudged, and her mascara is runny like her eyes have been watering. Probably from sucking dick. “I can take care of you. Would you like that? I thought we had a connection.” Her voice is soft, seductive.
I tell her maybe, but I want to see Libby first. I need to see her. I need to know.
Debbie says, “Okay, if that’s what you want, baby.” She turns and starts walking down the hallway, swinging her hips to make sure I’m looking at her ass. She gets to the door, turns to look at me, and says, “Here you go, baby.”
She opens the door and walks in. It’s a bedroom, and when I see what Libby and Jeremy are doing, I drop all the shit I just picked up from the liquor store. It makes a loud crash on the floor.
Libby and Jeremy both look up at me slowly. They’re on the bed. Jeremy is lying on his back, and Libby is riding him. That’s her favorite position. Riding and sucking dick are her two favorite things. She’s bent over, her face next to his.
Jeremy says, “Hey, you made it back. Just leave that stuff in the kitchen,” and laughs. His voice is relaxed, amused.
Libby just smiles and says, “Yeah, leave it in the kitchen,” and kisses him on the lips. Slowly and loudly, you can hear their lips smacking. She starts grinding on his cock harder and faster. She’s not looking at me anymore.
I walk in the door and sit on a big blue lounge chair. I’m at eye level, watching that big black cock—with no condom—satisfy my wife of 16 years, the love of my life, the woman who has helped me raise three sons. We’ve done everything together forever. We’ve built a life. We’ve survived hard times. We’ve laughed until we cried. Now, I guess, we’re breaking our marriage vows together too. Part of me wants to leave. Part of me can’t look away.
Debbie unzips my pants, takes my dick out, and starts sucking it. I don’t understand why she’s giving me this kind of attention, especially since there are so many bigger dicks out and hard already. Maybe she feels sorry for me. Maybe this is just what she does. My body responds even as my mind reels.
I can tell by the sheets Libby already squirted. I was the first person to ever make her do that.
Libby turns around with her face to me and her ass toward Jeremy’s face. He slaps her big booty, and it jiggles. He’s rubbing it as Libby rolls and rides his cock. Her head is cocked a little to the right. Her eyes keep opening and closing. She’s moaning and breathing heavily.
Jeremy slaps her ass harder. Wap. The sound is sharp and loud. “Damn, white boy, your wife has some good pussy.” He’s talking to me now, making sure I hear it.
Libby picks up the pace. She starts grinding and switching her hips back and forth harder and faster. She reaches up and grabs her tits. “Ohh, yess.” Her voice is high, desperate.
I’ve heard her say this before, but this time it’s different. This time she means it in a way she never has with me. I put my hand on the back of Debbie’s head. She is going to town on my cock. I close my eyes, but I can still hear everything—Libby’s moans, Jeremy’s grunts, the wet slap of their bodies. This is happening. This is real.
Debbie comes up off my cock and asks, “Do you like that, baby? Does that make you feel good?”
I tell her yes, very much. She smiles and looks me in the eyes. I kiss her firmly, hungry. We embrace for a few moments before I lift her up to suck on her titties. I move my hand down between her legs, lifting her panties. Her thighs are as firm and juicy as I imagined. I gently force my hand down, massaging her clit. She lets out a gasp before I kiss her again.
She’s the aggressor this time, grabbing the back of my head before she stops and presses her forehead against mine, lightly pulsing her hips. Jeremy rolls Libby off of him and lays her on her back close to the edge of the bed. Libby spreads her legs and allows him back inside. Jeremy holds her feet in the air and starts pounding his dick in Libby’s pussy. He’s about nine or ten inches long, his girth like a glass bottle. With each stroke you can hear Libby’s wet pussy queefing and taking in air. She can barely moan or speak. Every once in a while she whispers, “Fuck my pussy. Yes, Daddy.”
His steady rhythm changes to a circular motion that Libby likes. She grabs the bottoms of her feet, bending her legs and allowing his cock in easier with his thrusts.
Debbie and I are making out. I’m playing with her pussy while she slowly jacks me off, moving her hand up and down my shaft, gently pinching the tip and sliding her fingers down.
Jeremy climbs up on the bed, forcing Libby’s legs down and slamming his dick down in her pussy. I can see her juices coming up as he goes in and out. He’s big, not huge, definitely bigger than me. His dick doesn’t look all the way hard—it looks like it has whiskey dick. His skin moves back and forth with each thrust. It must be from the weed. I’ve never smoked that much, only twice, so I don’t know how weed affects fucking.
Jeremy hollers out, “Look, white boy, she’s creaming.”
I see it—white, thick, creamy juices starting to attach to his dick, just a little with each motion, then leaking out to the side walls of her pussy, then all over her clit and his balls. I can smell it. Her aroma fills the room. I’ve only been able to make her do that a couple times in the nineteen years we’ve known each other, and I guess he’s getting it done on the first night. It’s her nerves, I tell myself. It’s because she’s fucking him in front of me.
Debbie stops kissing me and says, “Come on, let’s go to another room.” She sounds almost like she wants me to herself. As she leads me to the door with my hand in hers, she says, “I’ll leave the doors open so you know he’s not hurting her.”
I look into her eyes. “Thank you.”
We go across the hallway to a room directly across from theirs. Debbie lays on the bed and asks if she’s sexy enough for me. I kiss her gently, then work my way down to her pussy, licking and sucking and kissing every inch along the way. I grab her green lacy panties with my finger, gently pulling them off, then massage her calves and glide my hands down past her thighs to open her pussy and press my face in.
I start licking her lips, then moving my tongue between them. I can taste her sweet juices. Her smell fills my nostrils. Her thighs are tight on my face. She feels so good and tastes amazing. I thrust my face deeper. She opens her hips to let me in, then clenches back up and puts her hand on top of my head, welcoming me and what I’m doing.
My dick is rock hard now, pulsating even though it’s not being touched. She says, “You feel so good, baby. Mmm,” moving her hand to her forehead.
Her pussy is shaven but she has some peach fuzz. I move my hand up to rub and move my fingers through it. She is amazing. I move my hands down and cup her ass, spreading her cheeks apart so I can get just a little bit deeper before I start rocking my head back and forth and shaking. I want her juices to start flowing. I want her pussy gushing with pleasure.
She starts getting louder now, moaning and saying mispronounced words, like letters that make no sense. I’m into her as much as she’s into me. I have to stick my dick into that pussy. I can’t wait anymore.
I come up and kiss her, my mouth still full of her juices. We kiss until they’re gone. Her hips are spread wide with her ankles together. I spread them apart before moving between them. I grab my cock and part her pussy lips before putting my dick in her moist pussy. She feels hot. That feels so fucking good.
She’s lying flat. I’m stiff as a board. My feet are on their tiptoes and my arms are almost straight out. I’m rigid and I’m moving in a jerking motion, not fluid at all. I tell her, “You feel so fucking good,” before I let loose my cum in a loud breathing “HUH” and a deep breath and another deep, huge, loud “HUUUH.” Every muscle in my body tenses, seizes up, then just total collapse.
I’m lying on top of her, my body limp as I breathe heavy with loud, high ahhs. She caresses my back and kisses my cheek and says, “It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot tonight. It’s all right.”
I’m totally relaxed as she keeps rubbing my shoulders and telling me I was great. I kiss her neck and start moving my half-limp dick back and forth in her cum-filled pussy. It feels erotic. She says, “Ohh,” as my dick starts getting hard again. I’ve always been good at restarting, but not this fast.
Debbie and I start moving together now, our bodies meshing. I lean back and she raises her hips to let my dick stay in her warm pussy. I tell her, “You are so sexy, so beautiful. You feel so great. I want to taste your pussy again and feel your legs against my face.”
She looks at me in amazement, almost. I don’t understand what her eyes are telling me. She closes them quickly and rolls her head back.
I move back, putting my feet on the floor, grabbing her hips and gently pulling her to the edge of the bed. I place her legs in front of me, her feet up around my ears. She arches her back, her head and the tip of her ass the only things touching the bed, allowing me to stay inside. I thrust myself into her. I’m not as stiff as before, but I’m not relaxed. I get a rhythm, not too fast but not very slow. I’m grunting and my breath is making noise.
She tells me, “Get it, daddy. Fuck my pussy. You feel so good,” as I’m thrusting.
She finally gives out, her back falling to the bed and my dick coming out of her pussy. I lean over, grasping the side of her face, kissing her aggressively, rolling her over onto her knees and starting again. I’m rubbing her thick, tight ass, smacking it. She looks back at me every so often with a red flush on her cheeks.
“Slap my ass, baby. Ohh, right there.”
I can tell she’s coming. I start ramming her harder, faster. I pull her arms back to where her face is hovering over the bed.
“Yesss,” she cries, as I stop and lick her ass, then make my way to her pussy where I grunt and shake my head violently.
She drops to her side and lets out a gasp.
I ask, “Are you okay?” She just nods. I ask, “Did you get to finish? Did I make you cum?”
She smiles and laughs and just nods her head fast as she brings my head close to hers, kissing me. I put my hand on the side of her face and start kissing her, licking and sucking.
She says, “Okay, okay, it’s hot. I need a break for a second.”
I sit on the side of the bed. She lies there. I give her a second. She’s quiet.
I ask if everything is okay. “I got a little carried away. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
She rolls over, sits next to me, puts her hand under my chin and whispers to me, “If you were my man, we would never have come here.”
I look at her in disbelief. I don’t know what she’s talking about. She just shakes her head and looks away.
She says, “I need a drink. Not alcohol, just some water.”
I tell her I don’t want to go back out there. “Can we just stay in here?”
She grabs hold of the back of my neck, pulls me closer to her, and says, “I know. I know,” like the real world and our real circumstances just slammed back in.
🔞 Candy.AI 🔥 AI Sex Chat – Roleplay, Erotic Stories, Try for Free 🕹️