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From: screwloose2@my-deja.com
Subject: {ASSM} RP: Convention Town Girl, pt 1 (MMF wife) <*>
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Date: Fri, 12 Nov 1999 03:10:00 -0500
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If you are under 18 or offended by sexually oriented material,
stop right here. Do not read the rest of this message.
WARNING: Sexually Oriented Material Follows. Adults only.
Convention Town Girl
By Ms. Screwloose
Part 1 (MMF wife, fictionalized, but only slightly)
My husband wrote to you about my playing around. I used to
just play with other guys, flirting and touchy-feely, but
recently I've actually been screwed by one man, and then
another and then, at his urging, played with a whole group
of men. How did I get this way? Well, it happened
gradually, but he sort of started it.
We were out with my husband's biggest business client one
Friday night about two years ago, having dinner and drinks.
This is not unusual. Tommy takes clients out every couple
months, especially this man, I'll call him Stan. Stan had
been divorced recently and was not yet re-involved with
anyone, so he was alone this night. He always pays a lot
of attention to me anyway, looks me up and down, touches
me, makes me feel a little uncomfortable, even when he has
a woman with him. This night was no different. Tom always
tells me to be cool about it, not to upset the client.
Fully one-third of Tom's commissions come from this one
customer, so he can't afford to do anything to risk that
business.
After dinner we went to a bar in one of the casinos, one
with music. This bar was filled with people partying -- I
guess there's a convention in the hotel this week -- and
with a lot of young women who have come to join the party
in a professional capacity, I think. They are really sexy.
I was in a nice dress, nothing flashy or very sexy, just a
straight pseudo-silk, off-white sheath that buttons down
the front. It's short but not too short, and I even have a
slip on for modesty. But compared with most of the women
there, I looked and felt positively Suzie Straight.
Tommy, my husband, had his hand on my thigh when sitting at
the table, visibly. This helps, makes me feel a little
sexier. When we dance, he plays with my butt, and makes no
secret of it. Hey, it's okay, we're allowed. We've been
married practically forever. The client asked me to dance,
too, and being a good corporate wife I accepted. Then a
slow song came on next, and we stayed on the dance floor.
He pulled me fairly close, his hands on my hips but not
quite too fresh. The guy is an important client, so I
don't want to draw any attention to it. I just ignored it.
He's done more than that several times in the past, anyway.
I mean, he's an attractive enough guy, about ten years
older than I am. It's just that, well, I am married, and
my husband is right here.
When we got back to the table, Tommy was away, in the men's
room, I guess, and while Stan and I were talking, he put
his hand on my thigh, too. Right around the hem of my
dress, on the skirt, then down on my nylons to my knee,
then back up. Casually, he hitched the hem and went under
the skirt onto my thigh. Thankfully, Tommy returned just
then and Stan moved his hand back down to my knee.
When Stan went to the restroom later, I told Tommy that he
was taking some liberties with his hands. "So?" he said.
"Let him. Please." I was more than a little surprised.
"Honey, this is my biggest account. It's no big deal.
Just a little playing. Let him."
"Do you want him to feel me up?"
"If he wants to, well, yes, I want him to be able to do
that."
"You want me to *let* him feel me up?"
"Yes, sure. I don't want to make a big deal over it."
"All over? You want him to touch me anywhere?"
"Oh, come on, Jan, it's not as though you're not tempting.
I mean, you're awfully proud of your boobs, and your butt,
and your legs. You work hard on them, and it isn't just
for me. It's for your ego. And he's just responding to a
very attractive woman."
"I think he wants to put his hands all over those assets
that I work so hard on. You think that's okay?"
"Sure, let him. Touchy-feely anything. It's just playing.
It's not like real sex. I don't mind. You shouldn't.
Just don't do anything to piss him off, please." He leaned
closer and took my hand. "He's important to *us*, sweetie.
His account is the bigger house in the better neighborhood
that we just moved into. And the new car you want."
I'm stunned. How far does he want me to go with this, I
wonder? "Well, suppose he wants real sex? Suppose he
wants to take me back to his room, to screw me like one of
these hookers here?"
"It won't come to that, honey. He's not crazy. Yeah, he
knows that big clients get some privileges, but he can't
expect to have my wife, for Christ's sake. Won't happen.
Don't worry about it."
I sat back and thought about it. He wants me to let this
man paw me. My dear husband wants me to engage in a little
sex play with a client. For money. Indirectly. Well, I
get that money, too. More indirectly, but I still get the
benefits of it. I down my drink. And then Tommy's. And
order another round. A little more fortification for the
night ahead.
"You want me to just let him do what he wants to do?"
"If he wants to be friendly, then I want you to be
friendly, even very friendly. And that means open and
receptive, too. Trust me, it won't go too far."
When Stan came back to the table, we danced again, and he
pulled me to him again, and I didn't resist. I could feel
him getting an erection against my belly. His hands
dropped to my butt, and again I didn't resist that. I'm
sure that everyone could see them massaging me. He traced
the outlines of my bikini underwear with his fingers so
that it was obvious that he knew exactly what I was
wearing, and he made sure I knew it, too.
When we sat down again, both men put their hands on my
legs. Jeezuz, what is this, a threesome? I thought. Tom
excused himself again, and Stan moved his chair even closer
to mine. He whispered to me how beautiful I looked tonight,
and what a good dancer I was. I gulped my drink again, for
courage. Stan and I were dancing again when Tom came back,
and putting on a show on the floor. During fast dances, he
positioned one of his legs between mine, so that I could
rub down onto it, which, in good fun, I did. During the
slow dances, he felt all of me that was accessible outside
my clothes. Tom had come back with more drinks, and was
watching this intently. I tried not to object or pull
away, but I tried not to encourage him too much, either.
Stan went to the john again, and I told Tom that his hands
were all over me. "Next he's going to be grabbing my boobs
or my thighs."
"So? Let him have a feel. No man can resist those boobs."
"Just like that? You want me to let him touch me, feel up
your wife, sexually?"
"Sure, yes, honey, why not? What's a little groping? If
it's not going to get us arrested for public nudity, not a
problem."
Stony silence for a minute. Then he whispered in my ear,
conspiratorially, "Tell me you aren't enjoying it just a
little bit. Turning on another man. A rich and powerful
man who finds you extremely attractive."
I didn't answer, but just sipped my drink to think about
it.
I continued dancing with both of them, more or less
alternating, though I have to admit that Stan somehow got
more of the slow dances, and thus more opportunity to roam
over my hips and ass and thighs. By now, when he wandered
down from my hip, his hand would go down the back and
outside of my thigh to the hem of my skirt, and touch my
bare leg. Well, not skin but the nylons on my legs. And
he would sneak a finger or two under the skirt and move up
my thigh. Still, I didn't object or pull away. I know
what Tommy wants.
And Tommy got to watch this. When we danced, he whispered
to me that he loved watching another man feel me like that.
A while later, Tommy got beeped and had to leave.
Normally, I would drive him to the office and I would take
the car home, but this night I can't drive, I've had much
too much to drink. The client offered to see me home, so
Tommy can take the car, and that solved the problem.
We stay and have another drink, of course, and dance some
more, of course. During the slow ones, he pulls me really
close. I can feel that my breasts are in his chest, and
his crotch is against my belly and there is a hard lump in
it. His hands go lower to my butt and really pull me into
his erection. I continue to let it happen. He's been all
over my behind half the night. Besides, it's kind of nice
to know that another man still finds me attractive after
I've been married for eleven years, so attractive that he's
willing to risk being rejected or slapped for coming on to
a married woman.
After another drink or two, I decide that I like his hands
on my ass, and I push back against him when we dance. When
we sit down again, his hand is on my thigh, starting from
my knee, moves up my leg under my dress. This is it, now,
a new level of contact. Under my clothes. This is scary.
Either I stop it here or let it continue. My instructions
are not to upset the client, let him play. So I uncross my
legs to give him better access to my thighs.
He leans toward me and kisses me! If I weren't drunk, I'd
be shocked by the public nature of it. Meantime his hand
moves way up between my thighs and brushes against my
crotch. I jump at the touch. Here's a man I barely know
kissing me and running his hand up under my skirt. This
started because my husband wants me to please this man, to
let this man play with my body, if that's what he wants. I
think this is getting out of hand. But I don't want to
stop it. I was reluctant at first. But with all the
alcohol and the fondling, I'm getting into it. And not
just because of Tommy's business. What I'm shocked at is
that I'm not angry, I don't want him to stop. I am finding
this interesting. In fact, exciting. In fact, incredibly
exciting. My God, I'm getting wet between my legs.
While he's kissing me, I moan into his mouth. He can tell
that I am enjoying both the kiss and the touch. I lean
back and close my eyes. He can do anything he wants now.
I have quite forgotten how public this is, that we're still
in the club and there are other people around. I don't
care. His fingers push the pantyhose into my crotch, into
my slit, and I push back at the contact.
Another drink. He's kissing me with his hand full on my
breast, but between us so it's hidden. Still, it must be
visible. The bouncer for the club, really a burly security
guard in a tux, comes up behind us and whispers to me that
we ought to get a room. "I haven't seen you in here
before, honey, but if you aren't a little more subtle about
it, you won't be allowed to work in here again. If you
don't want to be persona non grata right now, then take
your business to a more suitable place." I can't believe
it! The guy thinks that I'm a hooker, and that Stan is my
trick! Then I realize that there were a number of hookers
in the bar, and that most of them were probably much
better-behaved than I was just now.
I was so embarrassed. Stan paid the bill and we headed to
his car. He had to help me walk steadily. We got into his
car, which was off in the middle of one of those huge,
anonymous parking lots that all the casinos have. When we
got into the car, he started it and turned on the radio and
the a/c, but didn't drive away. He turned to me and kissed
me again. He held me and told me breathlessly how
incredibly attractive he found me, how he'd wanted to touch
me for a year since we first met at one of these dinners.
We were in a relatively dark part of the parking lot, and
surrounded by other cars, so no one could really see inside
the car. He was kissing me constantly, our tongues
lashing, and his hands were all over me. He cupped my
breasts and played with the nipples that protruded through
the material. The electric feeling in my nipples went
straight to my pussy, and I got hot and wet. How could I
stop now? I didn't want to stop.
He unbuttoned the top of my dress and pulled it off my
shoulders. Somehow the seats reclined until he was nearly
lying on top of me. He finished unbuttoning my dress and
took it off completely. My God, now I'm lying here in just
a slip and my underwear. He pulled the slip off my
shoulders and pulled my breasts out above my bra. Then he
knelt down in front of my seat, between my legs, and kissed
my breasts. Oh, his tongue and teeth on my nipples sent
shocks down to my sex, and I breathed in gasps.
"I want you, I want you, you are so beautiful tonight," he
hisses in my ear. "God, I love the taste of your lips,
and your breasts. And I want to taste the rest of you."
He reached up under my slip to pull my pantyhose down. I
lifted my butt to help him. I was so hot, I wanted him to
taste me, too. Then my panties. Now, there's just the
slip around my waist. He kissed up one thigh, across my
belly, and down the other thigh. Then he came up between
them. He parted my hair gently with his fingers and
lowered his lips to my clit. His tongue was velvet across
my button, his lips and teeth gently grasped at it. I
pulled his head hard into my pussy, and I came, "Oh, God,
Oh, God, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh!" My bare feet were up on the
dash, and the cold draft of the air conditioning blew over
my sweaty legs and butt.
Stan moved over to his seat and lay back. He put my hands
onto his pants, and I could feel the hardness and pulsing
of his cock. I unzipped him and pulled his pants down
below his knees, then straddled his hips. I knelt over
him, and we kissed fervently. His hands were under my slip
on my hips and pushing me down. I straightened up, took
his penis in my hand, placed it at the entrance to my
vagina, and pushed down slowly, sliding it into my sex. I
wanted to feel it inside me. No, not just inside me,
inside my cunt! A word I never use, but there is nothing
else that feels like the hot, wet, hungry hole that I
pulled him into.
I slid up and down on his cock, moving it in and out of my
cunt, slowly, long strokes, he was frantic, sweating,
gasping, he wanted so desperately to come. "Fuck me, fuck
me. Shoot inside my cunt. Please. Shoot. Squirt in me.
Give me your come!" I felt his cock get super-hard, and
tense, and he lifted his hips, and he shouted, "Agh! Oh!
Oh. Oh, oh."
I collapsed on his chest. As his cock softened, I could
feel the fluids running out of my hole. I grabbed the
Kleenex box off the back seat, and we both cleaned up.
Leather seats don't stain, fortunately.
After we relaxed for a while, I put my stockings and dress
back on, but he kept my panties as a, well, trophy. He
said "memento," but I think guys always want that most
intimate piece of clothing as a trophy. "I conquered this
woman. I fucked her. See, I uncovered the core of her
sex, and I went inside her hole." Well, it's true.
Stan drove me home then. He kept his hand on my thigh and
on my crotch for the entire ride. I didn't mind. I was
still feeling warm and gooey and satisfied from the
fucking.
When Tommy got home later, I was already asleep. I was
glad that he didn't see me undress. He would certainly
have noticed that my panties were missing and the pantyhose
soaked with both male and female juices. The next morning,
we lazed in bed and he asked me what had happened. I
didn't tell him the whole story. I was embarrassed and he
saw that right away. I let him drag out of me the details
of Stan's dancing with me, and feeling me up. I told him
that Stan even fingered me in the car before we drove home.
Tommy went nuts. He loved it. He was hard in an instant,
ripped off my t-shirt and jumped on me with very few
preliminaries. I was horny as hell, too, I told him, from
being felt and kissed and fondled and eventually finger-
fucked. We both came like horny beasts.
For the next week, every time I looked up at him, over
breakfast or dinner or the newspaper, he was staring at me
and smiling. And he'd grab my ass or my boob every time we
were near. And we made love with renewed vigor every night
for a week. He loved that horny, sexy night at least as
much as I did. God, imagine if I had told him the whole
story!
I'm lucky that Stan did not come back for seconds or
thirds. Or for a regular thing. The incident had just been
something in a business context, not an affair of the
heart.
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
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