I imagined the scene as if I were in one of the beds positioned a few yards down the beach. The sounds of a couple in deep passion catching my attention. Guttural growls and loud groans. The sounds emanated from a female source but the energy had a masculine aggression. I look over and, through the moonlight and incandescent lights dimly streaming from the resort, could see her clear enough. She was perched upright, back slightly arched, her tanned pert little boobs, viewed from the side, reached forward into the warm night air with a soft glisten of sweat capturing a faint powdering of sand. She leaned her head back and rocked her strong hips in synch with the unseen lover below her.
I watched, captivated, as a strong pair of hands reached up and forcefully grabbed her tits. She growled again, louder this time, indifferent to the attention she was calling. She rocked harder, driving the scene. The muscles of her legs lifting her up before driving her back down. She was clearly the one fucking whoever was beneath her. It was also clear that the unseen person had found the sexiest of needles in the resort’s haystack.
Of course, the scene was only mine to imagine. A potent mix of her words and my imagination in her retelling. Less than 24 hours later she brought me to the same beachside bed she had shared with her lover. The energy still clinging to the salt air-infused fabrics of the canopy billowing in the soft breeze. She laid back under the same dim lighting with the same surf crashing just yards beyond our feet and the same warm breeze drifting off of the Caribbean’s late summer surface. Perhaps it was the same late-night seagull squawking in the distance.
We laid back in silence for a few minutes. She gently stoked my hair and my chest as she, silently, relived the night before to herself. Perhaps judging just how much she should tell me and which details she would reserve to keep in her own secret lock box. She looked into my eyes, seemingly set on her story, and guided my head downwards as her legs slowly opened.
It is often that in these moments, the one before I start kissing her, that I pause and just enjoy the vision for a few heartbeats. I like to soak in the weigh of the moment, never taking for granted that this beautiful and sexy woman, the woman that is my wife, was allowing me the privilege of seeing her…there. Sharing her everything with me. I paused, as I always do, to just feel the charges of eroticism build in those moments before I slide closer and gently part her lips with the gently glide of my nose.
But this time I must have paused a bit longer than usual. I was captivated by simply looking at my wife’s pussy. She is impossibly smooth, perfectly symmetrical, and just a little shy. Yet I swore there was a new glow about it and as familiar as the view was, something was different. It seemed more mysterious than usual. Even more captivating and intoxicating than ever before. Like I was seeing her again for the first time. I stared at her and breathed in her aroma deeply.
She reached down to pet my head and spoke over the hum of the waves, speaking for the first time.
“Are you thinking about how just last night another man stared at that pussy? Your wife’s pussy?”
She startled me with her unusual frankness. She doesn’t usually talk like that! But I dared not look up at her. She read my mind as if I was speaking aloud. That was exactly the thought that was tearing through my consciousness. I was transfixed. Imaging myself looking though his eyes. Soaking in the splendor of the view he had enjoyed as she opened her legs for him for the first time.
I had pictured them more or less groping in the dark when she first told me the story. But here I was, where he was the night before, and although the resort lights were dim, the light reflected off of the ocean and I could see her private bits clear as day. Not grouping in the dark at all. The softness of the skin at the top of the thigh was clearly viable to the eye. As were the soft folds as her legs ended and the gentle slope upwards began. Her lips just the slightest bit open and the warm moisture dewing on their subtle ridges.
I answered her question in the affirmative. I was busted. But I didn’t take my eyes from her. I imagined him having this same experience. How his eyes must have feasted on this same view. How she allowed it, how she gave him this experience. How it’s an experience he will always have to savor.
My cock grew harder at the thought. My brain a swirl of emotions pulsing through my chest and limbs. It was not jealousy that I felt, as perhaps I expected, or humiliation. It was far from those. Far even from mere arousal. It was desire I was experiencing. Unabashed and unmanaged desire. The more I imagined experiencing her through his eyes the hotter the prongs of the desire burned.
We have had this conversation before. As my wife, we are familiar with the concept of her being “mine”. And of course, we live most days with that traditional set up. But we both know that when the moment is right, she is not “mine” at all. And neither of us would want it any other way. That was not “my” pussy I was lost in at the moment. It was clearly hers. Hers to do with as she wishes, or to do nothing with at all. It is hers to show it to, or share it with, whomever she likes. Sometimes I’m fortunate for it to be me. Sometimes it’s another. And there is little I find as excruciating erotic as when she decides to show her pussy to others. Whether it’s a quick flash at a nudist club or full-blown encounter like last night, I have found little more arousing than her letting other men see what, according to all paternalistic traditions of matrimony, should be just for me.
The key, of course, being “her” as the initiating actor. Seeing her take control of her own sexuality. Her body. Her rules for the sex life she wants to experience. Shredding the proper roles expected of married women in society and embracing a better way. When she does this, when she chooses to let other men see her in that manner, she radiates with power. She transforms into someone I barely recognize but immediately respect. The simple symbolism of the gesture, letting another see her…there, ripping her control over that part of her body from a society that works relentlessly to control it, redefines female sexuality and I feel my pupils dilate from a dark pressure deep within.
In short, it fucking turns me on.
These thoughts sparked through me as I leaned into her and tasted her again as if it were the first time. She exhaled on my tongue’s contact and her muscles relaxed into the mattress below her. She is usually not a vocal lover, but that night her words came freely. She teased me and taunted me as I enjoyed my turn between her legs. And her words were a bit shocking. Who was this woman? Where did she learn to talk like that? Her newfound empowerment drove me crazy as her words pushed me over the edge of arousal to a new dimension we had yet to explore.
She made sure I knew that he had tasted the same part of her just the night before. That he too enjoyed the intoxicant of her arousal. She drew my attention to her perfect, petite feet as she lifted them on the air. I looked up, momentarily moving my attention from her now swollen lips, and took a moment to appreciate their perfect curves, watermelon-painted toes, and the delicate anklet setting off the scene with a flirty flourish.
Again, she read my mind. Again, she surprised me with the naughtiness of her dialogue. Again, my desire jumped to a new level.
“Are you picturing them up in the air?” She teased. “With him between my legs?”.
Shit. Busted again. It was exactly what I was imagining! Her amazingly sexy, petite feet pointing upwards into the tropical night, swaying in delayed motion with the rhythm of their hips. It was all I could muster to imagine. Had I not focused my imagination on just those airborne feet, had I allowed my mind’s eye to travel down her strong legs to the details below them, I may have came right there with just the thought.
I’m sure she felt me vibrating with excitement as I turned my attention back to my enjoyment of her perfect little pussy. A pussy that, as she kept retelling the story, was evidently quite busy, and naughty, of late. A felt her body stiffen and her hips slide forward the slightest amount. I tried to keep a pace with my tongue as she let out a slight groan and came on my face. I was prepared for a deluge of her juices to splash across my face as an orgasm ripped down towards me. But, as she pointed out, she had been busy. The usual waterfall replaced by more of a water fountain.
She laid back again as I slowed, but never stopped, my licking to allow her to catch her breath. Then she started speaking again. And again, saying things I had never imagined coming from her mouth. She told me about all of the orgasms she enjoyed the night before. How she may still be empty from the encounter. How her pussy gripped his thick cock as he slowly brought himself to the edge of slipping out before sliding back into her. How, each time he pulled out to change positions or angles, she would erupt in a torrent of orgasmic release. She showed how the mattress was still marked by the flood of her pleasure; an uneven circle of her squirt still not fully dry in the tropical humidity. She had lost count of the times he made her cum even before she took over and flipped on top of him.
I licked away, desperate to keep up with her story, desperate to taste her arousal. I slid my nose gently along her slit and covered my cheeks and forehead in her juices. I was lost for even coherent thoughts as she talked about how she rode him. How she drove the show, leaning back, and rocking on his cock until he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of her wanton little body. She took what she wanted with no apologies to him, to me, or to society. Another couple, a few beds down the beach, even stopped their own dance to watch her silhouette in the moonlight capturing all of the passion that the night had to offer.
I just listened to her story while I kept licking. I kept my hands to myself, or off of myself, knowing that at this state of arousal even the slightest brush of my impossibly hard dick could set it off. Her words painted the perfect picture of the details of her night. The tone of her voice added the color commentary that told me how it made her feel.
As I listened, and imagined, and licked, it struck me again, although not for the first time, how my wife is truly amazing. And how lucky I am. Watching her evolution from a woman in her twenties struggling to balance her sexuality and desires with the burdensome yoke of a conservating upbringing designed to suppress women from reaching their potential to this woman before me now. Solidly in her thirties and soaring free from the expectations of others. Embracing, perhaps for one of the first times in her life, what only she wants. Unafraid of judgement from the unseen eyes of how she is “supposed” to act. Unburdened from any expectations, even those of her husband, other than her pursuit of her pleasure in this moment. It was truly breathtaking to behold, to see the woman I love reach out to life and fearlessly claim what she deserves.
My mind wandered back to the earlier parts of the previous day. Before her trip to this beachside bed. She had just dressed for the evening dance. The theme at the resort was “lingerie and ties”. She laid back on the bed, make up immaculate, dressed in a short, red teddy that was modest on top but showed off her muscular and perfectly shaped legs. Her arousal was filling the room as she sat there quietly playing on her phone. Then she propped up on her elbows and filled me in on her thoughts.
“I think I’m going to have intercourse with someone tonight”.
That was all she said. Just a plain statement of intention. No conversation. No asking for permission. She was just letting me know what she wanted for the evening.
I was taken a little aback at first. Who was this person in my hotel room? At the same time, a thrill raced down my spine and I felt a kick in shorts. It was so wanton. So unlike her. So mind blowing to hear her actively crave something that taboo. There had been multiple men flirting with her at the pool all day, each letting their intentions be known. She went on to confess that she didn’t know which one she would choose, but she’d like to be with one of them.
I think I managed to mumble some sort of supportive response, but she wasn’t asking for my opinion. And that made it so much sexier! Lost for words, I think I fumbled whatever was in my hands as I felt my face grow flush with boldness of her proclamation. We had talked about this. About how I encouraged her to follow her passions. We had talked about her not needing a “hall pass”, since the very idea was heavy with the connotation of a man letting her do what she wished with her body. I never want to place conditions or expectations on the freedoms of her choices. She knew that I was fully supported of the idea of her taking what she wanted within her sex life. And that the very idea aroused me. She has been with other men since we’ve been together, just never with such an unnegotiated statement of intent beforehand. I was unavoidably hungry with arousal for her as she got up to head out the dance club.
Back on the beach, she remained in rare form, laying back, I assume eyes closed, perhaps remembering the night before. She rarely allows me to spend that much time between her legs and sure enough she reached down and gestured for me to lay next to her. We laid close, our hands gently exploring each other’s bodies. Exploring the comfortable familiarity of forms with new intent. Her hands gently stoked my frustrated erection with a feather touch that caused it to jump and shiver. But the delicateness of her caress didn’t mean the end of her teasing. Her dirty talk continued as it was my turn to close my eyes and just feel the light strokes that accompanied her words.
“You looked at it, didn’t you?” she asked. I knew the context without clarification. Earlier that day, the day after the night before, we were all in the resort’s clothing optional pool. No words were spoken about among the three of us about what had happened, and we were all cool with the silence. But he did emerge from the pool once to refill his drink fully erect from whatever was happening beneath the surface. And she was right, I did look.
“Did you imagine it sliding in and out of me?” It was more of a tease than a question. An opportunity to paint a picture. But she was right. I was busted again. I didn’t stare, but I did look. And she captured my thoughts perfectly. I couldn’t help but see it and think that that was the cock my wife fucked last night. Somehow she knew it. The thought in the pool was a passing observation. A little thrill that I didn’t dwell on in the public space. But now, alone on the beach bed, she drew my attention to it again. She asked if I liked seeing it. I was honest. I did.
I liked everything about it. Everything about the last 24 hours. I absolutely love that she’s not only willing to have actual intercourse with other men, but it’s what she’s after when she’s in that mood. It’s a thrill to know she truly enjoys the act of sex and it’s how she most wants to be pleasured. Nothing showy. Nothing to entertain others. She just likes to fuck. So she goes all in and fucks. Her rules. Her results. I find deep arousal and a sense of absolute pride about this. There is no pussyfooting around here. No blowjobs by the pool for attention. No teasing. No primary focus on the man’s pleasure. No laying back and being pleasured. No gentle and romantic sex. She’s there for the real deal. When she makes up her mind, there is no doubt that she fucks. And she leaves me in awe.
She went back to describing her night. Lurid details, some of which she acted out for me. Demonstrations of how she climbed on top of him. Descriptions of how she played with his balls and teased his head with her tongue. She even described his noises and words. How tight he said she was. I looked at her anew, my passion for her matching when we first started dating. Her strength and confidence radiating the darkened beach.
“Do you like that your wife has a tight pussy? Do you like that other men know it too?”
Who was this woman? And can I marry her all over again?
The evolution of her being with other men alone, as in without me present, is a recent huge and wonderful step. This was only her second Hotwife encounter without me either watching or participating. It wasn’t clear that either of us would get to that stage when our journey began, yet here we were. An unforeseen destination whose arrival is welcomed by us both. The word again is pride. As in proud that she can simply give in to whatever wants she wants in the heat of a moment without having a hesitation about what I may be thinking. Like any stag, of course I love to watch. But having the courage to be alone allows her to give her passions freely and be the person she wants to be in that moment. No voice in the back of her head wondering how I feel. No annoying instinct to not truly just let go out of concern for my judgement. I get the feeling that privacy enhances the intimacy and I’m happy to help facilitate that experience for her.
We eventually got to the point in the evening where my reclamation of her body seemed inevitable. I wanted badly to retake my place between her legs and make my wife mine again. But she had other plans. She was still too sore for anything like what I had in mind. Two hours of rough fucking will do that to a girl. She let me kiss and lick her, which was all she was up for that night. But she didn’t leave me hanging. Her light brushes of my now impossibly engorged erection converted into a tight grip and purposeful strokes. As she sensed me racing towards the point of no return, she picked up the pace and whispered one last little tease into my ear.
“Your still not the last dick to be inside me,” she smiled.
With those final words, I buried my head hard against the soft skin of her chest and erupted into her hand. The orgasm tore through me with the heat of the fires she had stoked. She smiled, kissed my forehead, and cuddled against my chest until my breathing normalized.
We laid there quietly listening to the gentle caress of the waves against the sand. A peace settled across the beach bed. That night felt as intimate as any love we had made. Another night would soon come when the technical reclaiming of her body would occur, but that night we reclaimed each other’s souls and discovered a new level of connection we had never felt before.
I held my Hotwife for a while afterwards. My racing mind slowed, and I just stared at her beautiful form in the moonlight. I thought about how my every fantasy involves her and how she makes all of those fantasies come true. I wondered how I got so lucky in life and love. But mostly I was just in awe of this amazing woman in my arms. So familiar yet still somehow just a little different. A subtle leveling up in her confidence and sexuality. She managed to transform into even more woman than ever before. I loved her for it. I tried to distill these thoughts in a kiss before picking up our towel and ordering a well-deserved pizza from the 24-hour bar.
Our Desire Mexico experience - a long but true Hotwife tale
Re: Our Desire Mexico experience - a long but true Hotwife tale
A wonderfull tale, extremely erotic.
I loved it.
I loved it.