Samantha

I find that in general sexy females, irrespective of facial beauty, divide into two categories, tit girls and cunt girls. The reason is that women like to enhance and project what they consider to be their best feature. Walking down the street you see a girl in a tight sweater or transparent blouse, breasts thrusting, nipples on show and all that you can think of is squeezing them, sucking them, putting your face or cock between. Alternatively, the girl has round buttocks in tight jeans or nice legs in a short or split skirt and your gaze and thoughts are drawn inevitably to the delightful juncture between her upper thighs. Unfortunately, all too often the girl with the nice tits has no butt and thin legs, and conversely, those with a nice arse sport a B-cup or less.

Occasionally you find a girl who is stacked in all departments, they've got it and they flaunt it and all you can think of is sex. Samantha has a body like that. She also has the face of an angel, the eyes of a whore and she has been my wife for the past two years.

Sam moved in with me at the end of the week in which we met and I married her less than three weeks later. It was the day after my 25^th birthday and she was just short of three years younger. The haste was because I could not believe my luck. I could not believe that I had pulled her, I found it hard to comprehend that she was as crazy about me as I was about her and, while I had the chance, I wanted to put my brand on her, corral her. I wanted to erect a barricade against the hordes of wolves at the door.

During quiet evenings at home she was a normal girl but in a social environment she blossomed, she adopted a different persona. Samantha was a party animal revelling in the attention of men. Always she was the centre of attention - male that is. Evening after evening, I watched from across the room eaten away with jealousy as admirers danced attention upon her. But at some point she would come to me and hang upon my arm, saying with body language, 'I'm with him - I am his woman'. Then I would see the lust and envy in their eyes and I would feel ten feet tall. After quiet evenings the sex was slow and loving with my wife often content to do no more than lie in my arms being gently caressed. However, after a party she was invariably voracious, demanding satisfaction no matter how tired I was.

Looking back I realise that the first sign of trouble came on our honeymoon. The first morning, I had risen first to make a hot drink leaving Samantha in bed. With my task almost complete I happened to glance across to an adjacent block of the hotel and my gaze fell upon a male figure in the window of a suite parallel to ours. He stood as hypnotised, gazing across the intervening space with one hand inside the front of his pyjama bottoms. Carrying the two mugs through to my wife I realised the focus of his attention, because Samantha had got out of bed, pulled back the drapes and was doing exercises naked in full view of the world.

Seeing me, she dragged me to the bed, barely giving me time to set the coffees on the floor. She was boiling hot and I had no alternative but to go along with her passion. During the ensuing gymnastics, I had a nasty feeling that the bed was still in view to the voyeur across the way but I was kept far too busy to check. Afterwards, when we had both calmed down I said casually, "There was a bloke watching you exercise from across the way - you probably didn't notice him."

"Of course I saw him," she grinned. "But I felt so happy with life, I thought 'Why not give the jerk a cheap thrill?'"

After the wedding we continued to go out four nights out of seven, a couple of times to discos and the rest to parties. One difference was that I now hovered much closer to Sam in the role of watchdog, feeling it a slur upon my masculinity for other men to fancy their chances with my wife. She said nothing but tended to dress in even more daring fashion as a measure of retaliation. One mid summer evening we were on our way to a party about an hour before dusk. I should mention that by this time we had invested our savings in a two-seater sports car, a bit flash but it did complement our image.

Samantha was wearing a kind of micro skirt covering brief thong type knickers. She loved that kind of outfit and I didn't mind because; frankly her legs were so superb it would have been sacrilege to cover them up.

We were on the motorway, trundling along nose to tail, in two lanes and at little more than twenty miles an hour due to some hold-up ahead. Suddenly I became aware that Samantha was breathing in short panting breaths and glanced across at her. She was lying with legs spread almost flat and with her short skirt rucked up. One hand was inside her pants and she was frigging herself with her fingers.

At the same moment I became aware that beyond her the large front wheel of an articulated lorry was alongside and travelling at the same speed as my car. It was easy to visualise what the lorry driver would see if he happened to look down. Fortunately only a matter of yards further ahead the restrictions ended so taking my opportunity, I accelerated away like a madman. Behind us a klaxon blared, the lorry flashed all its lights and in my rear-view mirror I could see both the lorry driver and his mate had somehow crammed into the driver's seat. "Do you realise that the two men in that lorry could see exactly what you were doing," I snapped.

"Yes," my wife said with a contented sigh. "It's made me so hot. Take me home again Johnny - all I want to do tonight is fuck."

Before we reached home my anger had faded as I began to see the funny side but even then I had no idea what a treat I had in store for me. It was the best sex of my life, Sam was like a volcano and virtually insatiable.

It was about three weeks later that Samantha suggested, "What say we give the party a miss tonight John? I think it would be a lot more fun to cruise about for a bit and give some lonely lorry driver a thrill."

I was not averse to the idea. For a start it was safer and I was pleased to be excused the anxiety of watching her exposed to the charms of other available men. Also I rather hoped for a repetition of the sexual inspiration that had followed that first incident. Trouble is that it is hard to deliberately recreate a situation which had arisen only through a fortuitous combination of circumstances. For a start, in normal traffic, it is possible only to slow down only so much when overtaking so the most that our targets got was little more than a flash. However, Samantha was rewarded with enough flashing lights and horns blown in appreciation to return home in the mood for several hours of enthusiastic humping.

We had several more similar expeditions and I must admit to a perverse pleasure in watching her get other guys steamed up then giving it all to me. I wish that I had been given the wisdom to realise that this was just a different method of achieving what she had previously done at parties. Trouble was that after a time just driving past waiting to be noticed became too tame and Samantha's behaviour towards potential male viewers started being more and more provocative and her attire ever briefer.

On this particular outing, first her blouse had been casually tossed into the space behind the two seats then this was soon followed by her skirt. When a few minutes later her bra flew past my ear I looked to see that we were travelling parallel to a mini bus packed with football supporters or similar. The whole side of the bus was crammed with faces. The bus started swerving erratically and then braked in panic causing us to shoot ahead. Sam laughed. "There must have been over a dozen guys in that bus and I bet that every one of them had a hard on just looking at my tits. I should have been a stripper - everybody says that I am a natural. Just think John - as a stripper or lap dancer I could earn a lot more than our current incomes combined. We could have some marvellous holidays. You could pack in your job and watch me work, making sure that I behave myself - I know that you like to do that."

I said nothing. I was annoyed. For some reason I found my reaction different to that on the occasions when the object of her exhibitionist behaviour had been lorry drivers. Apart from that, we had been through this 'stripper' argument many times before and lately she would not let the subject alone. By now we were only a few minutes from home. "Turn off, let's drive along some country roads for a bit, I don't feel like going back yet," she begged.

I was happy to comply. I knew that Sam's high from her flaunting would last for a while and I wanted to allow my own remaining irritations to dissipate before we arrived in bed. On a deserted country road with hedges on either side, her knickers went flying to join the other clothing in the back. "What was the point of that?" I demanded.

"No point," she said, "Except that the damn things are soaking and bloody uncomfortable."

As it happened, a couple of miles further on we came on a stretch of possible Roman road with led in a straight line to the distance. Right at the start there was a Cherokee 4X4 Jeep ahead of us and it was tootling along at less than 30 miles an hour. "Go past him very slowly," Samantha ordered urgently, winding down her window as she spoke.

I pulled alongside and out of the corner of my eye watched her lie back and spread her legs. "Oh yes," she said. "Hold this position as long as you can."

I matched the other vehicles speed, feeling my own erection grow as my wife's fingers got to work on her twat. Despite the slow speed, a bend turned up eventually and I had to pull ahead to negotiate it. Revealed was another identical stretch of road. The sound of the Cherokee engine startled me as it roared past but then the driver slowed to little more than walking speed ahead. "Pull alongside like you did before," I was ordered.

I obeyed even though I was beginning to lose enthusiasm for the game. The opposite was the case with Samantha because she lay gazing upwards out of the window, mouth open, licking her lips lasciviously and with fingers going like a piston at her cunt. Then she had a very audible orgasm. That was the final straw because I knew that she had brought herself off on the Cherokee driver and not on me. The bend was coming up anyway but I hit the gas, almost lost it and then accelerated away. In the rear view mirror I could see that the other car was coming after me, also going fast. It looked at if our victim was not satisfied with what he had been given and had it in his head to look for more.

My car is built for speed and I lost him in a couple of minutes. The thing was I had to either get off the road or keep going at the same speed and I have to say it had already been a bit hairy in places. Sam provided the answer, "Go to Pembroke wood."

We had been there once before, early in the relationship and it was near. A couple of bends later, I braked hard, pulled the wheel to the right and we slid into a very narrow lane between high hedges. I drove cautiously until we were inside the wood then pulled off the track into a clearing. As I switched off the engine, Samantha turned to me and with her eyes unusually bright demanded, "Fuck me."

All that I wanted to do was relax. "Don't be silly - this car is much too small. We will be far more comfortable at home."

"We can get out and do it on the grass, I don't care."

"The grass will be wet and we have no idea who else is in the wood. Anyway we aren't teenagers for God's sake."

For answer Samantha reached forward, grabbed the keys and tossed them over her shoulder into the back. "I'm warning you," she said. "We are not moving from here until I have had a good stiff prick inside me."

This made me really annoyed. I turned in temper to scrabble for the keys and then froze because through the rear window I could see the Cherokee drawing to a halt a short way behind me. It had hardly stopped moving when the door opened and the driver got out. Things were going from bad to worse because I could see that he was at least six inches taller than me and a good twenty to thirty pounds heavier. "Shit, it's him," I said.

"Who?" she asked, with little interest, her mind still on the prospect of being laid.

"The guy you have just been tormenting. Lock your door for fuck's sake and get that window up.

Gaining a little urgency from my voice, she hit the door lock, fumbled it and had to try again and then belatedly made an attempt to close the window. It was too late because he was standing by the car, his fly was open and the most enormous penis that I have ever seen came through the still open window into my wife's face. I cursed myself for not paying the extra for electric windows when buying the car.

By this time I had found the keys and managed to ram them into the ignition. Had Sam ducked or even turned her face away, I could have driven away fast, causing severe injury to the strangers wedding tackle in the process. Instead, by the time that I was in a position to turn the key, his cock was already deeply embedded in her throat. She seemed to have just opened her mouth and let it in. Other signs which hardly displayed a reluctance in the task were the way that one of her hands quickly cupped his balls while the other grasped the shaft. There was nothing that I could do. Driving off was now impossible and had I got out to engage him in a losing battle, I doubted if Samantha would have welcomed the attempted rescue.

I had hoped that it would be over quickly but the blow job lasted for at least ten minutes and possible as long as fifteen. I had no alternative but to sit and watch my wife's bobbing head and the hungry slurping sound of her mouth. The solitary consolation was that I could not see the strangers face - nor he see mine. When the end came, there was far more cum than she could swallow even though I watched her making valiant efforts. It dangled from her chin and dripped to coat her naked breasts. The man simply stepped back, adjusted himself then said in a surprisingly cultured voice, "Many thanks lovely lady," before turning away and returning to his car.

I reached into the back, grabbed her discarded garments, threw them at her and, unable to keep the disgust from my voice, snarled; "Get your clothes on for fuck's sake."

To my mind this was mouth rape pure and simple but Samantha did not seem to see it that way, in fact there was a very satisfied expression on her face. Roughly buttoning her blouse she enthused, "What a superb cock. It's got to be the biggest that I've ever seen - it's certainly the biggest that I have ever had in my mouth."

I did not give this remark the dignity of a reply, driving out of the wood with my mouth clamped in a tight line. Either due to my obvious disapproval or just gaining a bit of rationality herself she said far more soberly, "That could have got very nasty back there if I hadn't had the sense to calm him down."

Samantha was looking at me demanding some response. The best that I could do was to concede, "Yes, it might have been a lot worse." That was true - my mind ran cold at the thought of the other scenarios that could so easily have been enacted back in that wood.

By the time that we reached home she was contrite and sobbing quietly. "Oh John, I'm so ashamed. I don't know what came over me. It's this thing about me flashing myself in front of men. It's got way out of hand and might have sent me a little bit crazy. I really think that we should stop doing it."

I must admit that I rather unfairly capitalised upon her subsequent loss of confidence. Social activity was cut right down and I persuaded Sam that we should buy a house that we could barely raise the capital for. She was soon back to her old sexy self but by then the only socialising that we could afford were occasional reciprocal evenings spent with two or three other couples in a similar predicament.

Foreplay is meant to be a female requirement but in a kind of gender reversal, I liked nothing better than long periods of slow sensual fondling where in contrast, if Samantha did not have an orifice filled within five minutes she began to get impatient. Possible this or her general air of restlessness - or maybe simply the incident in the wood left me feeling that I could not completely trust her. Fortunately, she had very little opportunity to misbehave. I dropped her at work in the morning, took her home at night and we always ate lunch together. In addition, although she worked for a different organisation, her office block was next to mine and throughout the day I could see her desk from my building. Although I frequently observed males in her desk space she seldom left it and then only for a few minutes.

My work was a problem because there was a lot to do. Most of my colleagues completed their tasks in a leisurely manner, generally working a couple of hours overtime to get finished and then spending an hour in the pub to unwind before finally going home. I felt unable to leave Sam to her own devices for two hours in the evening and so had to ensure that I had finished my work on time. Add to this a compunction to excel with promotion in mind and you will see that I had to work at top speed throughout the day. It was inevitable that more days than not I arrived home totally exhausted and this was not conducive to keeping my wife happy in bed.

The advert offered a possible solution to at least some of my problems. An organisation was setting up a new team in my line of work. They wanted a team leader at a fabulous salary and a dozen team members on far higher remuneration than I currently received. The trouble was that the advert was for a city over 100 miles from the one in which we lived. Sam was not interested, pointing out that our friends were here, everything we knew was here - and we had just bought the house. I countered by saying that this firm had a branch near where we lived and although they were recruiting from their head office, I might easily end up working only a few minutes home. She agreed that I should at least attend for an interview.

This was arranged for a Saturday. I was not happy at leaving Sam alone all day and tried to persuade her to come with me. I said that she could do some shopping for clothes while I was being interviewed and that we could treat ourselves to a good meal before returning home. "I'd be bored silly," she said. "The shops there are not as good as the ones we have and I know exactly where to go for the clothes I like." So I went alone.

I think that I was one of the first to be interviewed. When it was my turn to ask questions I found out that the new team would be working at the head office, meaning that Sam and I would need to move house if I did get the job. At the end of the interview, the main interrogator came over and shook my hand saying, "Congratulations. We would like to offer you the position of team leader."

This was far above my expectation and I must have looked stunned because he laughed and asked if I wondered why they had chosen me. When I nodded, he said that the reference from my current employers had attracted their attention even before the interviews started. My present boss had kindly written, "John gets through more work in any four hour period than any of his colleagues can accomplish in eight'.

The head of the interview panel was still smiling at me. "You see we wanted someone who would lead by example. Do you accept? If we know immediately then all other applicants can be interviewed as potential team members only.

"I do need to speak to my wife before I say 'Yes'."

He nodded, "That is understandable - just a formality I trust."

I started to nod but then said honestly, "Actually 'No'. My wife is rather against moving house and I will need to persuade her."