Chronicles of Melissa

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"So, do you really like to watch Stacy fucking Michael?" Melissa whispered in the quiet air of the bedroom.

She had been much more verbal in our session. She'd told exactly how it felt when I was licking her puss and tonguing her clit. She'd shivered and trembled and told me all about it when she came on my tongue. She'd held her arms out to me and invited me to mount her missionary style.

"I want to feel you on top of me and pushing into me," she'd said. "I want to feel you take me."

When my cockhead entered her moist cavern she had groaned. "God," she murmured. "I just love the feeling of that first penetration. I mean, it says to me that we're really fucking and that you're not Michael, and your fucking me. I feel so sexual."

"The forbidden fruit," I mumbled.

"That's it," she agreed. "I'm fucking and liking it. You're not my husband and I still like it. It's wrong and wicked and wonderful."

"Except that it isn't wrong. Your husband is in the next room fucking my wife. So, is that wrong?"

Melissa grinned at me, her blue eyes sparkling. "It is, you know. But, like I said, it's also wonderful. You feel wonderful inside me like this."

Her earlier demonstration in front of her husband had given me good stamina. I got to bring her to the brink and over several times, each time encouraging her to tell me, to let me know. She kept focusing on the decadence. "Oh," she would moan, "I'm so bad! God, I love fucking like this! Make me come, please! I want to come on your cock. I want to feel wicked!"

Each time she would revert to the repeated phrase, "I'm so bad. Why do I love being bad? I do, though." Then she asked me if I was offended. "I never talk like that," she confessed. "I never said all those terrible words."

"Completely appropriate," I comforted her. "This is exactly the situation for using those words and I love hearing them from you. Let's see if we can make you do it some more."

The final time, Melissa exploded with a series of "Fuck me!' phrases, culminating in "I'm coming! Oh, yes! I'm a fuck slut and I'm coming while you fuck me!" I couldn't hold out and blasted essence deep inside her. Her eyes got wide and I smiled at her. "I can feel it!" she seemed amazed. "I can feel your shots of come, so hot and nice. Fill me up with your come!"

We collapsed together. Eventually I rolled off to the side, breathing heavily. That's when she asked me if I enjoyed watching my wife get laid.

"Yeah, I do," I said. "I love her sensuousness, and her abandon to the sheer physical joy of the sex act. Pretty much like you, just now."

"You think so?" she said, grinning shyly. "It wasn't over the top?"

I chuckled. "No, not over the top in the least. It was exciting to hear how much you liked it. It's supposed to be that way, isn't it? You just let go and let your body and mind swirl around in the stream of pure pleasure that sweeps over you?"

"And that's what you see in Stacy when she's fucking Michael?"

"Exactly."

"I'm not sure I could do that with Michael," she confessed.

"Do what?" I said. "I sure hope you screw him like that."

Melissa giggled. "Not that. Be so loud and coarse," she said. "I don't usually talk like that, and surely not with him."

I chuckled. "That's because you want him to respect you. See? That's why I love Stacy with him. She feels free to be totally open with him. She's not invested in his respect."

"But I am, is that right?" she asked.

I nodded. "You think you are. What you and Stacy don't realize is that we'll love you even if you are hot, nasty, and naughty with us. It's the old story of a lady in public and a tramp between the sheets."

Melissa snuggled up to me, wrapping her arm across my midsection and tucking her head against my neck. I could smell the floral fragrance of her shampoo and the mustier aroma of Melissa's natural scent. "I think I like this, though," she said softly. "This way I can be your whore and still be Michael's proper wife and lady."

"Works for me," I grinned, planting a soft kiss in the dark curls.