The Charming Wife Ch. 02

If you think that parties are more fun than what happens afterwards, then you don't know my husband.

A few weeks before the party I'm referring to, my husband Kevin had taken a new job within his company, and based on this first encounter, the socializing with the new gang was going to be a LOT more fun than with the old lot.

I'd just met Kevin's new boss, Gene (who was nice enough, if a tiny bit on the dull side) and his wife Paula (who was something else!), as well as most of Kevin's other new coworkers, at what proved to be a memorable party at Gene and Paula's house.

Memorable for me, anyway, since I'd found myself being fucked in the moonlight by a guy who turned out to be the vice president of Kevin's new group, Gene's boss, Paul. It was more than a slightly surreal experience, which only continued after our al fresco encounter as we sat on the deck at the party.

First, I should let you know that my husband and I are of the same mind when it comes to my sex life: we both enjoy the fact that I have a completely slutty nature and enjoy as much sex as I can get. Our attitude is that as long as it's safe, sane, and consensual – with no lies – it's all good. Or really freaking great, usually.

So as I sat at that party, on the deck with Paul, whose name I'd just learned, on one side of me with my husband on the other, Paula came out. She came over and gave Paul a kiss on the cheek and sat down heavily beside him. The party was in full swing and was being carried on its own momentum, cutting down on her hostess duties.

"How's it going, twin brother?" she said with a wink. She must have seen my surprise, because she quickly added that they were not at all related, and the joke was simply due to their similar names. "And," she added, "rather than sharing parents, we share Gene – though he spends more waking hours with my husband than I do."

She turned toward me. "Now that Kevin is part of Paul's empire, be prepared for him to spend a lot of time on the road. I'm not sure what they guys do at night when they're away, but I think I'm personally keeping the stock price in the battery companies up." She laughed and sipped her drink, while I tried not to choke on mine.

Paul squeezed Paula's knee. "Sweetie, you know I made sure he was home with you at least one week of the month."

"Sure, Paul – and it always seems to be 'that' week of the month when it happens!" she retorted. Everyone laughed, but my eyes just got very wide.

Oh my God, I thought. Is she drunk? And, more worrying, is Kevin really going to gone that much?

"Oh heavens," said Paula, "We're scaring the new girl. Sweetie," she leaned across Paul to pat my hand, "don't form a lasting impression of us based on tonight. We're really quite sane, but a huge project that involved a gazillion hours over the last several months just got wrapped up, and the spouses as well as the employees are just really fucking relieved it's over." I was pretty sure Kevin's prior boss, let alone his wife, never used the word "fuck" in my presence. This was definitely a more interesting group than the prior one.

"And I hope Gene takes you to Paris on that bonus," said Paul. "I know he worked his butt off over the last few months, but you paid part of the price."

"Paris?" she deadpanned, "He said it was only five hundred dollars. Are you implying there's something he's not telling me? Maybe he's hording the rest to take his mistress there instead?"

"Jesus, Paula, you're too much sometimes," said her husband, suddenly making an appearance. "You know darn well we're using that bonus to pay off your car. I'm not taking my mistress to Paris."

"And besides, she's left-handed," said Kevin, referring to the old joke. Paul cracked up, and then had to tell the joke to the people who'd never heard it – about the man whose dying wife asked if he would ever remarry, and the man said he thought he would, so she asked if he would let this future wife live in the house they had shared, and the man said he couldn't see why not, and so she asked if he'd let her use her custom-made golf clubs, and he looked surprised and said of course not, (pause) she was left-handed.

Once Paula heard the punch line, she laughed loudly and told Kevin that he'd fit right in. "But we might need to call 911 for your wife. She looks a bit faint. C'mon honey, loosen up. We're just joking here."

It's an unusual situation when I can't keep my own at a party, but I was still a bit distracted by the continued throbbing in my pussy, and my desire to tell Kevin all about my encounter. One thing I can count on is that whatever I get outside of our bedroom, he'll match that and more once we're alone together.

"Oh, I'm just fine," I smiled. "Just figure it's better to keep my mouth shut and be thought a fool than open it and remove all doubt."

Paula laughed again. "Anyone who can quote Mark Twain on command is no fool, sweetie, so don't pretend. But you may want another drink. And don't you worry, we 'road widows' find ways to amuse ourselves when they're away." I wasn't sure if that innuendo was for me or the guys, so I just ginned and shook my head.

The conversation for rest of the party was a bit more mundane – at least, I didn't catch any further references to sex, veiled or pointed. But it was fun, and I got my groove back pretty quickly, returning to the role of charming, witty wife. Both Kevin and I enjoyed the rest of the evening a great deal and were a bit sorry to leave, but also quite eager to be alone again.

As soon as our seatbelts were on, I turned to him. "Oh God, baby, I have the best story to tell you."

"Hmm," he said with mock casualness. "Does it have something to do with you begging Paul to fuck you like a bitch in heat, and him doing so?"

"Oh baby! How did you know?"

"When I came back to check on you, you were gone, so I headed down that hallway and came out the same door you must have gone out. I missed the prelude, but got there in time for the conclusion of the first act and the grand finale. Very hot, baby, very hot." He looked at me in appreciation.

"Why didn't you tell me how sexy your new veep is?" I couldn't resist teasing him a little.

"Paul has the equivalent of Gene's unit in four different offices, and he travels around between them a lot."

"He may have the equivalent of Gene, but I bet there's no match for Paula!" We both laughed. Our hostess had continued to be a source of entertainment for us and the rest of the guests, clearly enjoying being a foil to Gene's taciturn nature.

"Anyway," Kevin continued, "Thus far, our encounters have been more centered on business matter than whether he'd be a suitable stud for my horny wife." As he spoke, he reached over and unbuttoned the top buttons of my dress. "And you're over-dressed."

***

As we were pulling in the driveway, I got myself back together and Kevin stayed in the car to drive the sitter home. I checked on the kids and then headed down to our bedroom. One of the smartest things we'd done since we moved in was convert the family room downstairs that we never used into a master suite, as the kids got old enough that we didn't have to worry about waking up in the middle of the night and needing us. It gave us a nice sense of privacy, and frankly, I didn't have to worry about always muffling my cries of pleasure quite so much.

Our sitter than night lives pretty close – and no, don't get any ideas about Kevin and the sitter – she's 16 and a sweetie – so I didn't have long to wait. I knew he was in as much of a hurry as I was.

A few minutes later, his tongue sliding over mine. I love the way my husband kisses me, with his arms wrapped tight around me, one hand cupping my ass and pulling me hard against him, the other wrapped in my hair. He changed the kiss, his tongue thrusting in and out of my mouth exactly like he would later be fucking me, or so I hoped. I was moaning and grinding my hips into his, even more excited when I felt how hard he'd become.

He broke off the kiss and asked me if I knew where the sewing kit was.

"Wha...? Yes, of course," I answered, dizzy with lust and confused by the question.

"Good, then I don't have to feel guilty about..." he paused, "this." He grabbed the collar of my dress and yanked, buttons flying everywhere, and I stepped over the final few buttons.

"Get it off!" he said firmly, referring to the one stitch I was still wearing, my sheer bra, which I hastened to do. He draped his jacket over a chair, and from the pocket, he retrieved the panties that he'd had me remove before the party, when we were still in the car.

He spun me roughly around and shoved my panties – still musky from our play in the car – in my mouth as a gag, and bent me over the bed.

"My slut wife," he said, his hand caressing my ass before he pulled it back to give me two resounding slaps on each cheek. "My naughty, slutty wife." He repeated the pattern, and I moaned in deep pleasure. There is no type of foreplay I enjoy more than a sexual spanking like the one I hoped I was I store for. He gently kicked one ankle, a signal I should spread my legs. He had me stand that way for a moment, supporting myself with my forearms on the bed, bent over, with my soaking pussy completely on display for him.

"Oh, dear. Now I'm distracted," he said with deceptive mildness. "Maybe I should fuck you first and spank you after. Would you like that?"

"Fuck you?" One slap on each cheek. "Or spank you?" Two more on each side. I could feel the glow starting. "I admit I want to FUCK" (smack) "you" (smack), "but naughty sluts could always benefit from a ... good... hard... spanking!" Each of the pauses was marked with an increasingly hard slap. I was raising up on my toes to meet each one, my ass glowing, my pussy dripping. "So... which... comes... first?" He continued with his unique method of punctuating his words.

What a choice! A continuation of this delicious spanking or hard fuck. Which first? Damn, he shouldn't leave these types of decision up to me. And he didn't. "Oh, these pants need to go to the cleaner's anyway" he muttered. I heard the sound a zipper, and without any preamble, my husband's cock was deep in my pussy.

He leaned down and gently bit my shoulder. "I do love your body," he whispered in my ear. "I love everything about it. I love the way you respond to my touch –" he slapped the side of my thigh, not very hard, but it was so unexpected that I jumped. "– I love how wet, how deliciously wet, how sopping wet, how only-a-total-slut-could-get-this-wet wet you get."

He moved to my other shoulder and bit again, harder this time, sucking the skin hard enough that I was sure he'd leave a mark. I whimpered. "But do you know what I love more than anything else about your body?" he continued. I shook my head.

"I love that it's MINE." With that he stood up, and started pumping me as hard as he could. I rocked forward on my toes, all but screaming into my makeshift gag. He continued, "Mine to fuck. Mine to savor the view as I watch another man play with you, knowing that it's MY toy, MY plaything he's enjoying with, and that at the end of the day, it's coming home with ME!" With each of these phrases, he slammed into me. The rough material of his slacks, still fastened around his waist, rubbed against my pinkened ass, scratching in a delicious reminder of how they had gotten that way. I was so wet that the sound of his moving in and out of me was more like splashing, and the scent of "fuck" was heavy in the air.

He yanked the panties out of my mouth. "Tell me," he said harshly, "Tell me what nasty, naughty thoughts were going through your mind out there."

It's hard for me to talk when I'm getting pounded like that. I love it so much that most of my usual adept verbal skills seem to consist of "Ohh" and "God!" and the occasional "Oh fuck, YEAH!" But he deserved this. "Oh God, Kevin. It was so hot... He didn't even talk to me... Just kissed me... umph... I could tell he was okay... urghh... he would have stopped if I'd just said a word... OOohh!... but he was so sexy... oh! yeah! God!... I loved knowing he was... FUCK, baby!... getting off using me, makes me feel so... GOD! Yes! Oh yes, please! More!... so powerful, knowing I can do that to him. They think it's..." the next sound I made wasn't even a word, just a guttural, animalistic grunt as my husband held my hips in a vice grip and pinioned in and out of me. I tried to continue. "They think they're the ones in control, but ... I ... know... I have... the power."

"You think you have the power now, baby?" he grunted out.

"No, not with you. For you, I'm ... all... YOURS," and the final hard trusts left us both flat on the bed. His cock still inside me, he ground down.

"Get your fingers on your clit. Masturbate for me. I want to feel you cum with my cock inside you." We rocked in unison so I could slide my hand underneath, my entire pussy completely soaked with my juices and his starting to leak out. My clit was huge, encouraged, infinitely sensitive. I pressed two fingers against it and within a few seconds of my favorite circular motion, was bucking hard up against him, milking his cock as my orgasm flowed through me.

Kevin kissed my shoulder, and stood up to undress as I arranged myself under the covers.

"Baby, I'd love to give you that spanking you deserve for being such a good little slut, but I think I have to pass out now instead," he said, as he snuggled up against me, and we both drifted off in a deeply contented sleep.