Sketches – Beads & Pearls Ch. 02

They announced last song and Sheila didn't want to let go. Jess wasn't asking to cut in so I went with it. As we swayed to a slow beat, Sheila's boobs against my chest, I spied Jess on the other side of the dance floor. Her legs were tastefully riding the guy's thigh and I'm sure there was a boner between them. It was late, it was Mardi Gras and they were just this side of in-bounds. I let my hand drift down to Sheila's ass, took a firm grip and tucked her up against me. She started a subtle little grind, her pelvis massaging my cock.

I let her. At that second, I wanted nothing more than to slip off Sheila's dress and caress the curves underneath. From everything I felt, she was feeling the same way.

When the song was over, Sheila glanced across at Jessica. She knew we were together but she asked for my number anyway. Sure, I already had a cue (head... expanding...) but I wrote it down and handed it over. Hey, lent was coming up and I wanted plenty of reasons to atone.

A minute later, I met Jess at the table. The band was packing up but they hadn't turned the lights on yet. She looked like she was out of breath.

"Hard dancing or dancing hard?"

"Well, he knows I'm married."

"Scared him off?"

"Not exactly. He invited us back to his hotel room."

"Us?" I pulled out a piece of paper with a hotel and a room number on it. I handed it to her and her brow furled as I did a little cha-cha. "The tux worked; I got an invite. Three, actually. We could meet for breakfast."

She shook her head. "I so want to."

My heart was pounding but I played it cool. "Meet each other for breakfast?"

"Do him."

"You little slut!"

Her eyes bugged but she could tell I said it in humor. A moment later, she swallowed and nodded. "Yes."

Yes? Yes what? Yes, she was a slut? God forgive me, but that thought about broke my zipper. Picturing her royally fucked by some stranger was intensely erotic. Not quite as powerful as actually fucking one of the girls I'd danced with, but watching her be my sex object would come awfully close.

We're officially "swingers" now. Go with it. I was torn, an instant dilemma in my head: did I watch my wife and forever have the images of her acting as my personal porn queen, or did I go out and sample new charms? I needed to strike fast if I was gonna have a chance to give new boobs a taste. "...Then go."

"I'm a little nervous."

I glanced for Alena, Betty or Sheila. "Have a drink."

She shook her head. "I don't want to unless you're there."

Ah-ha. I tried to reason it out. "In his hotel room. His territory..."

She nodded. "It's a little daunting."

Okay, we're moving to Plan B. I grabbed her hand, led her over to the guy, who seemed pretty nervous himself. We shook hands and she introduced us to each other. There was a bit of a lull – high expectations, but nobody knew what to say. I broke the silence. "Neutral ground."

"What do you mean?"

"Follow."

I led the two of them out and hailed a cab. I could tell they wanted more contact but he was nervous around me. I gave her a gentle elbow and nodded toward him. She took the hint, leaned over and kissed him. It was a short, gentle kiss on the lips.

Seeing my wife kiss another man sent a bolt of adrenaline through me.

After the first kiss, he felt the green light. They kissed again, their lips sliding together, their tongues doing a slow dance together.

I felt my palms tingle and I suppressed the impulse to make a fist. My stomach was fluttering and honestly, my cock was about to tear through my fly.

She brushed her fingers over his crotch and that was all he needed. He slipped one hand over her ass and the other square on a boob, right there in the street. Her spaghetti strap fell aside and he was kneading her bare tit under the streetlight when the cab finally pulled up.

"Jesus. We're gonna get arrested." I shoved them in; him first, her in the middle (a boob in view, her nipple pebble-hard), me on the other side.

The cabbie looked back with wide eyes. "Hey, nothing illegal in here."

"Nothing professional. We're all friends here."

"Oh... Okay."

"Take us someplace dark and romantic."

"Sure."

The cab took off. She leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Thank you." She sealed it with a kiss – and I slipped the strap off the other side of her dress.

Her tits were magnificent and well-lighted by the Bourbon Street lights. Our friend didn't waste a second, leaning over to take a tit in his mouth.

She turned her head, switching kissing partners. I reached across her, under the dress, and grabbed both sides of her g-string. She lifted her ass just enough for me to slide the butt floss off of her. Now her dress was pooled around her midsection, and the cabbie was stealing glances when he could.

His fingers had found her slit and he was wasting no time, slipping his index finger inside her very wet hole. She responded by unzipping his fly. It took a little moving around to loosen his pants, but she got his underwear down and his cock sprang free. She made a grab for the trophy and he groaned.

It looked like was just going to set her lips on it, but she slipped onto floor, onto her knees instead. As she did, I took the moment to slip her dress completely off, leaving her only in her high heels.

She knelt and stared at his cock a moment, stroking it, admiring it. Really wasn't any different than mine – it just wasn't mine. It was like she was memorizing it. She started to lean over, making eye contact with him as she did. He was guiding her by the boobs as she did.

Her lips were an inch away from the shaft when she switched eye contact – to me. We were locked eye to eye as she parted her lips, hesitant but very wanting. I gave her a nod, and she took this stranger into her mouth. Our eyes were still locked as she sealed her lips around his shaft. We were still locked on one another as she started sucking back the length of his cock. He groaned and I smiled. She was just fucking gorgeous. On her knees, with a cock in her mouth, and she was just fucking gorgeous.

She closed her eyes and started blowing him in earnest. He was staring at her, the cabbie was swerving, trying to catch a view, and I was taking it all in. My wife – my slut wife – was blowing a stranger in a taxicab. And she looked awesome doing it. I knew I was next on her list. Then who? I was high on sex, suddenly sorry we hadn't done this ten years ago.

She opened her eyes as she cupped his balls. They made eye contact as she sucked him in. She glanced at me, seeking approval, and I gave a subtle, devious smile. What would I do next with my slut wife?

I knew the answer as I unzipped my fly.

The cabbie had made it onto darker streets. I pulled her ass into the air – and she let me, but she never stopped sucking. I slipped a finger inside her, then guided my cock to take its place. Now the cabbie was getting a full view.

I slipped inside her, feeling her wetness. Her body was moving as she blew the guy, and I could tell she was making love to his cock, trying to coax the cum out of him.

I burned the picture into my head. I had no idea if I'd ever see it again and I didn't want to forget it: my wife with a cock in a pussy and a cock in her mouth. We'd played the "slut wife" scene a hundred times, imagining a dildo as some random guy. Suddenly, my wife was in front of me, and an actual guy was in front of her, fucking her mouth. I'd been afraid to actually let it happen, but seeing it? All I could think was: Finally!

And she was loving it.

I gazed at the woman I loved. All my porno fantasies had merged with real life, right in front of me.

The guy started grunting and she started sucking hard. He was coming in her mouth. She swallowed, but let a little dribble down her chin. Us guys are visual, and she knew it. She was my porn queen.

She had a seductive yet triumphant look. The guy practically collapsed after he came. She leaned across his legs and I fucked her into oblivion. He was playing with her tits and she started coming. When she looked back at me – with the one dribble of stranger's come on her chin – I lost it. My balls tightened and I felt my cock grow half a foot inside her. I came hard.

After I came, all the sexual high had been pumped right into her pussy. We were exhausted but happy. He was elated, wanted us to come back to his hotel room for another round. We declined but traded numbers. We'd all be there another four days – at least until Fat Tuesday.

She didn't get dressed until the streetlights came back. The cabbie dropped him off at his hotel and we bid adieu (just to be in the New Orleans swing of it). She still hadn't wiped dried cum off her chin.

As we pulled up to our own hotel, I told him to keep going to dark part of the lot. Jess got out as I counted out the bills. I paid the cabbie enough to double the fare. He took it as a "Keep it under your hat" gesture.

The cab took off and we turned toward the hotel. She was biting her lip, her expression admitting she'd been a bad girl. "I've... I've never let go like that before."

"How does it feel to be a slut?"

The word shocked her. "I love... being a slut. I don't want to stop."

"You don't have to."

A moment later, she slowly nodded into it, doe-eyed and guilty. "Are we okay?"

"We're better than 'okay'." I almost laughed, thinking about how close I'd come to fucking another woman. Instead, I'd fucked my wife like she was another woman. "Can't even blame this one on alcohol."

We walked back to the hotel entrance, my arm over her shoulder. She brushed the last of the flaking cum off her chin before we strolled into the lobby. She had a concerned look as we passed through the door, like the sex high had finally worn off. "You're really not sorry we did it?"

It took me a second to think about. I was still in post-sex-bomb shock. What would it be like in the morning? I didn't know. All I could answer was what I felt at that moment. "I'm sorry we didn't do it sooner."

We were silent, contemplative – at least until we got into the elevator. She reached into my pocket and pulled out the phone numbers I'd accumulated. "Are they cute?"

"Uh-huh."

"We should call them..."