Blondie Walks on the Wild Side

She sighed dreamily, "Then maybe all three of us can get some sleep, huh?" causing me to reflect that my wife was now so far into this sex with black guys thing that it was no longer a big deal to her to let them spend the night in our bed with me out of town--even two of them.

A moment later I heard her moan and say, "Oh yeah, baby, just like that--feels so good--just keep doin' it like that an' you're gonna make me come."

A minute later there was an increase in frequency and intensity of their lovemaking sounds. I heard her coaxing him in a syrupy seductive tone, "My big black stud is gettin' ready to give his little white whore another shot of his hot nigga jism, isn't he, baby?"

I heard his moaned affirmation followed shortly by a loud male groan and my wife crying out, "Oh yeah, baby, let it go, give it to me, gimme that nigga come, every drop! Yes! Yes! Yesss!"

Suddenly my hotel room was filled with my wife's even louder cries of sexual ecstasy as she climaxed herself, her own intense orgasm triggered by her young stud's hammering, spurting thrusts. My room filled with that sultry sex-kitten voice I so dearly loved,

"Oh fuck yes, I'm comin', baby, comin' all over that fat nigga dick, Oui! Oui! Oui! (Yes! Yes! Yes!), baby, comin' all over your beautiful nigga dick."

Except for a few low moans, there was silence for a while until I heard Blondie murmur,

"I love your cock, baby, fuckin' love it...yeah, your nigga cock...I love your nigga cock."

I heard Gary say something and she responded, "He heard me, honey, he heard..." Then to me,

"He wants to be sure you heard me tell him I love his cock, his nigga cock. You did hear me say it, right?"

I confirmed that I had and heard her tell Gary, "See? He heard me, baby, he heard me. My husband knows how much I love your cock, honey, he knows. I promise you, he knows."

Having watched Blondie do this with many men, it was easy to envision what was going on at that moment in our bedroom some 300 miles away. I could picture my beautiful blonde wife's shapely legs still wrapped around her young black lover's thighs as she lay there in the post-orgasmic quiet, absorbing his African seed deeper inside her. I could visualize her kissing and caressing him affectionately as the throes of sexual climax receded, replaced by that warm post-coital glow.

Blondie's voice came huskily through the speakerphone, "Gary wants to know if you wish you were here so you could clean me up? Lick all this nigga jizz outta my pussy like you do when you're home."

Which off course, was true. I had cleaned her up previously when Gary fucked her and the fact that we were talking about it openly over the phone after he'd just come in her again, sent a shockwave of cuckold titillation through me that triggered my own orgasm and my own semen exploded out all over the towel I'd placed on the bed. Blondie must have heard my gasping moan. Her panting, breathless inquiry came faintly through the speakers.

"You come, Rick? Get your nuts off, baby?" When I affirmed that I had indeed, she purred, "Good, both my men got to come with me an' I can go to sleep now. Night, baby...see ya tomorrow," and she disconnected without another word.

While I admittedly found it sexually exciting to hear my wife dirty talking about nigga dicks while she was being thoroughly fucked by one, I wasn't comfortable with Gary pushing Blondie into such excessive use of that term. In spite of us both being Southerners, we'd been raised to believe that was a word you did not use and we normally didn't, instead saying black, or as Blondie still did, Negro. I found it both ironic and hypocritical that so many blacks themselves used nigga incessantly. I finally dozed off a long while later after lying awake fretfully wondering what kind of situation we were involved in here.

When I called at eight the following morning, Blondie was dragging a bit. To my inquiry as to whether she was alone, she answered, "Yeah, I booted his ass out so I could get ready for work."

"At least he let me get some sleep this time--we went to sleep right after I got off the phone with you an' he didn't wake me up 'til seven or so, pokin' his boner between my cheeks."

'And of course you took care of it for him..." to which she retorted with a tired-sounding,

"You kiddin'? 'Course I did, or I'd never get to work this mornin'. He'd still be here kissin' my ears an' my neck an' rubbin' that big, um, nigga dick, as he wants me to call it, all over my ass, beggin' me to fuck him."

After an extended, awkward silence, I said, "I don't like him making you use that term like that. Yeah, it's sexy to hear you say it but it still makes me uncomfortable. He's trouble, Blondie and I have a bad feeling it's going to get worse."

Another long silence was followed by her sighed, "I know, babe, I was really uncomfortable with it at first but I've gotten used to it an' it turns me an' him on. She paused, then admitted, "An' yeah, I know he's trouble, but God almighty, he's so cute an' he's such a damned good fuck!"

"He's trouble, babe. He isn't giving you any drugs is he? Other than weed? No hard stuff?"

After a telling lull, she said, "No, he tries but I keep tellin' him no way, Yeah, I like to fuck him but I'm not stupid--I still have a business to run so I'm not goin' down that road--so don't worry about it, d'accord (okay)?"

I said we'd talk about it more when I got home and disconnected.

When we did have a frank discussion over downtown cocktails that evening, it was worse than I'd thought. She confessed that Gary had asked her for money when he was "short" and even called her late one night begging her to bail him out of jail after getting busted on a misdemeanor drug charge. She swore she hadn't bailed him out or ever given him money for anything, but it was evident to me that she was lying. But, she emphatically did not want to give him up--he just made her feel waaay too good in bed.

Of course, as I've related many times before in these accounts of my little hotwife's sexual adventures, she has a 'thing' for bad-boy types, perhaps instilled in her by her bad-boy big brother, who had made her a bad girl, accounts of which can be found in Literotica stories: "Blondie Beds Her Needy Brother, Parts 1 and 2" and the sequels, Blondie Confesses to Sibling Sex and Blondie's Taboo Christmas Trip, in the Incest/Taboo category and Blondie's Kinky Cruise, which is in Interracial Love category.

Later that evening, at home in the hot tub on the rear deck looking out at the bay, she was even more candid,

"Yeah, babe, you're right: the guy is a manipulator--a bit of a smooth-talkin' con artist really. Sure talked me into fuckin' his cousin which was okay as far as the sex goes, but Lonzo's just a younger version of Gary although they don't look anything alike."

Moments later she hit me with this question: "Know what else Gary's been tryin' to get me to do?" and when I shook my head, she stunned me with,

"Turn some tricks--he wants to set me up with some outcall dates with some older guys, regulars at the bar, big sports bettin' types--lawyers, doctors and other professionals, illegally bettin' with the bookies who hang out around the place. Says those types of johns don't want regular hookers, preferrin' college coeds, housewives, school teachers an secretarial types lookin' to make some extra spendin' money."

With an impish smile, she continued, "He says you'd be real surprised to know how many pretty real estate agents wanna pick up some quick, easy cash when the local market's down."

Blondie held a management portfolio of bayside and coastal condominium properties which required to her to have a realtor's license that she'd upgraded to a broker's, and through her work she knew a lot of those pretty agents. When I asked if we knew any of them, she smiled mysteriously and replied, "He wouldn't name any. I have suspicions but nobody you know."

I said, "Well you damned sure don't need the money, Blondie," although as soon as she'd said turn tricks I'd gotten that old familiar tingle in the testicles. We'd long fantasized about her selling her body, for no other reason than to just cross another one of those forbidden bridges in our world of erotic adventure. Anticipating my reaction, she just sat there on the opposite side of the tub, only her face and shoulders above the bubbling, lighted water, watching me intensely, an inscrutable smile on that beautiful face, accurately envisioning my subsurface erection. Moving through the water to my side of the tub, her hand grasped my burgeoning boner as she kissed me and teased,

"Mmm, hmm, that's what I expected, sweetie pie an' it's the same kinda reaction I had."

"We were fuckin' the first time that bad-boy brought it up an' I had an orgasm like almost immediately--then I've done it again a coupla more times since then, when he starts talkin' about it while we're fuckin'. So he knows the idea of fuckin' for money turns me on an' that's why he keeps bringin' it up. He says I'll be in high demand--that I can pick up some really serious fun money from the high-rollers, an' with you bein' out of town so much I have the time an' freedom to do it an' not have to worry about a husband at home askin' questions 'bout where I've been an' what the hell I've been up to like most married part-timers do."

Stroking my erection, she said, "A coupla times when I've stopped in for a drink, Gary's pointed out guys who'll pay for it, an' truthfully, most of 'em I've seen aren't that bad lookin'...older guys, mostly in their fifties an' sixties. Hell, I've fucked worse when I was drunk, you know?"

She giggled, "Oh, an' a couple of 'em are older black guys."

"Gary said some of 'em were checkin' me out, too, an' they definitely like the merchandise, specially the black guys. Says he can book me a date in minutes soon as I'm ready to, 'Take a little walk on the wild side.'"

I asked, "You're actually serious about doing this?"

She purred, "Feel my pussy..." and when I did, it was lubricating, even in the hot tub. "That give you any hint, cher?"

With my finger still in her and her hand still stroking my cock, she kissed me softly and cooed,

"Rick, we've been talkin' 'bout me doin' somethin' like this for ages, just for the thrill of doin' it, tu sais (you know)? But we didn't have the first clue how to go about it."

My Cajun bad-girl smirked, "Now all we hafta do is just make one phone call an your little ol' wife will instantly be in the call girl business instead of just fantasizin' about it."

We left the issue unresolved but the following Tuesday evening when I called from my hotel in Memphis I was greeted with,

"I did it," and when I reflexively asked what she had done, she murmured, "Had my first date."

It took a moment to sink in that my wife was telling me she'd fucked a stranger for money and all my stunned brain could think of to come back with was a lame, "So...how did it go?"

Her perky response was, "Fine, went off without a hitch--made four-hundred bucks for a little under two hours includin' drivin' time an' prolly less than an hour with my clothes off."

She paused before tittering, "It was fun. It's supposed to be for an hour but it took longer 'cause the old guy wanted me to have a drink an' talk for a while before we went up to the bedroom. He has a very nice town home out near Spring Hill College. He's divorced and retired, a former stockbroker with a gamblin' habit that caused his wife to leave him a few years back. He's not hung all that well but he got it up just fine when I sucked it a little an' actually is pretty good in the rack. He's a very good kisser."

She said softly, "I almost came...just from the excitement of doin' it...the thought that I was actually fuckin' an' old rich guy for money after us talkin' about it all these years. Hell, I figured I was too old for sellin' it by now but apparently not. He sure seemed to like it, cher."

Chuckling, she said, "While we were fuckin' I kept thinkin' what my mama an' daddy would think if they could see their baby girl actually peddlin' her ass just for the thrill of doin' it."

She giggled, "An' with my husband's approval..."

Not knowing quite what to say when my wife has just informed me quite proudly that she's just sold her body, plus totally lacking any knowledge of the world of prostitution, I asked, "So how much of that um, fee, do you get to keep?"

Blondie giggled, "Four-hundred--that's my share--the fee was four-hundred and Gary's cut is a hundred. He wanted half but I told him no way I was doin' it for fifty-percent. But then the client wanted to kiss me so I told him for another hundred I'd kiss him an' wouldn't make him wear a rubber if he promised not to say anything about it to Gary. I'd done some research--lotta workin' girls won't kiss an' insist on condoms. So I ended up walkin' outta there with four Benjamins, as Gary calls 'em, for less than an hour's actual sex."

She giggled again, "That's like big-firm lawyer money in this part of the country, cher."

Snickering into the phone, she said, "Musta made a good impression, too. Gary said the guy called him as soon as I left, wantin' to book me again in a coupla weeks."

She almost crowed, "He told Gary I was a little older than what he usually liked but that I was the prettiest an' the classiest woman Gary had ever sent 'im."

"He was also surprised how tight I am--really liked that, lemme tell you, cher, loved mama's petite machine à traire poilue serrée (tight, hairy, little milkin' machine)--tight even for his little ol' pecker."

When I didn't reply, totally unsure what to say under these very unusual circumstances, she said quite matter-of-factly, "I know you're supposed to be in town that week so I hope you don't mind, but I told him to go ahead an' book it."

She floored me yet again, "Gary's booked me another date Thursday afternoon. What time are you gonna be gettin' home?" When I numbly estimated six o'clock she said,

"Perfect--my date's for four o' clock out in that same area between Spring Hill College an' the country club, an easy drive from my office, so that gives me plenty of time."

It struck me that Blondie was handling this with her usual professional aplomb and efficiency, except that the profession was now prostitution rather than property management. And she was taking to it like the proverbial duck to water: a pretty little Cajun duck that loves to fuck...and get paid big bucks for doing it.

When I pulled into our circular drive and under the portico Thursday evening, Blondie still wasn't home. I had changed into tee shirt and shorts by the time she arrived, close to seven. She bounced out of her top-down convertible as I stood at the front door offering her a frosty, welcoming vodka and tonic. She stood on tiptoe while giving me a very sexy tongue in mouth kiss, saying seductively,

"Bring those drinks into the bedroom an' let's get on the bed an' I'll tell you all about my date this afternoon. It was quite interestin', cher."

As I sat on the corner of the bed watching, she stripped out of her expensive silk blouse and her tight tan skirt. She was wearing a beige garterbelt and tan stockings with pricey beige panties and bra, looking rather elegant for a prostitute. Seeing my look, she chuckled,

"My john this afternoon absolutely loved it when I got undressed an' he saw I was wearin a garterbelt an' nylons like I did for my first client--these older guys hate pantyhose," she grinned, "Just like you."

"An' both of 'em loved it when I left my sexies on when I fucked 'em."

Ever the astute businesswoman, she explained her choice of lingerie with a coquettish smile,

"When Gary gave me the address Monday evenin' for my first date an' I saw it was in a nice neighborhood, I figured I shouldn't go traipsin' in there in one a' my all-black, hooker-lookin' outfits, tu sais (you know), cher?"

"Same thing today with this client, a retired lawyer who's also divorced an' a big sports gambler..." she paused as she unsnapped her bra and shrugged out of it, smiling slyly,

"Who just happens to be black..."

"And apparently he really likes sucking white titties," I said, noticing a couple of fresh hickeys on the undersides of her breasts, the purple bruises indicating some degree of passion had been involved in her home delivery of sexual services.

Blondie laughed as she pulled back the covers and piled pillows against the mirrored headboard before flopping on her back, spreading her legs and purring sexily, "Did he ever! He was goin after my boobs like a hungry calf while I was ridin' him. Now c'mere an' give your brand new, call girl wife un bon bain de langue chaud (a nice warm tongue bath) while she tells you all about finally takin' her first walk on the wild side, sugar."

As I stripped off my clothes, she took her purse from the bedside table, extracting a letter-size envelope from which she removed a thin sheaf of hundred-dollar bills. With a diabolical grin, she held them over her crotch and said, "Look at these, sweet pussy, here's les fruits de vos travaux (the fruits of your labors)," then fanned them out over her lower belly.

Leering at me, she said, "Not bad for just two dates, hmm? Dates that I actually enjoyed, too."

Scooting into position between her legs to perform my bain de langue, I smelled the funky aromas of recent intercourse and ejaculation. As if reading my mind, she teased,

"I drove straight here so that creampie would be as fresh as possible, cher, an' it's the real deal. I didn't make this john wear a rubber either."

Blondie giggled, "He didn't blink an' eye when I told him I'd let him go bareback an' he could kiss me all he wanted for another hundred...just peeled it off his fat money clip an' started kissin' me like crazy."

She winked lewdly, "Your wife's learnin' this call girl business fast, sugar pie, an' it's like every other business--offer the customer a better deal than what they're used to gettin'--they'll gladly pay more for it."

As I began licking through her sticky pubic hair to the sensitive pink, fleshy button beneath she moaned, "He's a big guy...says he played basketball at Auburn...an' like all the big black guys I've fucked, he's got a big dick an' knows how to use it."

"When he got his nuts off, he came a lot, as you can see. It was runnin' down both legs when I got off that bed."

"Made me come, too, an' lemme tell you, mon mari cocu (my cuckold husband), he loved that. When I started makin' noises like I was gettin' close, he told me he'd never seen a whore have an orgasm an' that's all it took to send me over the edge, hearin' a man call me a whore an' knowin' it's true: I am, in fact, a whore--a pricey, classy whore, maybe, but still a whore. After all these years of just givin' it away, I'm finally gettin' paid for it an' paid very well."

After a brief silence, she asked, "How 'bout you, babe, you sure you're gonna be okay with me turnin' a few tricks like this?"