“Do you want to fuck my wife?”
I could imagine him saying it, the pride in his smile as he turned to gesture towards me, his to show off, and his to give away. The certainty in his presentation, a simple sentence for a guaranteed response.
I could imagine the look on their face; my ego determined that they would find the opportunity an honour. My confidence sky-rocketing, feeling amazing in the daring outfit I had chosen, feeling super sexually-powerful from the thrashing I had taken from his belt in the dungeon, feeling hot from grinding on the dance-floor.
It was on the dancefloor that this obsessive idea had formulated. High on the music and good times, I’m happy and horny as hell, so we indulge in frequent forays to the gorgeous couples’ room . Giggling at our code, that arms pumping “let’s do it” fucking mime we were using to indicate transition from main dance area to the upstairs room.
Dancing, fucking, chatting, dancing, fucking and dancing some more.
A very happy birthday to me!
I bounce and babble excitedly at him as we move up the stairs
“I’ll suck their cock whilst you pound me, then I’ll look into your eyes whilst they do the same. I’ll watch you, watching me, being used by them.”
Becoming increasingly turned on by my own descriptions, my wild imagination.
I can imagine their hands on me, the touch I don’t recognise, the feel of strange fingers stroking me, gripping me as they clasp my hips and push inside.
I can imagine their noises, grunts of appreciation, deep growls that are both unfamiliar and yet caused by me.
I can imagine the fire in your eyes as you watch; I can picture the subtle sneer in your smile that reveals your arousal.
I can imagine the feeling, soaring on the power of being used for pleasure. Your pride in me matched by pride in myself, your good girl.
Come on, he beckons, smiling at my suggestions “My horny girl, let’s go upstairs and make you cum a lot…” an offer I can’t refuse and delivered with expertise.
This powerfully persistent distraction continues to consume my thoughts as we take a break from dancing. There could have been no one else in the club our focus on each other so intense, connected and practically glowing, singing along poignantly “you’ve got the love I need to see me through...” I feel that love radiating as we hold hands and skip upstairs once again.
The couples’ room is empty and my fierce insistence at realising my fantasy is still prompting diabolical suggestions from my lips, just as it had been on the dancefloor, encouraging him to make me his prize “Give me away…watch as I get ruined, as I get fucked…” my cascade of filth halted as I’m swept into his embrace, kissing me hard, hands working under my clothes.
Kneeling upright on the black leather sofa I’m just the perfect height. He shifts my bustle skirt to the side and pushes himself inside. I moan in response, bucking my hips and turning to look at him, to watch the intensity as he fucks me from behind, one hand firmly gripped to my shoulder.
I didn’t notice how he came to be there, our voyeuristic opportunist. So absorbed in the pleasure of our act, lost in the power of his thrusts with his strong hands holding me in place, I’m surprised to find we have an audience. A lone male sitting to the right of us cautiously but deliberately edging his way closer, obviously enjoying our show….