His wife Lana - part 1

Her phone rings on the counter. "It's me. Is my briefcase in the kitchen?"

"Perhaps. Let me check."

She finds it there, black leather, propped against the tiles. "Yes, shall I bring it over?"

"No. I will send my assistant. His name is Chris. I guess he needs like half an hour to show up."

"Is this the Chris from your office Christmas party, two weeks ago?"

"Yes. Same guy."

"That big, strong guy?"

"Yes, he is."

"Oh, I think I know him."

He hears the smile in her tone.

"Yes, I know him. Yes, please send him over." She giggles and hangs up.

She remembers him very well. Her husband introduced them at that party. Then his phone buzzed with work; he drifted off down the hallway, leaving her alone with the big one. She chatted a little.

"You do a lot of sport, Chris?"

Before he could say anything, she laid her hand flat on his big, wide chest.

"You assist my husband with everything?"

He nodded, smiling down at her.

"Then you better assist him in the marital bed too, Chris. Come with me, big boy." and takes him by the hand. Some party guests see her walk away with her price, and they know. Lucky bastard, one colleague thinks.

The corridor is empty. The meeting room door clicks silently shut behind them.

He kisses her against the glass wall. She moans into his mouth, fingers in his collar, pulling him closer, harder, wetter. His hand slides under her skirt up the back of her thigh. She breaks away, breathing fast.

"Better kiss my married pussy", she coos.

She hops onto the conference table, wriggling back, elbows behind her, skirt bunched up at her hips. Legs fall open. Her fingers pull the Black lace to one side. He kneels between her shoes, mouth already there, tongue flat along her slit, slow, deliberate, and dragging. Her head drops back. A long low sound escapes her throat.

She opens her blouse for him, buttons slipping, and the black lace bra is full of her. She cups her own breasts through it, pinching, squeezing, showing him everything while he works. His tongue finds her clit, circles it, flicks it, and sucks it in. Her heels dig into his back. She grabs a fistful of his hair and holds his face down hard against her cunt, grinding it up into his mouth.

Her thighs shake. She comes with a broken gasp, hips bucking, soaking his chin, his collar, and the table edge.

He is good, is her only thought.

"Oh, I need to thank you properly." She whispers, after recovering.

She slides off the table onto her knees. Her palms travel up his thighs, over the wool, to the heavy shape straining his trousers. She cups it. Rubs her cheek against the ridge like a cat.

"Are you a big boy?" She coos.

"Come find out," he teases.

She keeps stroking him, slow and maddening. He swells under her palm until the wool looks ready to split. Lana licks her lips without noticing. Zipper down, her small hand slips inside, fingers walking his length through thin cotton. Oh. He is big. Her eyes go wide.

One button popped fast. Trousers shoved to his ankles. Her face hovers so close to that bulging outline she feels the heat of it on her mouth. She yanks his trunks down.

His phallus springs free, slaps her chin, and almost catches her lips. She gasps. Her tongue dabs out on instinct, finding the slit at the top of his purple helmet. Salty, sweet, male. A shiver rolls down her spine.

Her hand closes around him. It does not fit. Fingers barely meet. Thumb short of the rest.

So big, she sighs. So strong. What a beautiful breeding tool. Her cunt clenches, still slick from his tongue, dripping fresh at the sight of him. At the feel.

Her mouth opens wide, slides down over the cockhead, and swallows it whole. Warm. So warm. So powerful. Her lips seal below the ridge, jaw stretched, eyes fluttering shut. She is attached to him now, a slave to it, moaning around the girth, drool already running. His gorgeous cock owns her completely.

Then she sucks. Hollow, caved-in cheeks, wet pulls, head bobbing. A groan breaks out of him, low and surprised. She hears it. Her cunt clenches again.

She pulls off with a wet pop, holds him upright in her fist, and looks at it properly. Long, thick, shining with her spit, veins standing. "Beautiful", she purrs. "Look at you. You are gorgeous." She licks a slow stripe from the base to the crown, tongue wide, flat, and thorough. His hips jerk.

"Oh, you like that?" she murmurs, smiling. She does it again. Slower. Fatter lick. Then she slaps the heavy shaft against her open tongue, once, twice, watching it bounce, watching his fists close at his sides. She kisses the underside, right where the vein pulses, mouth open, tongue working the skin.

His head falls back. A rough sound tears out of him, half word, half growl. That sound goes straight between her legs.

Her mouth takes him again, deeper, faster, hand pumping what she cannot fit. Spit runs down her knuckles. She moans around him, constant, muffled, the vibration crawling up his shaft. He grunts. "Yes", she hums. "Yes, give it to me."

His hips start to move. Small at first, a slow forward press into her mouth, meeting her rhythm, then falling out of it. He rolls into her, shallow strokes, his own need getting the better of him. She takes it, lets him set the pace, and keeps her hands braced on his thighs.

Deeper now. A little too deep. She gags, throat catching, eyes watering, pulling off with a wet cough. Spit strings from her lip to his cockhead.

"Easy", he murmurs, stroking her hair.

She shakes her head. Back on him. Again, he pushes; again, she gags, softer this time, less of a fight. Then again, deeper, the reflex giving ground. Bit by bit it winds down. Each push meets less resistance. Her throat opens for him, surrendering to him.

"Oh, that is it," he breathes.

She looks up, tears in her lashes, jaw slack, letting him have it. His strokes lengthen. She takes him to the hilt, nose crushed into his belly, hair tickling her lip. Her throat bulges around the shaft, a thick visible swell riding up her neck with every thrust. He can see his own outline through her skin, that long ridge of him moving under the surface. Truly fucking her third opening.

He groans at the sight. Dirty, broken, no cool left in his voice at all.

Out he pulls, wet, glistening, letting her gasp. She sucks air, grinning, then dives back on. Her hands find his balls, rolling those full, heavy weights, tugging them gently, and weighing them. Much bigger than her husband's, she realizes with a thrill. His cock too. Double the size, surely. She squeezes them in time with her mouth, milking him from below.

His cockhead is so sensitive. Every pass over the ridge makes his stomach jump. She notices. She stays up there, tongue curling around the crown, lapping the slit, dipping into it, chasing the taste. His thighs tremble against her palms.

"Where did you learn to suck like that?", he rasps.

She pops off, lips swollen, chin wet. Giggles. A filthy little giggle that shakes her whole chest. "Practice", she says. Then she is back on him, no more talking.

Her throat takes him again, swallowing around him, humming so he feels the purr. His hand lands on the back of her head, not pushing, just holding, fingers twisted in her hair. He fucks her mouth in earnest now, with slow, deep rolls, letting his cock glide all the way, letting her gag softly at the bottom each time. She loves it. Her free hand slides between her own thighs, two fingers in her soaked cunt, working herself in time with his hips.

Little bites between thrusts. Just the edge of her white teeth on the purple helmet. His whole body jolts. Another nip, higher, right under the crown. A third at the slit. Each one makes him twitch in her fist and makes his cock jump against her tongue. She grins around him and soothes it with a flat wet lick.

Her hand keeps working the base, steady and twisting, while her mouth plays at the tip. She takes just the head now, sucking hard, cheeks hollow, tongue lashing the underside. His groans are constant and gravelly, with no rhythm left in them at all. He is rocking into her mouth in short stutters.

"Look at me," she murmurs around him, eyes tipped up.

He looks. That helpless look on a big man's face does something to her. She moans loudly around his cock, throaty and obscene, letting him feel it.

His balls tighten in her palm. She feels it, that draw, that lift.

She pulls back to the crown, tongue out, mouth open, fist flying.

The first rope hits her tongue, hot. She tries to swallow it all, gulping, but there is too much. Rope after rope, thick, endless, spilling over her lips, running down her chin, dripping onto her blouse. She keeps milking him through it, fist tight, mouth still on the head, drinking every drop she can catch.

Warm baby seed floods her throat and settles low in her stomach. So full, she feels its warmth spread inside her full stomach.

That feeling finishes her. Her cunt seizes on her own fingers, clenching, pulsing hard, wetness gushing over her hand. She comes with his cock still in her mouth, a muffled cry, thighs snapping together, hips twitching against her heels.

Chris holds her head gently. She stays latched, breathing through her nose, eyes shut, chin shining, full of him.

Then a last small bite on the purple helmet. Just because. Another nibble. Possesing his cock.

All mine.

..

She shivers again. That beautiful, two-weeks-old memory. And now he comes to her house, and they have seven hours. She needs to find an excuse. To keep him here. Keep him inside her. Keep him in every hole. She had promised him a raincheck, but he hadn’t cashed it in. Yet.

I need to get ready; make me fuckable, is her next thought. It is not my fault; my husband hasn’t fucked me for ages. She soothes her conscience. Is it a year now? She can’t remember. But in one angry action, she stopped overnight with protection. And that was at least half a year ago.

The white lingerie looks good on me, is her next thought. It will make him want to rape me. Push up bra, hold-on stockings, panties? Panties pretending to be civilized? She giggles. No civilization, she decides right away. A bare, easily accessible, married cunt. That is what Chris needs. I need to shave my mound, and she hurries into the main bathroom.

To be continued.