The Fuck of My Life

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


My husband gives me his usual bullish fucking, then gets up to leave. I lie in bed listening to him use the bathroom. The shower clicks on, clicks off. His shaver clicks on, clicks off. At 6am precisely the buzzer trills; the car is here to take him to the airport. He’s running late. I hear him bumping about and swearing and he leaves without saying goodbye. As the door clicks closed, I feel a mix of emptiness and relief. I roll over to avoid the wet patch, pull the covers back up, and fall asleep.

I lie there for hours, dozing, dreaming. I’m still in bed at ten when the door clicks open again: the maid. “Fuck,” I mutter, then call out “Hello!”

The maid appears in the bedroom doorway. She looks embarrassed and says “so sorry.”

It’s a new girl, I notice, dark-skinned, possibly Indonesian. Our eyes meet, and neither of us looks away. Silence. Something passes between us then; I don’t know what it is. Seconds pass as she stands there in the doorway. Eventually I look down, and hear myself apologising back: “No no, I’m sorry. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be out of here”. She waits in the hallway while I pull on a blouse and trousers and slip out of the flat.

I grab coffee in the lobby bar at the Four Seasons and spend the afternoon shopping on Orchard Road. But my mind keeps drifting back to that maid; to that look that passed between us. What did it mean? What did I feel? Showering before dinner I think about her again, and to my shock I experience a flush of arousal. I find myself going back to the bed, lying where I lay, looking up to where she stood, touching myself.

The next morning I lie in bed again, but I can’t sleep. I’m feeling confused; aroused; apprehensive. Ten o’clock comes and I hear the click of her key in the door. She appears again in the bedroom doorway, unbidden this time. I feel myself blushing. She looks just as I remembered; impossibly young and slight, and strikingly attractive. The gaze and the feelings are the same.

“Come here,” I say.

Holding my eye, she crosses yalova escort the room and stands right next to me.

“Sit down.”

She sits beside me. I look at her: the gentle curve of her hips; her slender arms; her delicate lips. She wears a sweet, cheap perfume, but there’s a musky scent beneath that’s all her own. Gingerly, I touch her on the arm. She doesn’t pull away. Still looking into her eyes, I find myself leaning closer; kissing her on the lips. The kiss is soft and beautiful and I feel her body respond.

Lying back in the bed, I gently guide her down next to me, and we go on kissing, long and slow. Our tongues touch, and we sigh with pleasure.

“Take your clothes off,” I say, surprised now by the urgency in my voice.

She sits up and shrugs off her blouse and her bra, revealing small breasts, like a teenager’s. She sits like that for a few seconds, regarding me with a look of sheer lust, and I feel a rush of desire. Then she slides down her skirt and knickers, and slips into bed beside my naked body. We kiss more deeply then, running our hands over each others’ breasts and hips and thighs.

I squirm with pleasure, as I feel her fingers begin to circle round my clit. I swear and moan uncontrollably. She kisses and sucks at my nipples, and strokes my clit faster and faster until even my breathing falters, and everything seems to fall away. As the wave of the orgasm passes over me, she’s there, smiling, still gazing into my eyes. We kiss and kiss, ’til its darkening outside, and she tells me she has to go. I realise hours have passed. She dresses and gets up to go to the door. I ask her name.


It’s six more days until my husband returns, and I fill those days with Shira. At ten each morning I hear the click of her key in the door, and moments later we are in each others’ arms. We pass whole days kissing, staring into each others’ eyes, and making love. Around six o’clock each day she leaves, and never says where she is going. Each evening I take dinner with the other zonguldak escort currency traders’ wives, and say nothing about her. Instead I listen to them talking about shops and dinner parties, about their husbands’ career plans and ambitions, about whether and when and where to have children.

I keep a vibrator in my top drawer by the bed. One day I take it out and show it to Shira. She smiles. It’s a smooth, half moon shaped thing, from a boutique in Far East Plaza. She takes it, and just the sight of her holding it fills me up with desire.

“Fuck me with it, Shira.”

We kiss gently, and she switches the vibrator on. I lie back, and she runs it in slow circles round my breasts. My nipples harden with tingling pleasure. Then she moves downwards, taking her time. My body shivers with anticipation, and I feel myself getting wet.

She kisses me, and slips her tongue right inside my mouth just as she touches the vibrator to my clit. I’m so aroused I come hard almost right away. She withdraws the thing then, moves it back up to my breasts. As she traces circles, I can feel the hot wetness of my cunt against my nipples. She carries on kissing me, slow and deep, and I groan in bliss.

Slowly Shira moves the vibrator back down, over my belly and back to my clit. She holds it there while she kisses me hard, and I come again. I come five or six more times like that, ’til my body can take no more. Sweaty and shaking, I roll over onto my hands and knees. Shira slips the vibrator inside me; fucks me with it hard.

Thursday evening comes. It starts to get dark, and Shira leaves. I sit alone in a chair by the bed, feeling cold and confused. My husband flies back Saturday morning. I make a strong vodka tonic, and drink it sitting there in the bedroom. I can still smell Shira. “Fuck.” I fix another vodka, then dress and take a car to Far East Plaza.

Ten o’clock Friday and she’s there again. We kiss violently in the doorway and I push her towards the bed. I open her blouse, pull off her bra, zonguldak escort and kiss and kiss at her gorgeous breasts. I press her back down onto the bed, sucking and biting at her nipples.

She’s still in her skirt but I lift it up and tug down her knickers. She gives a little gasp of pleasure as I push three fingers straight into her. Then I go down, looping my tongue over her clitoris again and again until it quivers, and I feel her body begin to tense.

I leave her hanging there on the edge of her orgasm, and go back to fucking her with my fingers. First three fingers, then four, then I ease my entire hand inside her body, making her emit a strange moaning. Gently I withdraw my hand, and go back to circling my tongue over her clit, quicker and quicker, ’til she bunches up the bedsheets in her fists and cries out.

“Stay here,” I whisper, kissing her and slipping out of the bed.

When I return Shira’s eyes widen. I’m wearing a strap-on dildo. Smiling, she rolls over onto all fours on the bed, pushing her shapely arse up towards me. Lifting her skirt, I ease the thing into her. It is big; bigger than my husband’s cock. She gives a loud groan as it fills her.

I start to fuck her, slowly at first. It is a wonderful feeling to be penetrating her. As my excitement mounts, my fucking becomes faster, more bullish, until the room is filled with the sound of her cries and of slapping flesh.

When I withdraw, it is to reach over to my top drawer for a tube of lube, which I squirt liberally onto her derrière. Then I slide the dildo gently into her arse, and give her a hard fuck that way too.

When she can take no more, I remove the dildo, and we kiss and cuddle right through ’til dusk.

As dark falls, she looks into my eyes. “I must go,” she says.

“I know.”

I don’t know what I feel.

I don’t know what to feel.

She dresses all too quickly, kisses me deeply and then leaves. I hear the door click closed. I sit in the bedroom chair and cry. About an hour later, the phone rings. I answer. It’s my husband, calling from his hotel room in Hong Kong. He’s telling me he’ll be home around four o’clock tomorrow, in time for the Halletts’ cocktail party. He’s telling me he’s missing me. He’s telling me he’s going to give me the fuck of my life.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir yanıt yazın

E-posta adresiniz yayınlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir

escort kuşadası escort bayan kocaeli esgort ankara escort otele gelen escort seks hikaye bakırköy escort kocaeli escort kocaeli escort tuzla escort bursa escort bayan görükle escort bursa escort bursa merkez escort bayan canlı bahis siteleri gaziantep escort gaziantep escort mecidiyeköy escort mecidiyeköy escort bahçeşehir escort erotik film izle ataköy escort beşiktaş escort rus escort taksim escort şişli escort izmir escort izmir escort izmir escort Çankaya escort sincan escort Escort escort escort escort travestileri travestileri Ankara escort bayan Ankara Escort Ankara Escort Rus Escort Eryaman Escort Etlik Escort Sincan Escort Çankaya Escort mersin escort Escort bayan Escort bayan ensest hikayeler Antalya escort antalya rus escort çankaya escort keçiören escort ankara escort xnxx Porno 64 alt yazılı porno görükle escort beylikdüzü escort sex hikayeleri bornova escort balçova escort mersin escort
adana escort adıyaman escort afyon escort ağrı escort aksaray escort amasya escort ankara escort antalya escort antep escort ardahan escort
görükle escort bursa escort antalya escort bursa escort porno izle bursa escort bursa escort bursa escort bursa escort bursa escort şişli escort istanbul travesti istanbul travesti istanbul travesti ankara travesti Moda Melanj Anadolu Yakası Escort Kartal escort Kurtköy escort Maltepe escort Pendik escort Kartal escort beylikdüzü escort Bahis siteleri porno porno