The Best Mistake She Ever Made

My cunt sucked at his thrusts and his vigour rolled through me, lifted me onto my toes. Waves of pleasure gathered and swelled over me. I felt like if I let go, they'd breach my skin and flood the whole fucking church in girl cum. My eyelids drooped. It was an effort to pay attention under the force of the pleasure he kept shovelling into me. My cunt pulsed and I cried out. Bill sped up, grinding his teeth. I tried to hold back the tsunami of bliss, to breathe through it, but he only pumped it bigger. Too big. I whimpered, and he glanced up at me and I grinned at him, a goofy, gaping, slap-cheeked grin, and despite the set of his chin and rippling jaw, despite scowling in the concentration, he winked back.

Just that, just that wink, overpowered me. A spark to petrol. I hissed and squeaked. Lightening shot across my skin, whirled into in my cunt, and jammed me, shaking uncontrollably, onto him. This set him off like a rocket. He stifled a roar and shot quick bursts into me, blooming me right out of my body. Overflowing me from myself. I thought I might black out, but the almighty thrusts of his climax tossed me into the air like a (particularly dirty!) fairground ride. He had me squealing into the crook of my arm, biting it, wedding hair-do all unravelled and wild, cheeks wet, and all power gone from my limbs.

At last, he slowed. He wrapped his arms around me, still but for the spasms of his cock, lodged deep and setting off pulsing little aftershocks in me. He hummed a low rumbling purr and dropped calming kisses into my neck, even while his own body still twitched. We embraced like this, intimately joined, while our breathing settled. We found each other's lips and chuckled as we kissed.

I'd come three times in less than half an hour. The only other time I'd achieved that was on my own, naked and on all fours, spread to the mirror and fantasising something very similar. With Bill, obvs. Perhaps the cummy detail of my fantasy had cast a spell on us, who knows. But I even imagined the next bit, too.

Bill pulled out of me, and staggered back against a wall as I turned to face him. This might have been because the power of his orgasm left him weak and dazed, but I like to think it was my expression that overwhelmed him.

My knees unhinged and I sank to the floor, but dear husband, I wasn't done yet. I was in the zone. I'd waited all my life for sex like this. For a man like this.

Still doped out on my orgasm, I let out a creaky, musical sigh, and prowled to where Bill stood in his own God-ray spotlight of sun. His glistening meat still jutted obscenely from his formal wedding-wear, dripping and nodding happily.

I wasn't sure what I wanted. But I wanted more of him. I wanted all of him. Bill watched me with hooded eyes, chortling, as I nuzzled up into his hefty great balls. I licked my wet glaze from them. What was I thinking? I can't tell you. After the thorough pummelling he'd just given me, it simply felt right to run soothing, cleaning cat-laps all over him. I licked him in a dream, slowly, thoroughly, working my way up his slippery shaft, catching the rivulet of his semen still running down it. The mixture of our flavours seemed oddly familiar. Comforting. But this wasn't calming us down. Bill flexed, clubbing me lightly on the nose and making us laugh, perking us up. I slooped the last of his cum all the way back to source, tipping over his taut bulb and -- with a sense of a missing jigsaw piece slotting into place -- finally took him into my mouth.

When you try to snog me after going down, you believe it when I say I don't like the taste of my own juices, don't you? And on other days, that I don't enjoy your cum in my mouth? You're fond of telling me you can count the number of 'proper' blowjobs I've given you on one hand! In your memoirs you even had the nerve to complain your marriage didn't provide what you needed. That I'd broken a promise. Like our vows included, "to love and to swallow"! Your infidelities were all my fault, because I didn't suck you often enough, or with enough "enthusiasm"! You actually said that! Well, dear husband, I'm sorry but it was just you. I love your lust for life and your musicality and your single-minded achievements but sexually? Look, I can't bear your whiskey ashtray smell, and your skinny little legs and long thin cock and the desperate smile you give me when I suck you. So fucking grateful! It's stomach-turning. It's cost you my respect.

I grasped Bill's cock in two hands and rubbed him slowly into my mouth. He clenched his teeth as if in pain but didn't dare stop me. Or dare go limp! Oh and you might want to bear this in mind next time you have a wank over one of your stories; I could only just get my fingers around the girth of Bill's cock, and it plugged my massive mouth like it was made for me.

My head freewheeled. My body had taken over. At the time, I didn't know where I was going with this sucking, I just wanted him in me and erect. If it was up to me, he would be hard the rest of his life. I had a vague idea I might get one more shag out of him, but it was a very vague idea. Meanwhile I worked him with all the insistence of some cum-hungry porn star! Even as his last orgasm dribbled from my hole I craved more. Looking back on it, I suppose this was passion, pure and simple. I'd never felt it before, you see. And I loved it. This wasn't just for his pleasure. I was sucking him off for my own pleasure too. For us.

Then a very delightful thing happened.

Bill groaned, then blathered something about cumming and tried to jerk his hips away from me, but I was suckered to him. I tried to say, "Do it! Do it!" but my stuffed-mouth reassurance came out like crazed nasal humming. Then he arched up onto his toes, made a strangled noise and locked solid. His cock flushed harder-than-hard... and exploded!

Again!

And, husband, his cum was luscious. Slick and hot as blood. He jetted frantically all over my tongue, turning my mouth so silky-smooth we seemed to melt into each other. The only problem I had was trying to swallow while laughing like a loon.

It makes me wet even now. In fact I'm touching myself while I recall it and licking my fingers so my salty taste can make the memory more real.

I won't be here when you return. I might not bear any visible scars, but I still believe you've abused me; making me pander to your narcissism while you fucked around. And I'm not the only one. Tell me, how many of your 'conquests' were proud of what they did with you? You don't know? Well how many have you seen twice? None according to your memoirs. There's your answer then. I bet they all run a mile now, not to be left alone with you. They're all stronger than me. I gave in to you again and again and again. No more.

Bill took the kids to my mum's and he packed all my stuff into a van while I wrote this. There he is now, waiting for me. Fuck it, I'm going to suck him off again, right here over your keyboard. He's earned it.

All I'll leave you is this one image from my story:

Bill with his beautiful cock out in a church toilet. At his feet your bubble-butt-naked and freshly-fucked wife. She has succulent lips at both ends. She sucks Bill with them, milks him, and laughs as he gushes into one end of her, and spills from the other. Forever.

Byeee!