tagLoving WivesAverage Wifey Files #22

Average Wifey Files #22


Hotel sex. I swear, sometimes I wonder what magic those rooms have to cast such magic, sexual spells over us.

Michael & I were enjoying a getaway, week-long trip to the soft, plush, tropical paradise of Maui Island. After many trips there in the past, we had found our favorite place to stay. The backdoor to the condo opened up to the soft, white sands of the beach, providing us as near to a private beach experience as we could imagine. We loved it.

But this particular evening was all about what happened in our room, not on the sands of the beach. We had just returned from a shopping spree and movie. Our dinner reservations were a couple of hours away. After dropping our bags and relaxing for a moment, I asked Michael, "Would you like to go for a walk?"

We loved walking hand-in-hand along the water's edge with the temperate ripples of the ocean licking our bare feet. Michael smiled and replied, "Actually, I have a little surprise for you. Come with me."

Michael took my hand and guided me to the bedroom and patted the corner of the bed. With a wink he said, "Wait here. I will be right back."

As I sat on the bed, I was facing the large- mirrored, sliding doors of the walk-in closet. Reflected back at me was the image of a very happy and relaxed wife. Wearing my short, wrap-around skirt and bikini top, my body was modestly on display.

A moment later, Michael returned to my side with a small plastic bag in his hand. "What's in the bag?" I asked. Michael did not say a word, but instead gazed at me silently with that special look in his eye that usually accompanied great hotel sex.

In that plastic bag were a couple of things that I would soon be introduced to with erotic fanfare. But first, Michael slid up on the bed and moved behind me. He sat with his legs spread on either side of me, snuggled up against me. As I sat there with my feet dangling over the side of the bed, I felt his arms wrap around me.

Our reflections were staring us down as ran his hands over my legs, worming my skirt up so that his hands could smooth over the bare flesh of my thighs. I relaxed into him, my back fitting against his chest as my shoulder fit under his chin. His eyes gazed over my shoulder at our reflections in the mirror.

For a while, we just sat there as he brushed his hands over my skin and nuzzled on my neck and ear, each and every movement instantly played back to both his and my eyes by the mirror. His hands moved from my legs to my tummy, eagerly engaged in the warm, seductive friction that comes with the erotic pressure of skin on skin.

With each pass his hands made from my legs to my tummy to my shoulders, he made sure to linger as he dragged his fingertips or the meaty flesh of the palm of his hands across my skirt and bikini top. He was slow and patient, as if this were the only activity on the agenda for the rest of the evening.

Michael is a big-time breast lover. I have learned to live with his obsession. Although he tries to be discreet in public, it is a rare moment when his mental inventory of all breasts within his view is not up-to-date. The fact that MY breasts are his favorite keeps my worries at bay.

Since I was young, my breasts having developed before I was even 13, I have lived with the looks that most men get in their eye when they look at me. My 36c breasts include large, light, pink nipples that Michael calls "dazzling." Even after years of experience and learning to accept the lusty leers of men's eyes, I never have lost the thrill of Michael's looks.

So, as my arousal was signaled by the ring of small goose-bumps that bubbled along the circumference of my tennis-ball sized nipples, I basked in the glow of that look in his eyes reflected in the mirror. The two sets of strings of my bikini top were tied snug behind my neck and back, which meant the fabric was clinging to the flesh of my breasts.

The rhythmic sound of the waves rolling over the sand just outside our condo serenaded his hands' movements over my body. The large, glowing sun rested no more than an hour above the horizon, filling our room with a seductive shade of color that bathed our bodies.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity of light petting and foreplay that teased both my body and my mind, he used his teeth to tug on the strings tied in a bow behind my neck. I felt the strings loosen around my neck and watched in the mirror as his fingers flicked them off of my shoulders. He slithered his hands down my side, delicately reaching for the strings which now dangled over my breasts and down to my waist.

He pinched the strings between his thumb and index finger, rolling the strings as he pulled on them, creating a guitar-string like tension that dared to peal the upper edge of my top lower, curling it away from my breasts. His eyes watched intently in the mirror, as if it were the first time he would ever see my exposed breasts.

He playfully stopped pulling when the curl of my top matched the view of the setting sun dipping below the ocean's horizon, leaving a large, half-circle of warmth in view. As the glow of the sun incrementally diminished, the glow of my desire seemed to compensate as our images in the mirror never dimmed.

Then, with my breasts tantalizing to his eyes, his fingers parted my skirt. My legs instinctively spread open as the view in the mirror between my legs revealed to his eyes my white cotton panties with a large spot of wetness soaking through. He leaned in and expertly ran his hands along the upper edge of my skirt as he pulled it open and allowed it to fall to the side.

He groaned in my ear as he ran his finger along the damp impression of my married pussy tucked firmly against the fabric of my panties. I wriggled my feet so I could get my toes on the floor, allowing me to softly lift my bottom up in a clear invitation for him to expose me more.

He wormed his finger back and forth just under the elastic of my panties, running his hand across the horizon of my panties, each pass drawing them lower and lower. As the final glimmer of the sun licked the horizon and dipped out of sight, my pussy emerged into plain view as he rolled my panties to my thighs. I bent my left leg at the knee, his hand in sync and sliding my panties down my knee, over my calf and over my foot. My other leg eagerly kicked them away.

The mirror revealed my glistening pussy, licked with wetness due to our foreplay. My breasts, with hardened nipples still only half exposed, matched the message. Michael's eyes crawled over my reflection in the mirror. My eyes delighted in watching his eyes crawling over my reflection in the mirror.

Then, he dared to excite me with a combination of words, thoughts and actions that would blend familiar with new to create a level of pleasure that he hoped would drive me to new levels of orgasmic ecstasy.

"Kathleen, do you remember the first time you ever saw my hard dick?" he breathed lustily in my ear. I stared at him in the mirror and nodded. He breathed hard again, "We were at the beach, roasting hot dogs over the fire. Remember?"

I nodded and closed my eyes as I exchanged the vision of our reflections in the mirror for my mind's-eye memory of that night on the beach. We were with our church youth group. He had kissed me for the very first time just moments earlier. As we stood by the fire, hot dogs dangling from coat hangers over the flames, I caught a glimpse of his hard dick pressed against his swim shorts. I blushed as he caught me looking. As my mind lingered, I softly said, "Yes, roasting hot dogs."

I opened my eyes as I heard the crinkling sound of the plastic bag. Michael breathed an even hotter puff of air in my ear as he groaned, "Yes . . . hot dogs."

As he said that, I caught my first glimpse of his hand moving away from the bag and towards my body. He had something in his hand. He lustily licked my ear and added, "a slick, juicy, hot dog."

I instantly quivered. Perhaps because of the way he said those words. Perhaps because of the memory of that first, secret, curious glance at the bulge in his shorts. But it certainly was due in part to the fact that my eyes saw the reflection in the mirror of his hand holding a glistening hot dog!

I felt tension in my body as I watched the mirror reveal his hand moving the hot dog towards my pussy as he groaned seductively in my ear, "roasting juicy hot dogs as you eyed my hard, hot dog."

My legs remained spread. My pussy was dripping wet now. And in that moment, I felt something I had never felt in my life; the slippery tip of a hot dog sliding along the wet folds of my pussy! It was placid in his hand, just the upper inch or so poking out between his fingers as he nudged it between my folds.

"Oh my god, Michael!" I gushed as I watched the mirror. I watched... and I FELT. I felt the soft tip of the hot dog in his hand, riding up and down my swollen, wet folds. I felt his rapid, hot breath rolling down my neck. I felt the laser of his eyes drinking in the view reflected in the mirror.

"You remember that night, don't you baby?"

"How could I forget?" I moaned as the idea of a hot dog against my pussy began to fade and the yearning for pleasure swelled. "I remember thinking that maybe someday I would get to touch it."

He moaned as I said that, rocking his cock against my back. With each pass of the hot dog over my folds, he daringly slipped it micro-inches deeper. When closed, my eyes envisioned his young cock that night long ago. When opened, my eyes bounced between the reflection of his naughty movements over my pussy and his greedy, eyes craving me.

I listened as he muttered, "I wanted you so bad that night. If I could have, you know what I would have done . . . " His voice trailed away as he transferred the message to his hand working that hot dog over my wet pussy and dipped it inside of me. Both of our eyes watched the dim glow reflected in the mirror of his hand sliding the hot dog so deep inside of me that barely an inch of the opposite end was poking out of my pussy.

Then, in a long, soft tug he pulled the hot dog out of me. He lifted it towards my mouth and for a naughty moment left it just inches from my mouth. I could smell myself. The mirror was daring me to lean forward. Finally, Michael's and my desires merged as my mouth opened and his hand lowered the hot dog to my lips. I softly sucked it, tasting my juices as the slippery skin of the hot dog slid in my mouth. For a few moments, he gently pumped the hot dog in and out of my mouth as I slurped on it.

Then, as he pulled the hot dog out of my mouth, his hand turned my mouth to his and he eagerly kissed me deeply, his tongue diving over mine in search of as much my pussy flavor as he could find. As our tongues swirled, his hand with the hot dog reached behind him.

Again I heard the crinkling of the plastic bag. As our passionate kiss continued, my mind thought 'oh my god, there's more?!'

Michael slid his wet mouth away from mine and returned to breathe hot in my ear, "I have one more surprise for you." His tongue whipped in and out of my ear a couple of times, creating a crackling sound that reminded me of the sounds of when I am so wet for his fucking.

"Tonight" he whispered, "With your dinner I am ordering a salad..." He paused with a dramatic flare and then said, "... with extra cucumber."

I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror to see his hand moving once again towards my pussy. Even though the room was growing darker by the second, I did not need to see what was in his hand. His hint said it all.

There in the reflection of the mirror, dim light and all, I watched as he proceeded to introduce to my pussy a garden delight; a long (easily 12 inches or more), thick, fresh cucumber.

What he did to me with that cucumber in front of that mirror was amazing. That he refused to allow me to experience an orgasm was both frustrating and even more amazing. As I arched my back for the umpteenth time chasing an orgasm, Michael pulled back and naughtily teased me saying, "Not yet; first I have to watch you eat it at dinner."

Dinner was wonderful. I sat in my top and skirt, completely on edge the entire time. And yes, Michael indeed ordered me a salad with extra cucumber. From the look in his eyes as I took certain liberties in the way I consumed the salad cucumber, I was certain his cock rivaled the hardness of that cucumber.

When we got back to our condo, the hot dog and cucumber were spectators to the final act of an amazing evening of seduction and fucking. I have never been able to look at a hot dog or cucumber the same since.

And just to be clear, I am NOT complaining.

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