Eating out
We married shortly after leaving university and have been together ever since, with our golden anniversary now well behind us. Our sex life had followed a predictable course from the initial constant excitement stage when we explored each other’s body and mind, through childbirth and early parenthood with the obvious negative effects on passions, and a resurrection of heavy action once the kids were old enough to go to school, when I started to see that my wife had a real, though usually well-concealed, kinky streak. Even then, the demands of parenting and careers for both of us meant that our desires had to be satisfied in just a few hot hours each weekend.
By the time we entered our fifties, I was working away all week; the children had their own places and my wife had a job that she enjoyed. I got into the habit of bringing her a present of expensive and sexy underwear each week and we both enjoyed the displays of each new item and what inevitably followed. It felt as if we both knew that this was our time to ensure that there were not going to be any regrets later that we hadn’t tried all the things we wanted to. Oral sex became as big a part of bedtimes as fucking, with both of us loving the taste of each other and ourselves; teasing her big nipples and gently slapping her superb tits was no longer enough to give her what she fancied, so now she issued instructions to “really hurt me”. The punishments, which she wanted for “being such a slut” involved slapping her breasts really sharply, then fitting pegs on her nipples and tweaking them until she pretended to cry for mercy. In fact, it made her as wet and filthy as hell. She asked me to slap her faster and faster between her legs as well as putting several fingers inside her and frigging her until she squirted, which she did regularly and to a remarkable degree of volume and distance.
At first she pretended to be unaware that this was happening, until one night the evidence could not be ignored and we agreed together that we actually loved it. She told me to find a position kneeling in front of her where I could both finger her cunt as much as we both wanted and make her squirt all over my face, which she would then lick clean, becoming even more turned on with every lick, every taste of her own wetness. There were nights when she wanted to tease me and stopped me doing that to her, telling me it would have to wait until we had another man in bed with us; he could then use his fingers to make her squirt onto my face and mouth, after he’d fucked her in front of me.
The wish to be punished, to be hurt, was mutual. In the early part of each sex session, I loved to go behind her as she parted the cheeks of her arse, then smell her hole and tell her what a turn-on it was. This gave her the chance to tell me how disgusting I was and slap my hard cock as a punishment/reward. On the steamiest nights, usually after a meal out with her wearing her latest undies and telling me midway through the meal how wet she was, I’d go further than smelling her arse and commenting on it; I would lick her hole and, not being told to stop, then push my tongue right into her, which gave me the chance to tell her what a fucking filthy bitch she was and her to tell me that she knew that I would do anything she asked, no matter how dirty, no matter how long it took.
I changed jobs and found something local, which meant I was at home with my wife each evening and night. We both realised that this new arrangement was reducing the excitement of the weekend sex we had looked forward to and so enjoyed. Right through all our years together, sex had been just the two of us, although we had shared the standard fantasies of her taking on someone else and me cleaning both of them afterwards. We’d talked of orgies and she imagined how many men she would take on during such a session — surprisingly many, she thought! Such conversations still provided us with something of a spark in bed, but we both knew that the excitement levels were falling and sex was in danger of becoming a chore.
One evening, we sat, each with a glass of wine and tried to address what was wrong and what we could do about it. We struggled to get past each stating that we missed the hot sessions and wanted to get back to that level of pleasure. She reminded me that a big part of the excitement had come from telling each other what we would like to try, even if that involved other people and both of us knowing it wasn’t going to happen, just fantasy. I told her that her body and her words had always driven me wild, but the real kicker was when she revealed the really kinky, dirty side of her make-up.
“I thought that perhaps it was that stuff that was putting you off now I’m getting older,” she said. I assured her that nothing could be further from the truth.
I told her that I loved her acting like a slut in what she wore, the words she used and the things she asked me to do to her; the dirtier the better.
“Then tell me what you want us to try,” she told me.
I felt that it was now or never. I told her that whenever we were in the bathroom together getting ready for bed, I loved watching her pee and that I wanted her to stop wiping herself with toilet paper and let me, even make me, clean her with my tongue. The silence stretched on and on and I thought I’d blown it.
“I would have to be a really dirty slut to do that,” she protested “and you would be very, very kinky.”
Realising that she had not said no, I stood up and drew her to me, feeling both breasts and her hard nipples.
“You are a slut and the more you show it, the better I like it. I will be just as kinky as you want me to be, any time,” I said.
The next weekend we went out to dinner and she excused herself to go to the restaurant loo. As she passed my chair on her return, she put her fingers under my nose and rubbed them together. The smell of her, of hot wet cunt, was unmistakeable. I was speechless but she wasn’t.
“I’m absolutely soaking,” she whispered.
“Why’s that?” I asked her.
“Because I want you so badly — it’s just dripping out of me.”
This was in a full restaurant and my wife, my beautiful wife, was telling me that she was soaking between her legs because she wanted sex so badly.
“Do you want to stay — or go?” I asked.
“Ooh, I think I could manage dessert and coffee; can’t you? After all, I’m enjoying how I feel down there.”
By now I was convinced that the people on the tables near us must be able to smell her; because of what she had done with her fingers under my nose as she went past me a few minutes earlier, I still had the wonderful aroma of her thrilling me as we sat there pretending to behave ourselves. It felt as if we both knew that this evening was already, and would continue to be, something special.
We got home and I reached for her; just a brief kiss then she told me to go upstairs with her. We were both still fully dressed but in the bathroom she hawked her skirt up around her waist, pushed her knickers down to her ankles and peed heavily into the bowl. Instinct took over as she reached for a piece of paper to wipe herself.
“No,” I said “let me.”
As she stood up, I knelt before her and realised my dream of cleaning her tasty wet cunt with my tongue. Within a minute we were stripped and in bed, fingers, lips and tongues working on each other.
She told me what a bad man I was to do what I’d done and asked me what I would have done if she had not quite finished peeing when I started licking her.
I told her I had no idea but I would love to find out, so next time, she should save me some.
“Only a real bitch or dirty slut would do that to a man,” she said.
“And that’s just what you are.”
“No…it’s what you try to make me be,” she answered.
I told her I could prove to her just what a filthy slut she was.
“How?” she asked.
I told her that if she wanted me to lick and suck her cunt, then work her with my fingers until she squirted across the room, before finishing her off with my mouth, she would have to ask for it like a slut would.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“A real slut would tell me Suck my cunt – just those three words,” I told her.
She lay there, looking at me in a way I hadn’t seen before and again I wondered if I’d blown it. Then she opened her legs wide and held her lips apart.
“Suck my cunt,” she instructed me “suck my big, filthy, fucking, soaking cunt, then fill it with cum and suck it some more.”
I did as I was told and we never looked back.