Thursday , May 19 2022

My Wifes First Threesome

It had been about six years since my wife and I had bought our house, and our guest bedroom was in need of a good painting. So, I hired a local painter to take care of the job. The guy had been recommended to me by a friend, and after doing a quick appraisal, he told me he could take care of the room in one day. “No problem,” I said, “we’ll be here all Saturday.”

Around noon on Saturday, the painter — Rob was his name — arrived at the house. My wife, Emily, greeted him at the door, and showed him up to the guest room while I took care of some work in the den. After leading him upstairs, Emily returned to the den to join me, sitting on my lap as I looked over some business reports. Nonchalantly, I grazed my hand across her leg, rubbing her thigh and continuing my reading. Emily was wearing this tight little miniskirt, and after a few minutes, my mind had drifted from what was on those reports to what was concealed underneath that skirt. I began thinking about the amazing sex we had had last night, and I was becoming increasingly horny as I relived those memories. Subtly, I slid my hand in between my wife’s tanned, juicy thighs, and began to edge closer to her nether-regions.

Upon realizing what I was up to, Emily quickly snapped her legs completely closed. “Jason!” she scolded, “the painter is right upstairs!” I rolled my eyes. Yes, sex with Emily was great, but sometimes, I wished she could be just a little less uptight. While she was by no means shy in the bedroom — she loved to suck cock and had demanded anal on multiple occasions — she was absolutely adamant about keeping our sex life entirely between us. She disliked PDA, wasn’t fond of nude beaches, and absolutely loathed porn. Basically, she felt sex and nudity should be shared between one man and one woman, without others seeing or knowing about it. Obviously, with this firm stance, a quickie with the painter upstairs was out of the question.

But, being a horny male, I persisted. “Come on, baby, just a quick one.” She frowned.

“And what if the painter comes down and sees us?” she asked.

I thought about this for a minute. Desperate to just get into those panties — sex or not — I compromised. “You just sit here and I’ll finger you,” I proposed. “If we hear him coming, I’ll move my hand, and he’ll be none the wiser.” To make my offer even more appealing, I slid my hand a little further up Emily’s leg, prodding her pussy with my pinky finger. Reluctantly, she spread her legs a few inches.

I smiled, and moved the rest of my hand deeper down her skirt. I grabbed hold of her panties, and pulled them off of her quickly. I stuffed them behind me on the chair, ensuring that if the painter did come down, he wouldn’t see her delicates strewn about the floor. And, with her pussy now exposed, I hiked up her skirt a bit and got to work. Emily was already pretty wet, and as I began encircling her clit with my thumb, she closed her eyes and breathed in. Gradually, I picked up the pace, moving more and more quickly around her magic button. As I worked, she spread her legs even further apart, revealing a pair of soaking wet lips. Unable to resist, I plunged a finger into her hole, and then slowly pulled it out. The second time, I added another finger, entering her pussy to the sound of a slight moan. After a few more distinct strokes, I began to finger-fuck her repeatedly, pressing up upon her g-spot with each entry. Her moans grew increasingly louder, and within a few minutes, her pussy was dripping with a steady trickle of juices. I could smell the sweet, memorable odor on my fingers, and desperate to taste some, I slid my wife over and moved myself to the floor. I spread her legs further, and thrust my head in between them.

“Baby,” she moaned, “stop; he’ll come down. He’ll see. Ohhhh, stop. Ohhhhh, baby.” Her objections slowly faded off, replaced by a series of passionate moans. As I stuck my tongue as far as I could into her pussy, she convulsed in her chair, bucking her hips wildly. I continued to tongue-fuck my Emily, alternating between her wet hole and her flushed clit. Her moans seemed to suggest she was favoring the latter, so with a sudden lurch, I opened wide and took her clit in my mouth. I began sucking eagerly, and Emily shrieked. Realizing I was getting her a bit too worked up, I shifted the focus of my oral activities to her upper thighs, allowing her to cool down for a minute. Meanwhile, I returned my hand to her pussy, rubbing the whole area gently with my palm. “Baby,” she gasped, “your cock. I want your cock.”

I stared at her, bewildered. My Emily, who had scolded me minutes before for getting a little intimate, was now begging for me to fuck her, with the painter right upstairs. Obviously, I didn’t care what had caused the change of heart, though I assumed that I had myself to thank. I willingly unzipped my pants and whipped out my cock, already fully erect. I stood up, and she reclined on the chair, lifting her legs in the air. She wrapped her legs around me and pulled me in, driving my throbbing dick right into her sweet spot. As I entered her, she gasped.

“Yeah, how’s that feel, honey?” I asked, taking the gasp as a sign of wild pleasure. But Emily didn’t respond. Instead, she stared, wide-eyed, straight past me, towards the opening of the den. I turned around, and there, equally dumbfounded, was Rob the painter.

“Uhhh, sorry Mr. and Mrs. Scott,” he stammered. “I heard a woman shriek, and I thought Emily may have fallen or gotten hurt. I’m so sorry to have interrupted.”

I looked at him, at a loss for what to say. Then, as I struggled for the right words, I noticed something peculiar — I was thrusting. Or rather, Emily’s legs — which were still wrapped around me — were slowly guiding me in and out of her. I don’t think Emily even realized what she was doing; her eyes were still transfixed on our intrusion. And, following her gaze, I had a second revelation — her eyes were actually transfixed on a certain part of our intrusion. As Emily pulled me towards her again and again — however subtly it might be — her gaze was directed straight at Rob’s cock, clearly outlined in his tight-fitting jeans.

Now, I’m definitely not the jealous type. I’m also not the type that attends swinger parties or fantasizes about different men taking turns with my wife. But, there was something about this situation — Emily’s glazed look, her subconscious willingness to continue getting fucked in front of a complete stranger, or perhaps my natural desire to continue having sex — that made me let go of all inhibitions. Knowing Emily would snap out of her trance, get up, and put her clothes back on at any second, I knew I had to act fast if I was to take advantage of this situation.

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