Gay Erotic Stories

Patrick, my husband, and I had spent a long day in Dallas, and instead of going home (we lived about a hundred miles away) we decided to spend the night there. That's not an unusual thing for us to do. We often went to Dallas just to party, and since we were already there, we figured we might as well have some fun. Patrick is always ready to have a good time, and we hadn't really had a good party in almost a month. I'd been three weeks in England, and though we'd been together for the last week, and enjoyed some hot sex during that week, we both needed the relief that we could not get as easily at home as we could when we were in the big city. It was only about eight o'clock when we got to the hotel room. I made reservations for a late dinner, and we opened a bottle of champagne, intending to have a little wine before we went out that night. Both of us knew that we needed some adventure, and wanted to unwind a bit before we went out. Patrick asked me if I was up to a game of chess. Now I know that doesn't sound very exciting, but believe me, we don't play like others do. Besides, I enjoy chess. The challenge was issued. "Wanna play a quick game of chess before we go out," he asked, "You know it won't take me long to beat you." It was a sucker bet, but I made it anyway. I knew I'd lose, but sometimes losing is fun too! Anyway, Patrick bet me he could beat me in a game of strip chess, and it seemed like it would be fun, so I said, "Sure, but winner gets a special prize." "What kinda prize?" he asked me. "Oh, I don't know. What do you think would be good?" "How about the winner gets a blow job?" "I give you head all the time!" "So, what's the big deal? If I win, you owe me a blowjob. If you win, I eat your pussy." Not exciting enough. I thought I'd spice it up a bit. "Okay, but the winner gets to pick where and when." I knew that would get his cock up. We've been married going on nine years, and a girl's got to keep the excitement going. "I'll go you one better. The winner owns the blow job, and can do with it as he (or she) pleases." Ummmm, this was getting interesting. "Tell you what, the winner owns the blow job, can spend it however they want, and the loser agrees not to protest, no matter how the winner wants to spend it, and the winner gets to dress the loser for the occasion." "No restrictions?" "None." "Deal!" Well, that's how it began. We got out the chess set and began playing. I don't know if you've ever played strip chess, but it's not like strip poker. In strip poker, you can't win your clothes back, I mean, you can't get redressed after you've lost an article of clothing. In strip chess, at least the way my husband and I play it, you always have the option of putting an article of clothing back on in lieu of taking a piece of your opponent's army off the board. For example, shortly after we began, Patrick got my king's knight. I had the option of giving up my blouse, or the knight. I let him have the blouse. Shortly later, I captured his queen's bishop. I let him keep the bishop, and put my blouse back on. The big deal is to capture the king. When that happens, the loser has to completely strip, and the game begins again, this time, the loser is naked, and the winner gets to redress. I forgot to mention that the game is only played in hotel rooms, and only with the window drapes open. That does tend to distract one as the second game is in progress, because anyone passing the room can look in and see one of you naked, and the other has nothing to worry about. The first game took twenty-seven moves. The second game, which I played totally naked, took much longer. Patrick slowed his playing down to a crawl. He enjoys knowing that I am naked, exposed to any man walking by, and he also knows I love every minute of it! Now, don't misunderstand me, 'cause as much as I love to show my body to strangers, I also hate to lose! So I try my damnest to win, but I must confess, Patrick is a better player than me. He should be. He taught me to play! I sat, my back to the window, totally naked! Patrick would, from time to time, look out the window and wink, as if he was acknowledging someone standing there. I couldn't tell if there was anyone there, of course, and that added to my excitement. My husband knew that, and he played it to the hilt. It had its effect. My body was a mass of sexual energy, as I sat there, not knowing if anyone was behind me, looking at me, staring at my naked backside. That evening, as we continued the second game, Patrick stopped me just as I was about to move my rook in a castle move. "Rachael, get a cigar for me, will you. I left them on the air conditioner." My nipples suddenly hardened! I knew without looking that there was someone standing outside, looking in. And I knew the cigar was just a ruse to get me to stand up and turn around. Well, a deal's a deal, and fair is fair. I smiled at my husband, stood up, and walked toward the air conditioner, (which happened to be under the large picture window. My naked body was tingling all over. I didn't look up, but rather concentrated on the cigar. My admirer, however, was concentrating on me. When I reached the window, I leaned over and retrieved the cigar my husband wanted. I picked it up and then, instead of turning back to my husband, I lifted my arms over my head, and stretching them high over my head, I gave the stranger at the window a full view of my naked body. My breasts were jutting straight out, my nipples hard as little thimbles! I could see the man staring at me, and at the same time see my reflection as well as Patrick behind me. My heart-shaped red bush, trimmed short enough not to obscure a view of my pussy lips, sort of popped open just a little, just enough to reveal the glistening moisture that was gathering at the open of my cunt I had a sudden inspiration! Taking the cigar from my hand, I rubbed it length way, down my slit, and slid the end of it into my hot pussy! Sometimes, I amaze even myself. I closed my eyes, still facing the window, and inserted Patrick's Jamaican cigar into my creamy box! I imagined the six inches of his cigar, firm, dark, exotic, being a thin cock. My body shuddered as the tobacco slid deeper and deeper. I hadn't intended to do that, and I certainly hadn't intended to lose control, but it happened! I felt the first wave of my orgasm as my husband's cigar sunk into my wet pussy. Then it happened! I started to come, and couldn't stop. My body heaved forward, and as my cunt squeezed the long firm cigar into itself, I braced myself on the aluminum beam on the window. As the first major orgasm of the evening overtook me, I opened my eyes, and I looked straight into the eyes of the stranger. He was mesmerized! I reached over to the curtain's cord, and slowly brought the two halves together, slowly bringing the show to an end! My friend outside moved as the curtains did, probably without realizing he was even mobile. Finally, there was nothing more he could see. Then I heard my husband's voice. "Rachael, come here." I walked back to where he was sitting. My breasts were level with his shoulders. He bent down, placing his mouth against the pubic hair of my pussy, and fixed his mouth against the opening he knew so well. Placing his lips over my cunt, he sucked against my hole, sucking hard enough to force the cigar to reveal itself to him. I felt his lips nibbling down there, his tongue flicking across my clit. And he slowly pulled the cigar out of my cunt, with only his lips. As it came out, he ran it up and across my clit. Damn, he's good! My body gave up its Caribbean treasure, as well as its second orgasm in less than three minutes. As he withdrew the cigar from my pussy, I could do nothing but stand there and come! And I did! He sat back in his chair, with his cigar now in his mouth. I finally regained my composure, and seeing him sitting there, I knew why I loved him so. I reached across the table and picked up my lighter. Flicking it, I put the flame to the end of his pussy-coated cigar. It lit, and I could hear it sizzle as the heat evaporated the juices I'd left on the now, not so firm, prize of Jamaica. He only smiled as he enjoyed what he called his "Rum soaked" smoke. And I knew the night was just beginning! Yes, the evening was still young. I stood there in front of my husband, without a stitch on, quivering from the aftermath of a gut wrenching orgasm. Patrick's cock was rock hard, I could tell that even though it was still inside his jeans. And I wanted to return the favor that he'd given me when he made me come with his cigar in my twat. Besides, I did owe him a blowjob from the chess game. I started to knell in front on him, with full intention of sucking his dick to a throbbing orgasm, when the phone rang. No one knew we were in Dallas. I couldn't imagine who was calling, and listened as Patrick lifted the receiver. "Hello," Patrick said. There was about ten seconds of silence. Then handing me the phone, he said, "I believe this is for you." "Hello, can I help you?" That sounded silly even as I said it. There was no voice on the other side. I repeated myself. "Hello, can I help you?" Then the caller found his voice. "Hello. You don't know me, but I watched you when you...when you took that cigar and...I mean, I don't want to be rude, or obscene but..." He was obviously having trouble saying what he wanted to say. I liked him already! I remained silent. "I really liked what I saw you do. Do you think you and I could get together? I mean, for a drink or for supper. Or something? I mean...I want to get to...ah...I mean..." "Well, that's very nice of you to call, but I was just about to give my husband a blow job. And it really is kinda up to him whether or not I'd go out with you. Would you like to ask him?" I couldn't help taking great delight in the callers discomfort. He didn't know what to say. At the mention of the word "husband," I knew he wanted to bolt, but at the sound of the word "blow job," he knew he couldn't hang up. I had been rubbing Patrick's cock, still safe in his jeans, all the time I'd been talking to my invisible would-be lover. I started to unzip my husband's jeans, tucking the phone under my chin. The caller remained silent. Patrick's cock is so very smooth, that sometimes, not very often, but sometimes, I like to sleep with it in my mouth. I don't do it often because Patrick won't let me. He says he's concerned that I might dream I'm eating a hot dog, and get carried away. I reached into his jeans and pulled out his jumbo cock. It was hardening, but I knew it would get a lot harder. I guess my admiration made me bolder. "I just pulled it out of his pants, and I'm stroking it to full size while we talk. I hope you don't mind." The stranger on the other side of the line just whispered, "No. I don't mind. Tell me what you're doing." "Whenever I stroke my husband's cock, he likes for me to run my nails across the soft smooth head. He says it makes his blood rush faster, and that makes his hard cock harder! And he may be right. His cock is growing in my hands. Its little eye is pushing toward me, and he wants me to suck him inside my hot wet mouth. But I'm not ready to suck him. I want him to get harder. Do you like to have your cock sucked?" "Yes," he half whispered, half moaned. "I'm going to put it in my mouth now. I can't talk to you while I suck him, but you can hear me slurping his meat into my mouth. Listen." I put the receiver on Patrick's thigh, the mouthpiece only an inch away from my husband's now rock hard cock. I looked up at Patrick's smiling face and asked the unnecessary question. "Do you mind if I suck your dick while this man listens?" He didn't answer me. Instead, he placed his hand on the back of my neck and gently pulled my lips toward his cock. I didn't need the encouragement. I knew Patrick would want me to let the man listen. It gave him great pleasure to share me with whomever he wanted to. I'd sucked Patrick's dick in all sorts of places, with all sorts of people watching. I didn't care. Far more important to me than being Patrick's wife is being Patrick's whore! And no one can be a better whore than me! I began by kissing his shaft. There is something so erotic about running my lips up and down his dick, from the soft underside just below where the head splits apart and forms a little mushroom effect down the shaft to the part that connects to his sack, and then, I like to take my tongue and dive into the ball sack, separating them, and sucking them into my mouth, one at a time. His balls are Huge! Patrick has told me that some women can suck them both at the same time, but I never could. Even after he's come two or three times inside of twenty minutes, even when I should have sucked all the come out of him, his balls are still enormous. That night was no different. I sucked the one in front first, and then, spitting it out, sucked in this other one. I exaggerated the noise I made, though I do find it difficult to suck his, (or any one else's) cock silently, I usually don't make as much noise as I was making then. But remember, my shy caller couldn't see me, he could only hear me, and I wanted him to understand what I was doing. What he heard was the kissing and sucking of my husband's cock. That and the occasional murmur of "Oh, it's so hot," or, "Damn, your dick is so hard!" As this blow job-of-the-air was being broadcast via phone to another room, I began to get hotter and hotter. I forgot I was playing to an audience of two, and soon, I was sucking his shaft in earnest. I wanted his dick in my mouth; I wanted him to fuck my face! And I wanted to taste his hot come as it splashed down my throat. At some point in time, I realized Patrick had taken the phone from his thigh and was speaking into the mouthpiece. "She's deep throating me right now." A silent pause. "Yes, she's naked." A silent pause. "Yes. She likes sucking cock." A longer silent pause. "Of course you may." I heard the phone being placed back on the receiver. Patrick eased my head off his lap. At first I was confused. Then I understood what was happening. "Rachael, go open the door and then come back." I did as he told me. I opened the door but not all the way. Anyone passing by would not know that I was naked, that I had no more lipstick on. That it was coating my husband's glistening cock. I left the door ajar and returned to where my husband was sitting. He'd skinned his jeans down around his ankles and was sitting there, still wearing his shirt, but naked from his waist to his ankles. When I returned, he didn't say anything else to me. He merely spread his legs widely and waited for me. His cock was still hard, sticking straight up. For a moment, I considered straddling that hard dick, but knew that he wanted my mouth back on his shaft. I dropped back to my knees, leaned forward, and resumed sucking his cock. I was absolutely consumed with a desire to make Patrick shoot his jism inside my mouth! As I continued sucking him off, I heard the door shut. But I didn't stop. Patrick is my husband, and I trust him explicitly. If there were any reason to stop sucking him, he would have pushed my head back. But he didn't, so I kept sucking! I did change my position somewhat. Without losing a beat, I arranged myself on all fours, so that I was leaning into my husband's cock, while my ass was elevated. My backside was facing away from him, facing the door. I knew I was being watched, and I knew that in this position, I had no secrets. My ass and pussy was plainly visible to whoever had entered the room, who ever had locked the door behind him. My cunt was leaking my passions, and they were running down the inside of my legs. I spread them apart even further. I knew whoever was watching could see right up my pussy, could see my cunt lips twitch as the excitement of my exhibition worked me into a cock-sucking frenzy. And as I continued sucking my husband's dick, I felt something touch my upraised ass. It was another set of hands, another group of fingers! I didn't care. Patrick's cock couldn't be any deeper in my mouth. I felt strange fingers probing me, separating the lips of my pussy, pushing them apart, and then sinking into my most private parts. I jumped at the feel of the stranger stroking me, flicking my clit with his finger. And as his finger pushed my hot button, I felt his thumb push against my ass hole. His middle finger kept stirring my pussy, while I felt his thumb invade the privacy of my ass hole. There was no need for delicacy. I had enough cunt juice running down my legs to lubricate ten women. But there weren't ten women in this room. Only me. And my husband. And a man whose face I could not see. And now this stranger had two digits inside me, one in each hole, while my mouth was filled with my husband's cock. Then, as suddenly as the stranger's fingers had penetrated me, they were gone. I didn't stop sucking. I knew what was about to happen. And I was right. The void the fingers had left was not to be empty long. I stopped sucking for just the briefest of time as I felt something else slide into my pussy. And I knew! I was about to be fucked by the faceless man who had minutes earlier called me on the phone to ask me out for a drink. Now, less then five minutes later, he was sinking his cock into my pussy. Behind me, and in front of my husband! I couldn't hold back any longer. I pushed my ass against this man, and his cock slid into me, fully, in one thrust! And as this mystery man was having his way with my cunt, my husband was pushing his cock even deeper into my mouth. I could no longer breathe, but that was alright. I could hold my breath for over a minute, I knew that. And inside of the next sixty seconds, I knew I would have a mouthful of come, and probably a pussy full of strange jism. And with that knowledge came my third orgasm of the evening! As my mouth and pussy worked independently of me, I started to feel the orgasm I knew was there, and I could feel the passions pushing against me, releasing a flood of urgency, taking me to heights I knew well! Without a doubt, only a whore could do this, could take her husband's cock into her mouth while another man watched, and then take that other man's cock into her pussy while the husband watched. Yes. Only a whore. And right now, I was nothing but a whore, and whores only want one thing! To be used and then discarded! And these two men, bonded together by the use of a common body, made me feel like the whore I was! And because I was a whore, I had no trouble coming in front of them both. My screams of passion were stifled by the fact that my mouth was stuffed with hot cock, cock that was at that very moment spilling its seed into my eager mouth. And as Patrick spent himself in my oral cavity, the stranger dumped his load into my willing pussy. And then it was over. I felt myself floating back to reality, and suddenly I began to give serious consideration to the situation I was in. What would I say to the man who had just fucked me at my husband's invitation? I giggled mentally at the thought. "Hello, my name is Rachael. Thank you for fucking me." But I need not have worried. As the man I had yet to see withdrew his now flaccid penis from my pussy, I heard him straighten up, and though I could not see what he'd done, I knew he was pulling his pants back on. And I heard his zipper close. I rested my head in my husband's lap, his now softer cock laying less than an inch from my mouth. Slowly, as his proud cock softened, I watched as the remnants of my oral manipulation seeped out the tip of his cock. Without fore thought, I flicked my tongue against it, and licked the little shoot hole clean of any residue sperm. And that last drop tasted as exciting as the first spurt against the back of my throat! "Rachael, we have company. Turn around and say hello." I did as I was told. Turning toward the man who had just fucked me, I smiled. "Hello." "Hello. And thank you." "Thank him," I said tilting my head backward, in the direction of my husband. "I only fuck the ones he chooses." "Then, thank you, sir. That was without a doubt, the most exciting fuck I've ever had!" Patrick smiled. "My pleasure. We're going to be here all weekend. Maybe we'll get together again before we leave." "Call me. I'm in room 243. My name is James." Patrick didn't say anything else, and James walked toward the door. He opened the door, and as he walked out, he turned to me. "Regardless of who told you to do what... I'll never forget you." And with hat the door was pulled shut behind him. I watched the door close behind the stranger who'd fucked me without any emotion, other then desire. Turning back to my husband, I awaited his next order. "Rachael, go clean up. And then get dressed. I feel like seeing a movie tonight." I knew what that meant. Patrick was hot from watching James fuck me, from watching me suck his cock while the man from the night pushed his hot dick into my waiting pussy, my whorish, wanton pussy! It was always like this. First a little exhibition, then Patrick's cock would demand attention, and then, sometimes, like tonight, even as I would satisfy my husband's ravenous appetite for sexual thrills, it would not be enough. It would not be enough until a stranger had humiliated me, had touched, or fucked or placed his cock inside my mouth. It would not be enough for Patrick. And it would not be enough for me! I knew what my husband wanted me to do, and how he wanted me to dress for the evening. I let the warm water of the shower pelt against my skin, turning it to a shade of deeper red, the shade of a deep blush, if I could still remember what a blush looked like. I allowed my washcloth to linger a bit longer than necessary as I cleaned the cunt the stranger only fucked ten minutes ago. Dropping the cloth to the floor of the shower, I replaced the terry cloth roughness with the tip of my finger. I found the little nub of tissue I was seeking. My clit was hard, harder even than my nipples. I ran my soap-coated finger across the tender patch of passion, and with each stroke I became more excited! Memories flooded my consciousness, bringing vivid images of nights gone by, long forgotten, forgotten till now, and now remembered with stark reality. I remembered the trucker who had stopped to help me a few months ago as I stood on the side of Interstate 20, looking at the flat wheel on my BMW. I had been standing there only a minute, and I must have looked very vulnerable, dressed in a summer outfit of a loose skirt and tied top. I was wearing sandals, bound with leather thongs, atop of high heels. I remember how the heels looked as the trucker lifted my legs back, back over my shoulders, his massive hands wrapped around my ankles, as his hard, hot cock sawed in and out of my pussy, without stop, without mercy! He had fucked me like a whore, called me a slut as he came in my pussy, and I loved every minute of it! And later, as I cleaned his cum soaked dick with my mouth, with my tongue, my lips, I tasted both of us, and it was sooo good! And I remembered the man in the mall last month, the man whose wife was shopping in one of the department stores. He looked so sad, sitting there. I had sat next to him, engaged him in conversation, and right there, in the middle of the mall with literally thousands of people passing in front of us, I had jerked his cock to orgasm while covering my actions with my overcoat, which I had settled over both of us. I didn't know the man's name. That wasn't important. What was important was that I could be so sexual, so exciting, that a man would risk his marriage, his family, his entire life just to have my hand on his penis, just to feel my nails as they raked across his exposed cock! And Patrick had been there when I'd done it! He'd watched the whole show. He knew the minute I'd adjusted my coat over the strangers’ lap that my hand would disappear under that coat, and the stranger would soon be the recipient of an unexpected carnal pleasure. My body racked with orgasm as I recalled these things, these collage of men with hard cocks, with cocks shooting come all over me, all over whatever part of me they wanted, my face, my breasts, my ass, my pussy, maybe only my hand, maybe into my hair, but they all used me as they wished, and I used them as only I could! The shower water stopped! I looked up. It was, of course, Patrick. He had watched me as I lost control again, control of my passions, control of my pussy. It didn't matter. Patrick understands me. And he understands my need to come, and come often. We are a perfect match, and as all good matches, we create the magic that is fire! "Really, Rachael, don't you think you can wait a little while? You've had six orgasms in the last hour. That's a bit excessive, even for you!" "Yes. I know. But I was remembering..." "It's okay, baby, but come on now. You don't want to miss the movies do you?" He left the bathroom. I toweled off, removed my shower cap and began getting dressed. But first, I checked myself one more time in the mirror. Though the glass was somewhat fogged, I could still make out my fullness. My hard, proud breasts, sticking straight out, nipples pointed even further, perhaps almost another 3/4 inch from the tit itself. My green eyes traveled downward past my flat tummy to the reddish gold hair framing my pussy. Patrick doesn't allow me to maintain a full bush of hair there anymore. Only a fine coat of closely cropped fur covered my snatch, and it was too short to hide my pubes, my lips and my clit. All was there to view, to penetrate with eyes, fingers, cock! The hair was more for cosmetics than for protection. Besides, my pussy never sought protection or mercy. It is the pussy of a whore, and whores deserve no quarter when it comes to fucking! I slipped my leg into the first stocking and attached it to the pink garter belt I'd already put on. I love the feel of silk stockings. As I smoothed it over my leg, my fingers grazed the soft skin of my upper thigh, and a chill ran down my spine. I knew I could come again, with little to no effort. Instead, I fastened the second stocking to the other garter strap. My pussy was framed now, long garter straps reaching across my thighs, between my legs, and biting into the top of the stockings. And they would cut into the back of my legs if I sat too long on them. That would not be a problem. I knew I'd not be sitting long. More than likely, I would spend the rest of my evening either on my knees or on my back. Movies are like that! Yes, they are. I stepped into my dress. It was pinkish-peach, and fastened from the front. There were twelve buttons up the centre of the outfit. It was cut low, but not too low, in the bodice, and the back was respectable. It came to the top of my knees, maybe a half-inch above. All buttoned, the dress looked rather decent from a distance. But with a few buttons undone, and upon closer inspection, a person could see that I wore nothing over either my breasts or my pussy! If I stood in such a way as to have light behind me, my entire shape was patently clear to any eyes fixed on me. I had watched many men walk into walls, or trip over their own feet as they watched me enter a building on a sunny day wearing this dress. And I would always stop right in the doorway, looking for some imaginary something in my purse, acting as if I didn't know that the men were seeing the same thing a man usually sees just before he fucks me. They could see my entire figure, pussy and all! Completing the outfit was my cream colored pumps. The heels were a bit over four inches tall, and they shaped my already well-shaped calves as I walked. Patrick liked these shoes. He called them my "fuck-me, fuck-me" pumps. And he was probably right. I had no idea of how many men had rammed their cocks into my pussy while these shoes were still on my feet! The image was perfect. At first glance, I looked like a wife. With a bit more study, and a few buttons undone, I looked like a fun date. And with one or two more buttons, and the right attitude, I looked like a bought and paid for woman! Before this night was over, I knew how I'd finally look. Before this night was over, I would look, act, talk, and suck like a slut! I could hardly wait to get out of the room! I exited the bath, and Patrick was waiting. "You look absolutely beautiful!" "Why, thank you. How kind of you to say that." "Sweetie, I'm a lot of things, but kind ain't one of 'em. Let's go!" We were on our way to the movies. My husband and me, about to engage in the normal kind of things all married couples do. Not! To Be Continued... Contributed by dutchboy@ballistic.com