She just caught me masturbating! My inner voice screamed inside my head.

Allison’s face betrayed no shock, surprise, judgment, or even the barest hint that she’d seen me. However, she’d walked from her house down the street to mine, and there was almost no chance that she hadn’t glanced toward the house and seen me standing in the bay window, fingering myself over Bobby Crenshaw. I knew better than to ask.

However, her strategic, deliberate entrance was admirable and required acknowledgment. Allison and I barely knew each other. We’d run into each other at a few stores and chatted briefly a few times. I’d only met her husband once, I think, in passing, when we’d first moved in. No face emerged in my mind to connect his name with the actual person. She and I felt that we could become good friends, hence the reason for a quiet, get-to-know-you dinner.

Everything about her arrival, down to the smallest of details, was designed to cut through the usual, hidden subtext that women utilize to gauge, judge, and communicate with each other. She presented her true self for me to either accept or reject. I mentally bowed before her foresight. Allison’s outfit, body language, casual airs, and even the offering of marijuana candy in lieu of the traditional wine were manufactured, “here I am; this is me,” statements. That took courage, vulnerability, and a keen understanding of the silent messages we convey to each other.

Ginger, as she prefers to be called, had meticulously done her makeup to impart her personality. It was sultry, sexy, and playful—all smoke and glittery shine. Her rouge was dark, and those arousing, plump lips were a deep crimson outlined in dark purple. Her eye shadow faded from a deep forest green to charcoal, which enhanced the allure of her pale eyes. She easily pulled off the sexy and wild-in-bed look while retaining a ladylike dignity.

Allison’s clothing was also sexy and suggestive without being trashy. A long, muted purple tunic top with a rounded hem showed off her slightly large and perfectly formed breasts without descending into sluttiness by revealing volumes of cleavage. However, the tunic clung to the contours of her body, hinted at an hourglass figure, and revealed shadowy hints of her full, round breasts. The sexy outlines of her stiff nipples poked out through the fabric. Even though her breasts sat high and firm on her chest, I wondered whether she was wearing a bra. Emerging from beneath the curved hem of her top, black, skin-tight leggings molded themselves to her shapely legs. Simple, worn tennis shoes finished off her ensemble.

Her entire look was custom-tailored to illustrate that she was completely herself—no pretenses about not being incredibly sexy, but also that she didn’t have that inflated ego that typically accompanies stunningly good looks. Every word she’d uttered, as well as her body language, intoned, “Here I am, all of me, exactly how I appear. If you like it, then fine. If not, then kiss my very shapely ass.” Her early, solo arrival was orchestrated to give us two girls time to bond, or not before the men came in and spewed testosterone all over the place.

The THC-laced gummies were an ingenious statement about her lifestyle and personality. By opting for something a bit taboo, she was announcing that she was unconventional and didn’t care if you knew it. I appreciated her efforts, as they saved us a lot of time. Typically, when women are getting to know each other, a non-verbal evaluation is going on just beneath the surface of polite conversation. By her choices and actions, she’d laid it all out there and left it up to me. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” I smiled out to her. My unspoken subtext, as we looked each other over, was that I understood the intent behind everything she’d done, and I both accepted and appreciated her efforts. She nodded in comprehension and smiled broadly, showing perfect teeth.

“It’s been years since I was stoned,” I continued as I grabbed two of the sugar-coated, earthy bundles of joy and popped them into my mouth.

“Years?” she laughed out. “Oh, sweetheart, maybe just one or less will do you. How’s your tolerance?”

I could taste the herbal essence; it was quite pungent despite the sugary sweetness. “Let me put it this way, but don’t tell Mike. In college, they didn’t call me Mary Anne; they called me Mary Jane!”

“Oh,” Ginger guffawed. “Then have three.”

I complied, then asked. “These taste more like weed than candy. What are they, fifty milligrams?”

“No, sweetie, two hundred.”

“Oh fuck,” I said in a very ladylike fashion. “I’m going to be so stoned, I’ll probably ruin dinner.”

“If you cook one-tenth as well as you keep your home, dinner will be amazing. I must say, I’m embarrassed. My house is a shit-hole compared to yours.”

“Well, make yourself at home. I’ll pour you a drink, and, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, go change. I was running a bit behind and was just tidying up a little before I got dressed.” I pointed to the idle vacuum cleaner. “Um, how do you like your drinks?”

“Like my men,” she giggled. “Strong, stiff, and another one on the way.”

Men wouldn’t understand, but we’d passed each other’s tests. In those few moments, we’d bonded, finding common ground. That meant that we could now cultivate a friendship without putting on false airs. I poured her a strong whiskey on the rocks, adding some sweetening syrup and fruit garnishes, and then ran into the bedroom to hastily change into my dress.

The wise words, “Haste makes waste,” were echoed in my mad dash to dress myself. Ginger had been polite or politic enough to not mention the facts that I was clad in only a T-shirt, my fingers glistened with my pussy juice, and that I hadn’t been properly prepared to receive her company. Not wanting to add rudeness to my growing list of faux pas, I tried to dress myself at light speed. The hurried frenzy impeded me to the point of frustration.

My initial plan was to wear a matching bra, panties, and garter belt, but my hectic rushing made the straps of the bra all twisty and uneven; my nail caught on my panties and ripped the frilly lace. As a final cruel irony of fate, I tugged at the garter straps too hard and tore one off! With Allison waiting, I had no recourse but to simply pull on the thigh-highs and shimmy into the dress. Nobody will notice or even care, I thought to myself. I ignored the obvious bouncing of my unrestrained boobs and nude ass beneath my dress.

“All dressed,” I announced as I came back into the living room. Ginger had meandered around a bit, and she’d stopped at the bay window, at the exact spot I’d just fingered myself to orgasm at.

“He’s quite a good-looking young man,” she observed. She pointed to Bobby across the street. He was still tinkering with the mower, struggling to start it. His arm muscles bulged as he frenetically tugged on the pull cord. “Does he always strut around like that?”

“All the time.”

”I’ll need to visit more often. How can I help with dinner?”

Although our wayward husbands were due to arrive within thirty or so minutes, Allison and I spent the next forty-five finishing up dinner. Despite all of my housewife mistakes throughout the day, dinner was almost perfect. My glazed vegetables were a bit on the dark side, and my bread was just barely undercooked and still a touch doughy. Everything else, especially the sirloin tips, was pure perfection. There wasn’t a single lump in my from-scratch mashed potatoes.

During that time, a couple of things happened. Ginger and I got along famously. We also skipped all the small talk, agreeing that the men would bring it all up over dinner because men lack imagination. We got to know each other as people, not defined by what we do. Another thing that happened was that the edibles kicked in and came on strong. By the time we were setting the table, we were both laughing uncontrollably, and tears were welling up in our eyes. We were on a shared journey of bonding giddiness.

While I’d initially planned to seat the four of us as two couples across from each other, we decided to switch things up. Ben would be seated on my right, across from Mike, which left Ginger and me face-to-face. That required some slight table setting alterations, but we managed it with ease. According to some recent magazine articles, this would foster group conversation better than if we were seated beside our spouses.

Just as we were tending the dessert preparations, laughing over the latest celebrity scandal in the news, the door burst open and Mike waltzed in, his briefcase in one hand and a mostly-drained beer bottle in the other. Beside him was a man I assumed to be Ben. Some faint specters of recognition haunted my mind, and, given the withering stare Allison shot him, I assumed myself to be correct.

“Sorry, we’re late, honey,” my husband shouted out. “Look who I ran into when I pulled in.”

“Are you drinking already?” Allison scolded her husband with a smile.

“It’s only our second!”

“Men! Okay, boys, wash up for dinner. Mary’s slaved all day over a hot stove, so act like an adult for once.”

I kept quiet, but that didn’t stop my eyes from running all over Ben’s sexy body and ruggedly handsome face. Mike, my husband, is handsome and muscular in a clean-cut way, but Ben was roguishly handsome. His shoulder-length hair was a deep black and framed his angular, chiseled features with gentle, cascading waves. Ben’s muscular torso was clad in a linen shirt with the top two buttons undone, and, while his lower half was encased in denim, it was a designer fit. Smart, patent leather shoes wrapped his feet, and he gave the overall impression of the charismatic leader of the rebellion.

“Mike, this is Allison. Do you remember her, now?”

My husband, his cheeks slightly pink from the alcohol, stopped to acknowledge our other guest. “Yes, I remember you,” he beamed as they shook hands. 

“Ginger, please,” she responded, shaking vigorously. I ignored the fact that her probably-braless tits were bouncing up and down along with her arm. I vehemently opted to not see my husband’s eyes bounce up and down, following the heaving of Allison’s incredible boobs. Nor did my eyes perceive the way his lusty stare traveled down her body, fixating on her sexy legs and the treasure box between them.

I formally greeted Ben, feeling my entire body grow heated under his gaze. A good wife needs her husband’s friends and guests to want her; that props him up and raises his status in the male pecking order. So, rather than shy away from his lecherous leering, I brazenly let him take all of me in and even jutted my comparatively inadequate breasts out. It was at that moment that I remembered that I was nude beneath my stylish A-line dress. My nipples responded to my epiphany by growing hard and sticking out, making sexy little points in the front of my dress.

“Big Ben!” Mike called. “Let’s wash up. Mary Anne’s cooking is her second-best skill.”

"Oh, really?” he called back. “And what’s her..." His voice trailed off as they went down the hall.

Ginger turned and faced me, a quizzical look on her face. I closed my hand around an imaginary cock and made lunging motions with it toward my mouth. We erupted with cackling laughter.

“What’s so funny out there?” my husband’s distant voice queried.

“Nothing, tiger,” I responded.

“Your dick,” Allison whispered to me.

The following bout of laughter between us could only be described as the maniacal tittering of very stoned, deviously perverted women sharing a moment. By the time they’d reemerged from the bowels of our domestic sprawl, we had everything perfectly in place. The dining atmosphere was worthy of gracing the cover of any magazine—domestic bliss in the heartland.

With Ginger and me getting along like long-lost friends and Mike and Ben already bonding despite the huge contrasts between them, both conversation and drinks flowed. By the time we’d all but finished my amazingly successful meal, the atmosphere was jovial, comfortable, and somewhat uninhibited.

“So, Ginger,” my husband eventually inquired. “What do you do for a living?” He turned his head toward her as he spoke. She glanced at me, and we traded knowing smiles, having already determined that the men would lead with “interview” questions.

She took a long sip of her drink, her fifth. I was taking it easy on the alcohol because the edibles I’d eaten had me flying so high that my entire body was tingling and everything was either sultry and arousing or insanely hilarious. Allison’s demure smile communicated volumes of information to me that the men wouldn’t pick up on. With a glance and a timid, naughty smile, she told me that what she was about to say wasn’t the entire truth, but it would be appreciated if I played along.

“Oh, I do some part-time cashier work at the grocery store, but most of our income comes from me being a fashion influencer.”

“A what?”

“Online marketer,” I interjected. “Rather than work for a specific company, an influencer is a sort of freelance marketer that gives reviews of products, usually in a video that people watch online. Then, they get a small commission for each unit they sell.” She was obviously hiding something, but I played along and ignored the unspoken juicy bits that I knew were there.

“I’m impressed,” Mike said, looking at her and not me. “Is there much money in that?”

Ginger nodded, her boobs bouncing slightly. “Well, it pays the mortgage.”

“And it paid for your new tits,” Ben laughed.

“I needed them for work, so I could model the newer fashions. Those B-cups weren’t paying the bills.”

She was growing flushed with embarrassment, so I interrupted. “That’s right. People online want to look at beautiful and sexy people. So, it makes sense. Honestly, though? They’re fake? I thought you were just blessed with enviable breasts.”

Everyone laughed.

“Thank you,” she beamed, proudly, shimmying her chest to make them wiggle and bounce. “They look real, don’t they? They feel real, too.”

Of course, everyone focused on the topics of discussion. I had to admit that even knowing she’d had them surgically enhanced, her breasts had a natural curve and slope to them. I wondered why I didn’t feel jealous about my husband of six years ogling our dinner guest’s mammaries. I just quaffed my drink and decided that the booze, company, and extremely-potent edibles were the reasons.

“You can feel them if you want,” she said. I watched, awestruck, at a total loss for words, as Ginger pivoted in her chair and presented her tits to my slightly inebriated husband.

“I win!” Ben erupted. “You owe me five dollars!”

“Huh?” Allison and I mused in unison.

“I told you!” he continued, ignoring our confusion. “She’s so proud of her new tits that she’s been showing everyone that cares to look and asking everyone to feel her up. I swear, I can’t take you anywhere, Ginj.” He truncated her name to one syllable.

“Yeah,” Mike stuttered out, “Ben bet me five dollars that you’d either flash your tits or ask me to feel them before the night was over. As tempting as it is, I don’t want to be a pervert…”

Ginger shut him up, mid-sentence, by grabbing both of his hands and firmly slamming them on her boobs. She was smiling proudly. I wasn’t surprised at all. She and I had already established that she was pretty brazen. Furthermore, if she was even half as high as I was, she currently had not a single care in the world.

“Now squeeze,” she commanded my husband. He looked at me nervously, but squeezed her boobs, anyway. I laughed to let him know that I wasn’t upset. “Don’t they feel real?” Ginger asked. “Get your money’s worth.” 

“Yes, they do,” Mike agreed. Coming to his senses, he pulled his hands away as if they were on fire. “What sort of things do you model,” he then asked, changing the topic. My husband also pulled out his wallet and laid the money on the table. Ginger snatched it up before Ben’s hand began to reach out to claim his prize, and she tucked the money into her tunic’s front pocket.

“It depends,” she began, sticking her tongue out at her husband. “A few companies I’ve reviewed before send me stuff every few months, but, sometimes, I contact a company that I might like, or they contact me.”

“What sort of clothing?”

I saw the look on her face. There was more to it than what she wanted to reveal, so I swooped in once more to save my new friend.

“Maybe I can help you,” I interrupted. “I used to be in marketing, and I was extremely successful at creating marketing campaigns for my clients.”

“Oh, really,” Ben said.

As he turned to face me, his knee pressed against my leg. Rather than shift away, I let it go. Besides, the heat of his denim-clad leg pressing against my stocking-clad thigh sent little, electric jolts through my highly stoned and extremely aroused flesh.

“What do you do now?” he asked me.

“Housewife.” I shrugged.

“Amazing.” Ben threw his hands up in the air, gesticulating his support for the role I chose for myself. “That’s admirable in today’s world where everyone, especially the young ladies I teach, is all ‘down with the patriarchy. You’ll never see me in a traditional role.’ That makes you a trendsetter.”

His hands dropped as he finished pontificating his words. His right hand settled back to the table, but his left hand dropped and landed, delicately, on my exposed thigh, just above my knee. Before my mind had even grappled with the implications of my new friend’s husband stroking my thigh, my body responded.

If the touch of his clothed leg was electric, then his hot, manly hand on my thigh struck me like a bolt of lightning. Instinctively, my mouth made a gasping sound as I drew in a sharp intake of breath. If that weren’t bad enough, I exhaled a soft, moaning sigh. I hadn’t been touched by another man, except platonically, in years; when his skin made contact with my flesh, my libido kicked into extreme overdrive.

“And you, Ben,” my husband asked, totally oblivious that his new best buddy was copping a feel of his wife. Of course, the Spring-themed tablecloth hid Ben’s actions. “What do you teach?”

“Music,” he stated with just a hint of dramatic flair. “Its history, the different styles, how it affects culture and in turn is profoundly impacted by society. It’s very exciting and interesting.”

To say that I found Ben attractive would be the understatement of the year. Both he and Allison had a notable sexual magnetism about them. My mind warned me of the perilous danger of letting him caress my thigh as he sat across from his own wife and my husband. I didn’t want to cause a scene that would embarrass our guests in front of my husband, whom I was propping up like a good wife, or torpedo the budding friendship between Ginger and me.

My body responded by erupting into an inferno of taboo lust. I couldn’t have stopped him without drawing attention to his illicit maneuvers, even if I had wanted to. I most definitely did not want him to stop. I hadn’t been touched by another in so long that it felt so torridly hot and arousing that every pore on my skin oozed bliss. Nobody else noticed. So, I not only let it happen, but I also reveled in the liquid heat pouring from my pussy. I felt so horny and naughty.

As he spoke, Ben’s wandering hand lightly squeezed and kneaded my flesh with almost every syllable. With every pause between his words, his hand crept higher up my thigh. His hand had reached my stocking top as he spoke, and his words, “Very exciting,” were said as he looked directly into my eyes with a mischievous smile. It was then that I once more remembered that I was nude under my skirt.

“Drinks,” I said, just a moment away from panic. I stood quickly, smoothing down my flared skirt and ignoring the way my tits bobbed up and down with the quickness of my movements. “I’ll get us all more drinks and dessert.”

“Oh, yummy,” Mike said, looking me up and down. “What did you make?”

I smiled and stuck my chest a little as his eyes were roaming over my highly aroused body. “My famous peach cobbler.” I headed toward the kitchen.

“You’re in for a sweet delight, Ben. She makes the sweetest, booze-soaked peach cobbler. What do you put in it?”

Our guests’ eyes were on my husband; he was the only one looking in my direction. I took advantage of the moment and quickly lifted the skirt of my dress, showing him that the only thing I had on underneath it were my stockings. His jaw dropped open, and a satisfying look of carnal lust crossed his face. I let the skirt fall back into place, then said, “Ginger, why don’t you help me get dessert ready?”

“Sure thing, Mary Anne.” She rose quickly and laughed. “See? They even bounce like they’re real.”

She boldly strode into the kitchen, her body bouncing enticingly with a seductive shimmy to her hips. Our shared look alerted me to the fact that she was fully aware of her body’s movements, and she basked in the sexual attention. I had planned on telling Allison about her husband’s wandering hands, but her actions made me rethink what I was about to say.

As soon as we were out of sight, Ginger grabbed me and hugged me. “Thank you for not spilling the beans about what else I do online. You knew, didn’t you?”

“I guessed that you did more than just model clothes, but there’s no need to tell me…”

“I know!” she interrupted. “Ben doesn’t know I’m also a nude model. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. Pinky-swear.” I was loath to release the embrace. In college, I’d experimented with more than weed. I experimented as much as I possibly could with lesbian sex, and her sexy body pressed against mine churned up desires that sent my already overheated core into inferno-like heat. “Let’s get dessert prepped,” I said to banish the awkwardness I was feeling.

Careful not to bend too far, lest my nude ass flashed my new friend, I opened the oven and pulled out my secret recipe dessert. However, when I turned, I nearly dropped the pan. Allison had pulled up her top and was idly examining her nude breasts with her hands.

“Did you really think they’re real? I love you.” I watched, stunned, as she tugged on her already-hard nipples. The little, crinkly bits of her areolas, as they puffed up, made me drool. “Want to feel them?”

“Ginger, stop!” I said a little too abruptly. “We’re one cliché away from a cheesy Gilligan’s Island porn fantasy.”

“Huh?”

“Mary Anne and Ginger, feeling each other up in the kitchen while cooking and getting drinks for the men?” I responded. The look on her face as comprehension set in was priceless.

“You’re so right! I’m sorry. How can I help with dessert?”

I walked her through how I brandy-soak my cobbler, and we were soon back to our laughing, giddy selves. I fixed three more drinks for Mike and our guests, pouring myself some tea. Finally, though, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I spoke up.

”Allison, I need to tell you something. Your husband, Ben… umm… while we were talking, he, well, his hand…”

“That fucking pervert,” she said before I could finish. “I’m so sorry. I made him promise to keep his hands to himself. Just slap him or something, and he’ll stop. He’s harmless but gets very touchy-feely when he drinks. The dipshit thinks that all women are like those starstruck coeds that keep chasing after his cock.”

“You’re not upset? Wait. Coeds?”

She leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m not so naive to think that he keeps it in his pants. You know, 'a lay for an A?' Besides, it’s kind of hot, and, trust me, two can play at that game. I’m so going to bust his balls tonight.”

“What should I do about your lecherous husband?”

“Whatever you want. Slap him, bitch him out, cut off his tiny, little cock…” She paused and then smiled broadly. “I think it’s funny and sort of hot.”

“You don’t mind at all?”

“I know this is oversharing since we’re just getting to know each other, but we talk about our little adventures to spice things up in bed. Too much?”

I thought it over and evaluated the conflicting messages my brain and dripping cunt were giving me. I responded with two words, “Edible, please,” and held my mouth open to receive.

Five minutes later, with drinks and desserts in hand, we emerged from the kitchen, laughing like silly schoolgirls, and I was buzzed beyond belief. Ginger set her wares down and then served my husband. Noting that she pressed her boobs into Mike’s arm as she bent to place his dish in front of him, I mimicked her actions and crammed my inferior tits into her husband’s body as I served him. I took my seat, and the conversation flowed once more. Mike and Ben were involved in a discussion about how modern music has no soul.

As the conversation ensued, interspersed with compliments over dinner and my dessert, I marveled over what a fine specimen of rugged masculinity Ben was. His muscles writhed under his skin with every movement, and his swaggering confidence was arousing. After about fifteen minutes, his hand sank beneath the table once more and found its way to my stocking-covered leg. This time, I firmly grabbed his hand, resisting the urge to destroy my manicure by digging my nails into his flesh, and moved it over to his lap, shooting him a stern look as a warning. His face blanched slightly, but he nodded in silent surrender.

By the end of dessert, the men were utterly soused. My cobbler was quickly consumed, and the conversation continued to flow. My recently consumed edible buttressed the others I’d consumed, and that warm, erotic tingling sensation coursing through my body became a vibrating thrum that set my flesh on fire with lust. I wondered how Allison could consume so many intoxicants and continue as if she were sober.

“What took you girls so long in the kitchen?” Mike asked me during a lull in the topic being discussed.

“Oh,” I absentmindedly responded. “Allison was showing me her new tits.” I took a swig of my tea, not realizing that I’d said it.

“Not fair!” Mike lamented. “Everyone here except me has seen them.”

“That’s right, Ginj,” Ben added. “Pull them out for the sake of fairness. You know you want to. You’re so proud of them.”

“Like you don’t love them,” she laughed. Ginger turned to me. “Okay?” I nodded, laughing.

She stood with all eyes on her and slowly began raising the hem of her tunic top. Making, “Boom, ta-da, boom,” sounds, she writhed to her vocalized music and exposed her smooth, shapely stomach. Overcome with the lust that had been building inside me all day, I grabbed Ben’s hand without thinking and forced it onto my leg. This time, I spread my thighs to give him easier access.

The skirt of my dress ended just above my knees when I was standing. Seated, it rose, slightly. Being an A-line with a flared skirt, the material gaped up and away enough that he had a clear route up my tunnel of love to my hot, wet spot.

“Take it off, baby,” Ben said to his wife as his hand wandered up my thigh. I stifled a moan and had to breathe out of my mouth, so I didn't erupt in sighs of pleasure.

Ginger pulled her top up to the bottom of her breasts, teasingly revealing just the bottom swells, then pulled it back down. Locking eyes with me, she tilted her head, seeking my assurance and permission. In a multitasking flourish, I nodded to her, smiled, and placed my hand over Ben’s. His lecherous fondling had gone up to my mid-thigh, but I wanted more. I thrust his hand directly onto my nude pussy, feeling my wetness run all over his fingers. Ben’s coughing fit as the surprise of my actions made him sputter into his drink was quite rewarding.

“See? They feel real, too, don’t they?” 

My husband’s hands were all over her tits, kneading them, pinching her nipples. His mouth was agape, and he looked like a geeky teenager getting his first feel. I laughed, which devolved into a guttural moan that nobody noticed, as Ben’s deft fingers found my aching clit. I felt my cheeks grow as hot as my dripping cunt, my desire making my flesh nearly as red as my boisterous friend’s hair.

“Come on, Ben,” Ginger told her cheating husband. “We’ve made fools of ourselves enough for one night. I doubt they’ll ask us back. Let’s go home.”

“How about tomorrow?” Mike blurted, his eyes riveted to her tits as she pulled her top back down. "Cards, or maybe a movie?”

I spoke up, trying to hide my impassioned voice. “Um, ah, oh…mmm. The, aaah, plumber’s coming tomorrow. Remember?”

“He’ll be gone by evening. What do you guys say?”

“Well, we’re a bit much for most people. Are you sure?”

“I’d love that,” I said. “But the boys cook, and we’ll sit around and get shitfaced.”

It was settled. We’d have company again tomorrow. Ben removed his hand from my twat, licking his fingers while staring at me, and then they left with hugs and handshakes all around.

“I really like them,” Mike told me. “Ben’s one hell of a guy, and Ginger is so awesome.”

“Ginger or her tits?”

“Um, both…wait! Are you jealous? I didn’t mean anything by it; it was all in fun.”

I looked my husband up and down, noting his semi-erect cock making a tent in his pants. A stern look crossed my face, countering his guilty, scared expression. I walked over to him and placed my hands on his shoulders, then pushed down firmly.

“On your knees, you little, fucking pervert. Your wife is horny as fuck, so drop and start licking.”

My husband began shivering in lusty anticipation, and his cock instantly swelled up, growing to full mast.

“Now, eat my dripping cunt, tiger, while I tell you about what a naughty girl your wife has been all day.”

His tongue shot out as his lips sucked in my swollen clitoris. His aroused moans were somewhat stifled by my wet pussy humping against his face.

To be continued…