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From: turner84miles@hotmail.com
Newsgroups: alt.stories.erotic
Subject: My Japanese Wife - the early years, part 3
Date: Sat, 26 Jun 2004 19:58:20 -0700
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I guess I should clarify something about the details in my wife's
versions of these events. When I started asking my wife about her past
sexual escapades, we found out two things. One, hearing about the
details from My wife's past really turned me on, and propelled us into
one, or even two additional lovemaking sessions a night; and, two, we
found out that My wife had a gift for knowing just what details would
fire me up to fuck her harder and better, and a talent for inventing
them, if necessary, and weaving them seamlessly into her stories.
Because her history wasn't all that extensive, she would tell me the
same stories, adding or subtracting details to make them more
exciting. Of course, sometimes, like in the incident involving my
ex-boss, my wife's first story is less than the truth, so it's not
always the extreme version that's false. The truth or falsity of the
details of these events is sometimes elusive. Are the later details
embellishments or truths left out of earlier versions?
In fact, regarding the incident that led My wife and I to an anonymous
airport hotel in LA, and to My wife getting fucked by several
strangers, I believe My wife's most extreme version is the true one.
About six months after I caught the Rev. with his hand full of My
wife's tit in our neighbor's garage, we came up with the idea of
acting out a fantasy of pretending to meet as strangers in a bar or
nightclub, and going back to our room for heavy-duty screwing. Both of
us would be free to flirt with, kiss, but not fuck, the other patrons,
before we ended up with each other. My wife, of course, was more
inventive and daring, coming up with outfits that became more and more
revealing. She would seldom even bring any underwear on these
excursions. She had a skin-tight, low-cut, high-slit red silk dress
she called her "sushi girl" outfit. She had a purple velvet dress cut
so low that two little pink half moons, the tops of her areolas,
peeked out at the bottom. With one of her push-up bras, the effect was
spectacular. My favorite of her outfits was what she called her
"angel/slut" gown, sheer fabric with metallic shimmers, cut so low and
so high that it looked like a see-through floor-length robe, held
together only at the waist. That was the dress she was wearing this
past February, when we traveled to the Hilton Waikoloa, on the Kona
Coast.
The outfits were successful, although my wife would have attracted
attention if she'd been wearing coveralls. At the Princeville Resort
on Kauai, a German tourist ran his hand up the slit of her red dress
and fingered my wife's clitoris until I saw her knees buckle on the
dance floor. We went with the guy and his wife for nude soak in a hot
tub overlooking the Pacific. The Germans were no more ready than we
were for actual inter-spousal fucking to take place, so he and I only
felt up and finger-fucked each other's wives while getting a hand job.
Inga was really responsive, multi-orgasmic, and loud, while Klaus had
a fairly small dick, but had an extraordinarily deft touch, bringing
my wife to several vocal climaxes. There's something about watching
your wife come in waves of shudders with a total stranger's finger
buried in her, against the backdrop of the Hawaiian sky and ocean at
dusk, while having the stranger's wife jerk you off under the water.
After our touchy-feely with the krauts, we fucked four times that
night.
Despite the fact that both of us were really turned on by the idea of
My wife being touched or fucked by other men, neither of us was ready
to take our fantasies to their logical conclusion. Our outer island
trips had been really exciting, even under the rules we had set up.
The sight of my wife in a stairwell at the Naniloa Surf in Hilo, in a
close encounter with a middle-aged guy from Australia, gave me a
hard-on for weeks. Watching from outside, I saw him reach into the
deep scoop of her purple dress and pull out first one then the other
meaty melon, then squeeze and pull and stroke and kiss and suck them
until she dropped to her knees. She released from his pants a slab of
meat the color of uncooked spam, took it in her mouth, and bobbed her
head up and down for a few minutes until his body shuddered. The whole
tableau took place, from my perspective, in silence, with only the
background noise of the Hilo night. My wife told me in a later version
of the story that when he escorted her back to her room, they had
ridden the elevator up and down a few times while he had his hand up
her dress and into her snatch from behind, and he had stopped the
elevator, pulled up her skirt and actually inserted his large meat
into her. He even managed "a few" strokes until the elevator alarm,
loud enough so that I had heard it back in the room, had spoiled his
mood and he shrank into a non-penetrative state. Later she told me
he'd slammed his meat into her for 5 minutes or more. I wasn't sure
how
much, or which version, of her story was true, but My wife had come
back to the room very wet and without her panties, but when I went
down on her, it didn't
seem that she had any cum in her. Still, she had had a stranger's cock
inside her, and even if she was vague about how extensive the poking
had been, I knew some kind of line had been crossed (being unaware
that Reverend Hayes had plowed the line out of existence the year
before, six times, in fact). I wasn't quite sure how I'd react to
definite knowledge that she'd been fucked. After the Hilton, I found
out.
For those who haven't been there, the Hilton Waikoloa is a huge hotel,
with acres of lagoons, swimming with the dolphins, and automated
monorail trains to get to the far-flung restaurants. My wife and I
agreed to meet up in one of the clubs at 8:30. Normally I would arrive
at the club about an hour before her, but this time I suggested she go
first. To this day we don't agree about which club we were supposed to
go to. In any event, we went to different clubs. As I said, my wife
was wearing her "angel/slut" outfit without underwear, so her body
would only have been slightly more exposed if she were nude. She got
to the club about 7:45 and was immediately approached by an
athletic-looking black man. I'll call him Daryl, although that wasn't
his name, because he's sort of well known. If you were a football fan
you would know his name, because he was in Hawaii for the Pro Bowl,
and had come to Waikoloa afterward to kick back for a few days. My
wife had lived in New York right after her college days and had a
black boyfriend for a month or two. She hadn't liked the fact that
he'd often refer to women as "bitches," and he was cheating on her,
she thought, even in that brief time, so they broke up. She admitted
to me, however, that she had fond memories of his thick black dick
with a head, she said, the color, shape and size of a ripe plum. She
loved to suck his dick so much, she joked, that while she was living
with him she must have gotten half of her protein requirement from
semen. Until our night at LAX, his was the biggest dick she'd ever
seen, much less taken.
My wife could see, she told me, right away that the cornerback was
different from her old boyfriend. He was soft-spoken and respectful,
but she couldn't help but notice that he was staring at her tits,
easily visible through the thin fabric. They talked and danced. After
their second dance, he suggested they get some air. It was after 9:00
and my wife was starting to worry that I hadn't arrived at the club,
although she knew that sometimes I'd be watching when she didn't see
me. It was a typical balmy night in Hawaii so my wife and her friend
walked to one of the lagoons. Every so often they would stop and kiss,
and he would be ever so gently rub her nipples. He gently cupped the
sides of her breasts with his fingers and moved his thumbs back and
forth across the now swollen and sensitive nipples.
My wife said he had an amazingly deft touch, and her pussy was already
soaking wet before the reached the lagoon. They climbed up into a
little overlook tower and looked out into the night. The cornerback,
still very slowly and gently, pushed the thin fabric aside and took
her bare tits in his hands, kneading them softly until my wife thought
she could feel her juices running down her leg. My wife looked down a
saw a bulge rising under his gray sweat pants; without thinking she
grabbed the head through the fabric and started to stroke and twist
it. She could feel it growing to full size in her hand.
My wife suddenly realized that she would very shortly be fucking this
football player. Although her body was crying out to do just that, she
had promised not to. So, without taking her hand off his dick, or even
slowing down her vigorous strokes, she told Daryl that she was
married, that she couldn't fuck anyone but her husband, that she was
dressed the way she was as part of role playing with her husband, that
she was sorry to have led him on but she just couldn't fuck him. To
her surprise, he understood, but gazing down at her hand still working
hard on his erection, he said 'Look at the state you got me in. You
have to at least give me relief." He took her hand away from the front
of his pants and put it inside his waistband. "Believe me, you've got
me so excited it won't take very long!" My wife used her suntan lotion
as a lubricant and, using both hands to work his pole, soon produced a
gush of milky come, which shot straight up, splashing her dress.
That was her first version, and its effects were enough to convince me
that it was time to move to the next phase, i.e. our adventure at LAX.
Even in its toned-down form, my wife's story produced such intense
lust that my dick was literally raw for a week after our non-stop
fuck-a-thon. But, as my wife later told me, the truth was even better.
When my wife noticed the growing erection, she impulsively reached
under his waistband, grabbed his cock, and proceeded to use both hands
and her mouth to bring the chocolate-colored organ to full hardness.
She did give Daryl her 'I can't do it" speech, and her friend was
understanding, at least until he reached down and felt how wet she was
between her legs. "Come on," he said, "It'll be so sweet. I know you
want it." He kept his voice soft and gentle. My wife doubled her
efforts to make him come with her hands, trying every trick she knew
to produce the spurt that would get her off the hook, but he slowly
took her hands off his dick and opened the clasp at her waist, giving
free access to her body. Daryl lifted my wife and moved her body until
the swollen head of his cock was just at the wet entrance to her
pussy. He pushed the big head inside, and slowly moved her in tiny
circles, almost literally screwing his way inside. He worked his way
in, inch by inch, talking to her gently all the time. Every so often
he would pause in his forward progress, but he didn't stop his rocking
and rotation. Finally the tops of his balls were buried in her
drenched twat. Even though Daryl hadn't even started to stroke, he had
been pretty close to coming even before her entered her, and My wife
could feel the base of his dick starting to swell even bigger and knew
his orgasm was close. The constant rocking and the motion of his dick
spiraling deeper and deeper had gotten to My wife, too, and when Daryl
started to widen the circles of his cock, and after he had just
started his second or third short stroke, she came, and the quick
thump-thump-thump of her contractions produce a gush from him that
made her come again, her scream echoing across the lagoon and back.
She went back to Daryl's room to clean up. In the shower they washed
each other, and Daryl used his tongue to bring her off before fucking
her from behind, this time with long, powerful strokes that produced
another shuddering climax. When My wife dragged into our room at 11:45
with a big splotch of come on her dress, she knew she had to admit
that more than fondling had occurred, but she was afraid to admit that
she'd actually fucked someone, let alone twice. I didn't learn the
truth about this encounter, nor those with the Rev. or Gary, until
after we returned from LA, at which point six or eight extra fucks
(whether her impalements on the Australian or on Gary's cock, with no
coming involved, counted as fucks is an interesting philosophical
question) didn't really matter.