A Touch Of Mink
Keywords: Mink, Touch, Of, A,
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It seemed like an innocent enough request.
"Honey, join me tonight – please? You made me so horny, I can't stand it. I need something really… "wicked"."
Before you get your nose out of joint, 'innocent' has a different meaning for us than most people. It's not like I had never participated in one of Sable's 'booty calls'. Nor would it be the first time something I had done "precipitated" one of her cravings. I love to watch my beautiful wife fucking one of her studs and she adores having me do so. If that night's bedmate doesn't want an audience, or if one of us is not in the mood to play our little game, she shares everything with me afterwards. That is how our relationship stays strong. This Saturday night was to be one of our 'special' nights. I would be bound to a chair at my wife's bedside, helpless, watching a big, muscular, hung-like-a-horse stud fuck the love of my life stupid. We were "both" looking forward to it with eager anticipation.
***
My enchantress was 'dating' men professionally when I first met her. In fact, that is how we met. I was eighteen, stupid, awkward around women and alone. I was out cruising the streets one night. I had no clue what I was looking for, nor what to do about it if I found it. I was just… looking. She was brazenly strolling out in the street, hustling dates with her girlfriends. Even then, she was the most sensual siren I had ever laid eyes on. The moment she leaned into my window, flashed that mega-watt smile, and asked if I was "looking for a date", I was completely enthralled.
I had her – rather, she had me – right there in the front seat of my Mercedes. The sensation of her pierced tongue on my cock was indescribably intense. I came like there was no tomorrow - and was in a surreal, blissful fog the rest of the evening. Sometimes I think I still feel the ripples of that first magnificent orgasm. I had never before met a woman who so completely captivated me from first sight. She was a bit older and a whole lot more worldly-wise. Those were just two more really attractive things about her. It must sound completely insane, but I wasn't willing to let her go, even for a minute. I offered her a totally ridiculous amount of money to spend the night with me and she accepted. I know, I know: "Never bring strays home". I couldn't imagine "not" bringing her home. That was three years ago. She has been with me ever since.
Did I say Sable is "beautiful"? Words cannot do her justice. In addition to her stunning facial features and rich, glistening, chocolate-toned skin, she possesses a dazzling, pearl-white smile and statuesque, magnificently well-endowed body. She has had work done, of course; the best money can buy. There have been other piercings, too; nipple, navel and clitoral rings, plus a 'triangle' through the nerve bundle behind her clit. When she is fucked, the sensations come from the front and rear of her love button, driving her insane with pleasure. My lover firmly believes you can never have too much of a good thing. Who am I to argue? I was pleased to sign the checks and dote on her through her recovery from the various surgeries and piercings. The results have been breath-taking. I could never understand the wags who find fault with making a good thing better – in Sable's case, bounteously, supernaturally better.
The love of my life was not about to change her ways just because we became husband and wife. While Sable no longer dates for money, she has used her other-worldly beauty and killer curves to attract and bed an endless array of attractive, muscular, well-endowed boy toys. Why do I put up with it? What should I do, kick her out? I could not even "conceive" of never again having her in my life. Try to understand. I adore the very idea of Sable fucking other men. My reasons are complex. I am not even certain "I" understand them, but I will try to explain.
I suppose you have already guessed I am not one of those hunks of beefcake that makes my sweetheart's eyes glaze over. She is actually taller than I – at least, she is when she wears a pair of 'Come Fuck Me' skyscraper stiletto heels, which she has every day as long as I have known her. I wouldn't dream of complaining. Those heels make her long legs look sensational. I used to tip the scales at a 'hefty' one hundred forty-five pounds, but I recently lost about ten pounds of that. Sable charitably describes my physique as "sleek". My manly attributes have always been equally unimpressive; certainly not what my wife prefers.
OK, I admit it; I am a wimp. It means a lot to me that Sable get what she craves – what I cannot give her. So, I allow her her men – and watch while she does them. We stumbled upon the elements of tying me to the chair at their side and verbal humiliation by accident and discovered they were pleasurable for both of us. At the same time, watching my wife do another man is voyeuristic Valhalla, like having my very own personalized porno show, live and on-demand, whenever I want to tune in. Do I feel threatened by it all? Well, yes, a little. I just wish… I'm not really sure "what" I wish.
How does a guy like me compete with dozens of Mr. Olympia wannabes? None of them are worth thirty million dollars, liquid, plus what I have tied up in the 'family business'. That's a "lot" more. I made my money the old-fashioned way; I inherited it. I paid a steep price, too. My mover-and-shaker bank-president father died of cancer. As much as she loved me, my mother never overcame his loss and swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. I spent the year after her death padding around a big, well-furnished, but otherwise-empty home, alone. Richie Rich, poor little rich boy? That was me. Then, by whoever's grace, I found that one special person to share it all with.
Make no mistake; Sable adores the pampered, privileged lifestyle. She certainly cleans up nice; it's easy when you have money. She is intelligent, articulate, warm, funny, the perfect companion and soul mate – when she wants to be. The street-wise slut in her runs deep, as evidenced by her provocative makeup and hairstyle, wickedly-long, curving fingernails, and lurid, explicit wardrobe and jewelry. When she has her head into that mindset, she lapses into the slurring, sing-song, profanity-laced jargon of the streets from which she came. She exudes a wicked, dangerous sensuality from every pore, like the scent of expensive perfume.
I'm crazy in love with that side of her and she knows it. It's hard to tell which side of her is reality and which is affectation. Perhaps they are both real; two sides of the same coin. She has me wrapped around her little finger and I know it. She could take me to the cleaners, take everything I have, leave me in her dust and make me love her for it, but she doesn't. Sable enjoys my companionship, our conversations and sharing, caring relationship. Oh, yeah – I also have a gift for long, slow, sensual, deep oral sex that sends her right to Mars and keeps her there. None of her boy toys do that for her, and we "both" know it.
In case you hadn't already figured it out, our relationship – both personal and sexual – is complex and anything but plain-vanilla. Our sex games are the ultimate, perverted expression of our love for each other. Sable adores sharing her wicked, adulterous love life with me, cuckolding me openly and notoriously, flaunting it in my face, shaming me with my less-than-impressive attributes, knowing I love her all the more for it.
It amused her to teach me to appreciate the differences in her lovers' attributes. Length was only the beginning. There was also the thickness of the shaft, whether it was straight or curved, the size and shape of the bulbous head and the size of his testicles. Sable was a self-proclaimed "size queen". She loved 'em really big. She also appreciated the seemingly endless diversity of thicknesses and shapes. Under her loving tutelage, I learned to do the same.
One of her favorite teases was to take me out to a nightclub with her while she hunted for fresh meat. My loving wife was not ashamed to visually and tactilely examine a prospect's equipment right in front of me. If he measured up, she would grab him by the hand and bid me to follow them. She would take her prospect to some reasonably private place, whether inside or outside the club, and try him out on the spot. If his performance was up to her exacting standards, only then would she take him home with us.
I observe in rapt fascination, like a train wreck in progress that I cannot tear my eyes from. Watching these stallions take my adulterous slut, use her, have their way with her, and seeing the glazed, stupefied look of utter sexual satisfaction in her eyes is an industrial-strength turn-on for me. The humiliation of knowing I could never hope to satisfy her that way makes it all the sweeter.
The rules had always been simple and clear-cut; look, but don't touch (or talk) while she was in a scene. She might talk to me if she wished, telling me how much of a man her lover "du jour" is, how well he satisfied her, compared to my pathetic excuse for a cock. Her lover, or "lovers" (Sable isn't beyond bedding two hunks at once), usually got a laugh at her wimp cuckold being forced to watch while a 'real man' filled the wimp's slut wife beyond full.
Oh, I could 'touch' plenty – later on, after the guy had had his fill and left. Then, I was invited –commanded - to join her in bed. She further humiliated me by insisting I fuck her cum-laden pussy with my little cock, knowing it is a useless gesture for both of us. My manhood barely made contact with her stretched, slippery hole. She would then tell me she could barely feel me inside her, that I was only good for eating the cum from her pussy – and eat her, I did.
Over the course of our relationship, I had made a point to learn to pleasure her orally as she pleasured me. My delighted wife had been more than happy to help, patiently teaching me all the tricks and techniques she used to drive a sex partner wild.
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Keywords: Mink, Touch, Of, A,