First Date – Part II


“Sure?” she enquired. She said this into my mouth as we kissed. My cock jerked in my jeans. “I was with Joel only half an hour ago.” “I can smell his aftershave,” I muttered. The combined smells emanating from her were heady and erotic and driving me crazy with lust for her. “And I can smell your sex. You smell fucking gorgeous,” I mouthed into her wet and open lips. “I want you as you are, right now, in our bed.” I began to steer her towards our stairs and picked up her handbag as she led the way. On the way up I casually pulled one of her stockings from her handbag and held it to my nose and mouth and inhaled deeply. I could smell the mix of nylon, perfume and the instantly recognisable odour of her bubble bath from the night before. My cock was almost at bursting point. Had he smelt her numerous aromas, as I was now doing? Had he appreciated the effort to which she had gone in preparing herself for her date with him? I couldn’t wait to find out. I watched her shapely ass and legs as she climbed the stairs ahead of me, my heart and groin full of lust, jealousy and desire as Alison opened the door to our bedroom. She turned her head and looked at me. “Okay, darling?” she smiled. “How do you want me?” “Please sit on the bed,” I whispered. She perched on the corner and I slid on beside her, to her right. I nuzzled in to her bare neck and again the smell of her faded perfume hit me like a ton of bricks. I remembered our conversation of last night when she chose it, deliberately choosing my favourite scent to wear for a date with someone other than her husband. I continued to lick her neck and soft shoulder as my right hand crept around and stroked her warm breast through her dress, the dress that I had helped her select. I felt her nipple harden at my touch and she leaned further into me. “Did you have a nice evening?” I whispered in her ear. “Yes, I did actually. I was very nervous to begin gaziantep rus escort with but not nearly as nervous as Joel. I don’t think he could believe that I had actually turned up and spent the first twenty minutes repeating himself about how lovely I looked and how lucky he was to be out with me.” “Lucky indeed,” I whispered. “Out with another man’s gorgeous wife. My gorgeous wife.” “I felt pretty awkward to begin with honey, but I soon began to relax and enjoy myself.” “Where did you go?” I continued. “To a little country pub about twenty minutes from here,” she replied. We had a couple of drinks, just to break the ice I guess and once we got talking we both relaxed and began to enjoy each other’s company. I had spoken to Joel of course at work, but now we were able to chat freely about our lives and why we were there, together.” “What did you tell him? I mean your reason for being there with him. Married, and out with a young black man?” “Well he kind of already knew of course as he had asked me out weeks ago, remember. He knew of the conversations I had had with the girls at work and so he knew that I was prepared for a date with him that would most likely result in sex. He isn’t as shy as he makes out and after his initial nervousness he was actually quite in control of the evening.” “How did you feel about that though?” “It felt quite sexy actually.” “Sexy?” “Yes. Being out with a handsome black guy, twenty years younger than you can do wonders for a woman’s confidence you know,” she purred, stroking my thigh at the same time. “I knew that lots of people were clearly wondering about us, you know, as a couple; me being older than him; he being black and me white; me with a wedding ring on and him without.” I mentally pictured the scene in the quiet country pub perhaps only ten miles from our home. What if she had met someone we knew? What if she was recognised, without her seeing someone we knew and they shared that they had seen her with a friend, or family? Then what? My cock ached at the thought of her openly dating a black guy in our close neighbourhood. “I could tell that he was excited about being with me too,” she continued. “He had a look and a manner about him that just made it so easy to get comfortable. He continually touched my hands and arms, constantly praised how I looked and how “hot” I was for a woman in her early fifties. I think you were right when you told me way back that a young black guy would feel like he’d dropped the jackpot, he really made me think that was how he was feeling. It excited me to feel so wanted and “hot” as he put it, to a younger man.” “Do I not make you feel that way?” I tentatively ventured, my ego bruised and my stomach churning to hear the answer. “I guess it’s different, honey. It just felt different, being taken out by a younger guy, a guy who obviously desired me very strongly and who was new to me, fresh to me and of course, very black.” As she was saying this her hand had moved up to my straining cock. She stroked her hand over me, pressing and squeezing my erection. She turned her head to mine and pressed her lips against my mouth. I was gasping, my heart thumping in my chest. I was so turned on, and she knew it. “Is hubby just a teeny bit jealous huh? Did his naughty wife go out and leave him all frustrated whilst she was out with a young stud? Did poor hubby spend the night with a hard on, trying to work out where I was and what I was doing?” She continued to rub my cock through my jeans and I was fighting to not come. Her lips and tongue in mine as she continued to breath the words into me. “Did his mind fill with regret and anger, angst and desire at what she was doing? Was his sweet, private and faithful little wife out on a date with a handsome black man?” I could barely utter a sound and a groan emanated from somewhere deep in my constricted throat. “Yessssss,” I hissed. “And you want to know what we did and what I felt, don’t you darling. After all, this was all your idea and fantasy from the beginning wasn’t it?” “Oh god, yesss,” I managed to groan at her. “Why don’t you get undressed and I will tell you all about it. Would you like that?” she teased. Like an obedient little puppy, I stood up and ripped off my shirt and jeans. Boxer shorts and socks quickly followed. I stood before her, my erection painful and sore as she lay back on the bed. Her eyes were half closed and she drew her knees up slightly and I could see under her dress all the way to her smooth mound and the narrow strip of pubes she liked to retain. The mound I had helped her prepare just over twelve hours ago. I remembered that she had said her knickers were in her handbag. She had never even bothered to put them back on to come home. That thought alone had my cock twitching and dripping pre-cum. I lay down beside her and we kissed. Deep, loving kisses between a husband and wife. Lovers’ kisses; the sole domain of a couple devoted to each other over many years and the kind of kisses reserved only for each other. “Joel is a great kisser,” she mumbled into my mouth. Her hot breath and the words, designed and perfectly timed to humiliate and torment me, worked their magic. I groaned loudly back at her. “I don’t really like French tongue kissing as you know, but Joel insisted I do it to him and eventually I began to enjoy the feeling of his lips and tongue devouring my mouth. He seemed to like it when I tongued all around the inside of his mouth too.” I shuddered at the thought of her doing this for him and not for me. I was angry, jealous and fevered with lust at her doing so – for him. Alison leaned over and took my cock in her left hand and stroked me gently from base to tip. She leaned into her bedside drawer and brought out the bottle of lubrication we liked to use and poured some into her hand.

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