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Maria and I, too lust-driven to wait, married exactly a week
after high school graduation. We were both virtual virgins. As
proper Catholic kids, we'd gone no further than heavy petting
during our two years of steady dating. Her tiny hand had rubbed me
to several orgasms through my jeans, and, in the same fashion, I'd
rolled her clit until she was spasm-wracked. We'd worried that, by
me actually sucking her dark, bullet hard nipples after a swimming
party during graduation week, we'd committed some grievous sin.
Our wonderful parents, while arguing strenuously for us to
wait, went along with our uncompromising urgency. My family was
as proud of our Gaelic genealogy as Maria's was of their Hispanic
heritage. They put their heads together, despite not being able to
agree on much else, and created a plan by which we could both
still go to college. Between our scholarships, part-time minimum
wage jobs, and their aid, they created a budget that should allow us
to survive.
The wedding was a blur. The three day honeymoon at a
resort at the nearby Lake of the Ozarks was awesome. We swam.
We made love. We water skied. We made love. We sunbathed.
We made love. She seldom wore much more than her skimpy
bikini, and I was almost always in my tight trunks - more clothes
only meant more to hurry out of. Virtually every time our eyes met,
they locked, and we hurried back to our cabin and fucked like mink.
My daring, darling wife, always adventurous, probed my
body with her darting tongue like she was trying to memorize it with
her mouth. She adored taking my erection between her wet lips
like they were a second vagina. After squealing in shock and
surprise the first time I erupted in her mouth, she developed a taste
for sperm that verged on addiction.
My response to my first taste of her syrupy musk was just as
profound. Making her come with just my mouth and fingers was an
incredible turn-on. Our long experience with intense foreplay
served us well. We knew one another's sounds and expressions.
Making love for three hours before penetration wasn't uncommon,
and sliding into her hot, slick vagina three times a day was the
minimum.
We meshed perfectly in every way, in and out of bed,
throughout the long hot Missouri summer. Unlike most young
couples, we were able to face our problems - mostly regarding
money, of course - and dealt with them as best we could.
Whenever life became a struggle, we took solace in one another.
When we argued - which we did with as much passion as we did
everything else - we learned to reach compromise. We inevitably
celebrated our successes in a sweaty, lusty union somewhere in
our little apartment in the basement of my parent's home.
In late July, we found a little house in Columbia, where we
both were enrolled as freshmen. Leaving home and family behind
was tough, but freeing, as well.
Within weeks, we'd begun to adjust to college life and relax
a little. Our lovemaking had suffered due to stress, but once we re-
discovered sex, it provided the best release imaginable. We
graduated from the bedroom to using whatever surface was
available. We were unburdened by the need for silence, too.
Here, in our own home, our privacy assured, we coupled wherever
and whenever the mood struck, and screamed our joy to the winds.
The floor, the kitchen counter, the coffee table, all were
equally serviceable. The day we discovered the wall was
wonderful. We'd had a little spat there hadn't been time to resolve
before class that morning. Just home from her secretarial job,
before she had time to change out of her skirt and blouse, our
mutual apology and welcome home kiss escalated into urgent
need. She wrapped one shapely leg around me. I stretched her
panties aside while she unzipped my jeans, then her fist guided me
into her moist slit. I lifted her, gripping her tight ass cheeks. She
locked her ankles around my waist, and we rocketed toward
heaven.
My knees turned to water during my orgasm, timed perfectly
to coincide with hers, and we slid down the wall into a relaxed
tangle on the floor. She giggled as she wiped her almost invisible
pink lipstick from my face.
"Good God, Sean! Clothes don't get in the way after all! It
makes it seem so illicit or something. Think of all the time we've
been wasting and fun we've missed getting undressed first."
"Umm," I agreed, nibbling her graceful throat, "and think
what we can do during our lunch minute from now on."
That precedent was followed up on with regularity. We
began taking off our underpants the instant were came home. I
loved sinking to my knees and hiding my head under her dress
while Maria slumped on the sofa, and the first time she
passionately swallowed my entire eight inches was just after Mass
without removing my dress slacks.
It became a fetish, really. Her eyes would glaze over when
she stared at the outline of my cock, hidden only by the tight
walking shorts she bought for me to wear around the house. And
the day she tantalizingly inched her skirt up her slim brown thigh,
showed me that her hose were supported by garters, and her moist
pussy was nude and ready, was followed by an intense, hours long
fuck session.
We began playing every weekend. Most of our
entertainment budget was spent on clothes which displayed our
sexuality to the maximum. Slinky, skimpy dresses and lingerie for
my bride, equally specialized erotic wear for myself. We bought it
all by catalogue because we were too shy to consider shopping for
naughties at the mall, and in the process discovered how narrowly
we were educated in all things sexual.
By the end of September, our normal Saturday consisted of
doing our weekend chores in garb that was usually quite
inappropriate to the task. Under my jeans, while I mowed the lawn,
I wore the male version of a thin, silky g-string, either transparent
or
brilliantly colored. Inside, Maria would be dusting in a cutaway bra
and crotchless panties.
I'd drop my clumsy overclothing as soon as I finished my
outside duties, clean up, and change into whatever she'd laid out on
the bed for me - wrap-around terrycloth shorts, a leather thong, or
something else tiny and tantalizing. While I washed dishes, she'd
feel the need to touch and admire my body. Usually, we stopped
with extremely intimate foreplay at that phase. With her nipples
swollen inside the flimsy bra, and one final deep kiss, she'd vanish
into the bedroom, returning a few minutes later with whatever *I'd*
put on the bed for *her* - patterned hose and an incredibly
expensive pair of six-inch heels we my favorites.
After more work, I'd approach her, quickly tongue her
passion to a still higher level, and leave her moaning just short of
her peak. Then, I'd be off for more clothing - blousy silk pants were
her favorites. She loved the way they felt when she touched me.
Watching her run the vacuum, looking more sexy than any
centerfold, and glancing at me with barely restrained desire kept
my erection massively visible. When she came to me then, it
would be with a sultry sway and slack lips. I'd be able to smell her
continuing arousal as she snaked her arms around my neck and
rubbed her groin against mine, the slick fabric feeling fantastic.
Many times, especially at first, we lost control at that phase
and made love like savage beasts. Some days, the rest of our
chores and school work were put off until Sunday. We could stay
in a sexual haze for hours on end, never stop making love, even
while recovering from massive orgasms.
As our self-control improved, our direction changed slightly.
We focused more on Maria and less on me. The fact that the
supply of men's erotic wear is limited had something to do with it -
but mostly it was because we discovered that being immodestly
clothed excited her as much as seeing me that way. Basically, we
learned the meaning of the words exhibitionist and voyeur. We
both felt a lot of shame, but not enough to stop doing it.
The game went as before; getting her dressed, little by little,
over the span of hours. Each phase was heightened by caresses
which stopped just short of coupling, and the next step was always
postponed as long as we could manage to hold ourselves at bay.
Little by little, Maria's special wardrobe expanded to include
lacy corsets and bustiers in more colors and styles than we could
afford. She had garters and hose to match every outfit she owned.
More too-tall heels. Daring dresses which barely covered her
revealing lingerie and secret places. Bold makeup to complete the
total effect.
I could literally make her come without touching her as our
pastime approached its finale. I could make love to her with my
eyes and masturbate to her perfect eroticism, causing her to
shudder and gasp and beg me to enter her.
Sex then was unlike anything that we knew about. After six
or eight hours of perpetual foreplay, of living inside a lust-colored
fog, the final union was a thing of religious ecstasy. Often, we
didn't kiss, just stared into one another's soul, rolling slowly to
oceanic rhythms. Our bodies seemed to know and teach us
positions we'd never dreamed of. Anal sex was the most difficult of
them to relax into, and the most rewarding.
There was always a mirror nearby. Watching herself was
important to Maria, so we had them everywhere. The image of her
on her breasts and knees, a red micro-skirt thrown over her back,
her deep red mouth round with moans, her long black lashes
fluttering like palm fronds while I eased into and out of her back
door, will live with me always.
We quickly depleted the savings cushion we'd accumulated
over the summer and were soon buying her things instead of
paying bills. We dug ourselves into a financial hole that seemed
immense. Looking back, it wasn't that bad, but it was enough to
get our attention and help us grow up a little. Enough was enough.
We didn't stop our weekend play, but we did stop with what
we had as far as her bulging closet and drawers went. Maybe as
compensation, we began having her dress occasional weekday
evenings. The sex, which we had every day anyway, just got that
much better when she was wickedly primped and painted. Soon, it
became the norm for her to rush into the bedroom after a thorough
greeting kiss, and re-emerge thirty minutes later as my favorite
lewd hussy. Somehow, we managed to get enough studying done
to stay in school despite our frenzied pre-occupation with fucking.
All either of us thought about was what she'd wear and how we
we'd do it that evening.
It began to seem unnatural to see Maria at home in her
street clothes and with minimal makeup. On the rare nights that we
went out or had friends over, neither of us was really comfortable.
The Thanksgiving weekend we spent with our parents was
tremendously hard. Having, at the most, an hour or so a day in
private, made us desperate to get home.
And that taught us something. It helped to have her wear
something extremely naughty under her public clothes. Beneath a
modest blouse, her nipples could be peering through holes in a
totally functionless red and black brassiere. Hidden by a long
pleated skirt there might be minuscule panties as transparent as
glass. That way, it took only an instant to spread on new lipstick
and slip into a pair of towering heels we agreed she should carry in
her bookpack. An instant after that, we could be relishing her
body's beauty and availability wherever we happened to be.
That's how we found out what the thrill of potential discovery
was all about. During a lunch at the Common's cafeteria with some
friends, Maria leaned to my ear and whispered that she needed to
be touched. She took my hand and slipped it under her skirt.
Between her parted legs my fingers encountered the sleek blue
panties I'd watched her wiggle into that morning. I petted her moist
pussy through the fabric before slipping my fingers into the strategic
gap and into her love tunnel.
She continued eating her hamburger and holding up her end
of the conversation. I chewed french fries with my free hand. Her
hips leapt a little each time I stroked her. She concentrated more
closely on chewing and had less to say. I saw her sneaking peeks
around the huge open room, wondering if our play was being
observed. It wasn't, but that didn't diminish the wild tingle for either
of us.
When I stopped, she nearly choked on her coke. Her look
was a silent, desperate plea for me to continue. I teasingly refused,
but as soon as it was polite I excused us and took her downstairs to
an area I knew would be deserted. In the last available pool of
light, she made her lips bloom and changed shoes. Three steps
down the dim hall, she dropped to her knees, took my swollen cock
between into the depths of her skilled mouth, and instantly smeared
her red all over me.
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She moaned loudly around her prize and sucked
voraciously. Within moments, I was as aroused as she was. I
jerked her to her feet and impaled her against the wall. Her heels
made her almost tall enough to slide right into. She began her
orgasm instantly, glancing wildly around to be sure we were alone,
and I filled her clutching vagina less than a minute later.
From there, we hurried home for a full-dress replay. I had to
help her walk. She cleaned her mouth, but left her fuck-me shoes
on. She whispered hoarsely that she felt like everyone who saw us
knew what we'd just done.
The memory of that adventure lived with us like a roommate
for the rest of the semester. We were studying for finals the
Wednesday before our last test. Maria was wearing a see-through
black blouse open halfway to her waist and her tiny leather skirt
had inched up high enough to bare her garter straps. She was
tapping a pencil against her teeth, careful of her lipstick, absorbed
in her chemistry. I snuck up behind her, my erection already bared.
I tapped her shoulder. She turned her head and found my glans
inches from her face. She smiled sexily and licked it.
"Break time?" she wondered softly.
I lifted her from the kitchen chair and carried her to the rear
of the sofa. I lowered her to her feet. She eagerly spread her legs
and glanced back over her shoulder, desire smoldering in her deep
brown eyes. I sank to the floor and began kissing her pouty cunt,
licking her asshole. She began trembling in anticipation.
My voice was a low growl. "Let's celebrate Friday night,
honey. I want to take you out."
She wiggled her ass until I fed her some fingers, and
watched them vanish via a mirror. "Ooh. Nice. But I'd rather stay
home with you, lover. We can have more fun here."
I swallowed the lump in my throat that felt as big as the one
between my legs. "Not if you looked like this."
That ended studying for the night. While we rolled from
position to position, never allowing one another to release the
incredible excitement we were experiencing, we talked about what
she should wear, where we should go. When I finally let her come,
I thought she'd never stop.
That's the way our public phase began. At her urging, I
wore my best suit, the one that made me look as muscular and
alluring as possible. She wore a cocktail gown that was sure to
arouse cock. Her breasts bulged enticingly over the top of the tight,
low bodice and her legs shimmered, her hose displayed at leastfour inches
above her knees. When she sat and crossed those
spectacular legs, it went much higher than that. She even did her
nails to match her favorite lipstick and plucked her brows into thin
arches. She was the hottest thing in town that night. A sultry pout
from her was all the ID we needed to get into any bar we chose.
She was nervous, clinging desperately to my arm, but her eyes
glowed with a deep, suffused heat usually reserved for the third
hour of private foreplay.
We were in Deja Vu, a hot college oriented disco. "I'm so
wet I'm afraid it's running down my leg," she whispered in a shaky
voice. I watched her lipstick transfer to the rim of her potent drink.
I touched her naked thigh, tickled it. She jerked in her chair,
remained stiff, her eyes going round. Her voice was a low whine.
"I just came, Sean. Oh, God. Take me home and fuck me, honey.
I can't stand any more."
"This's only our second bar, darling. You look too good to
hide. See how everybody's staring at you, wanting you? You're
driving every guy in the crowd crazy just sitting here. Think about
what'll happen if we dance."
She shook all over again, her exposed breast flesh jiggling.
Her legs parted slightly, inviting my fingers to delve higher. Her
eyes lost focus and her hands gripped the edge of the table. Her
words were barely understandable.
"Is that what you want? To dance with me, show me off to
all these strangers?" She'd been dancing everything from ballet
to
the waltz since she was five. It was one of her other passions, and
I knew she'd been missing it since we started staying home all the
time.
My answer was to help her to her feet. Her knees were
weak. I knew it was what she wanted, too. She was a focal point
of attention, but stiff. She moved in perfectly mechanical time. I
pulled her close, licked her ear.
"Loosen up, honey. Shake it for me."
"You're sure?" she wondered anxiously, rubbing against my
chest.
"Go for it."
Her dancing became more energized, more suggestive - but
not quite lewd. She kept her eyes locked with mine, rarely risking
looks at the other people on the dance floor. She was hot. Her
nipples were visible through the dress even in the dim, dancing
light. Her hips loosened, thrust suggestively. When she brushed
another dancer, she leapt away as if shocked by the contact. It felt,
to both of us, like we were fucking in public. I noted the admiring
looks bathing my wife. Despite her focus on me, I knew she saw
them, too.
After our fourth dance, she literally dragged me toward the
door.
I forced her to slow down. "Your purse," I reminded her.
"You get it," she pled. "I *have* to get out of here.
I'll wait in
the car."
We were parked in a lot across the street. I was a full three
minutes behind her. As I approached the car, I saw her slouched in
the passenger seat. Her head was thrown back, rolling from side
to side. Her eyes were closed. I reached her door and saw, to my
stunned delight, that she had the short dress pulled up. There was
enough light to see her pussy, framed between elastic garter
straps, and show me her fingers dancing over her clit, vanishing
into her neatly trimmed cunt hair.
I made a deliberate noise. Her eyes leapt open, stared
through the glass at me. Her red lips went wide. Her hips bucked
as she rammed her fingers deeper and came like a cannon. I
began rubbing my huge hard-on, and her eyes locked on my
action.
She struggled to roll down the window without breaking her
rhythm. I stepped closer and let her fumble my prick free of my
slacks. She sucked me right there. People walked nearby,
unaware of what was happening. When I could hold out no longer,
I pulled free of her hungry mouth and spewed my come all over her
face, sending her to an even deeper level of ecstasy.
I held myself up and staggered to the other side of the car.
She threw herself into my arms the moment I collapsed inside.
"For a second I didn't know who you were," she whispered
hoarsely. "I thought some stranger had followed me and was
watching me finger myself."
I rubbed a tit through her dress. "And you loved it?"
She nodded, pushed against my questing hand. "Yeah, but I
was scared, too. I mean, what kind of girl does that kind of thing,
Sean?"
I rolled her nipple. "*My* kind of girl. Maybe we ought to get
you a part time job as a stripper."
She giggled. "God, wouldn't that be something! The little
Maria who cried because her tits were too big to dance ballet
anymore strutting naked in front of strangers!"
"And it pays good, too."
She pulled away, drying come and smeared lipstick
decorating her face. "Are you *serious*?"
"No. But it's a great fantasy."
"Umm," she purred. "Let's go home and I'll give you a
very
special private show."
She freshened up while I moved furniture out of the way,
then proceeded to peel the racy outfit she'd changed into, bumping
and grinding in my face to a heavy rock beat. She was
smolderingly hot, seemed to be fucking the very air between us. I
wanted her to fuck something else. I grabbed a candle from a
drawer and handed it to her.
Her eyes widened. She instantly knew what I wanted her do
with it. She lasciviously licked her crimson lips. She rubbed the
blue wax up and down the length of her crack until it glistened with
her fluids. She fed it in, her legs bent slightly, using both hands.
She fucked herself in two-four time. I jacked off, following her lead.
At last, she swayed to me, in nothing but stockings and heels, and
sat on my overheated pole. She was so incredibly wet that I slid
right to her bottom. She didn't miss a beat as we finished one
another off.
For me, it was just another way to enjoy ourselves, but for
Maria it was more than that. She shyly suggested, just before we
left to visit our families for Christmas, that we go see a real stripper
sometime at the only bar in town featuring them. I agreed and
promptly forgot about it.
I gave her a special Christmas gift inspired by the fantasy. I
saved it until we returned from vacation. Watching my swelteringly
hot wife's face as she tore off the brilliant wrapping paper and saw
her flesh-like new ten inch dildo was a trip into erotica in itself.
Mere minutes later, after an enduring and passionate thank you,
she demonstrated its fit for me.
Her legs draped over the arms of a living room chair, both
tiny, freshly manicured hands wrapped around the fat shaft, she
gradually eased it deeper and deeper into her widely stretched
cunt, amazement competing with lust on her beautiful face.
"God, it's huge! It's splitting me! Jesus! Look, honey!"
She adored her realistic latex lover. Her new friend was a
frequent companion in our continuous lovemaking. I loved fucking
her ass, feeling the huge rod rubbing against my prick in her other
hole. We had to really work at relaxing her brown back door before
we could slowly ease the monster into her depths. What I *didn't*
know was that she loved it so much she kept it in her bookpack,
too, carrying it with her everywhere she went.
As the second semester began, I dropped by the professor's
office where her work-study program put her. She was transcribing
his class notes, typing furiously, and didn't see me enter. Her face
was flushed. Every few seconds, she'd pause and squirm slightly
in her chair, then go back to the word processor. Finally, during
one of her hesitations, she glanced up and saw me. Her red
cheeks grew redder. I asked her if she was ready for a break. She
nodded, sent a hand under the desk. I heard a familiar wet pop as
she removed her false cock from her sloppy hole.
She was so aroused that, after a quick glance around, she
unlocked the prof's office, sat on his desk, and tugged me between
her legs for a dose of the real thing. Her pussy was wide and loose
after an hour of the dildo. She confessed that she'd been fucking
herself almost every day at work. She answered the phone, talked
to students, performed all her desk-duties, her pussy gripping her
passion. The illicitness of it, the risk of discovery, kept her hot
all
day long. The only time she'd had any problem was when she was
interrupted by a female assistant dean while in the throes of a
sweet orgasm. The woman's inquisitive look had damn near made
Maria faint.
A week or so later, I got another strip tease, even more
erotic than the first one. Maria had obviously put some thought into
her performance, and began her number wearing a demure - for
her - black dress. It was high-necked and long-hemmed, but clung
to her dramatic curves. She strutted slinkily around the living room,
tossing her black mane of hair and pouting at every man at every
table in her invisible audience. Her buttons opened at dramatic
points in the music, revealing more and more creamy flesh, until the
gown finally slid from her milky shoulders.
She held it coyly over her breasts for another circuit of the
room, then let it fall. She stood proudly for a moment in her wispy
bra, thong panties and hose, then danced on. Her flesh gleamed,
and I realized she'd oiled her torso. Her large tits leapt and her
tight, bare ass cheeks rippled. She paused before my face and
rolled her hips, her pussy inches from me, then turned and gave me
a close-up of her perfect rear as well. Impulsively, I fished out my
wallet and, on her next round, tickled her thigh as I stuck a bill
halfway into the dampening pouch that hid her cunt from view.
She smiled sexily and hesitated before me, sliding a long-
nailed hand over my cheek and bringing her pussy close enough to
inhale her rich musky scent. Before I could grab her, though, she
whirled away.
She opened the front catch of the bra, but held it more or
less in place by cupping her hands over her tits as she seduced the
unseen throng of cheering men. As if responding to their
encouragement, she shrugged out of it and bared her beautiful
orbs, their nipples long and hard and begging to be kissed. She
offered them, squeezing her breasts, one by one or together, to the
room.
The pressure in my groin was approaching critical mass, so I
freed my cock. She watched me stroke it with a deep hunger, but
danced on. I waved another bill at her, a twenty this time. She
strutted closer, her breasts heaving, her body gleaming with sweat
and oil, her eyes moving from the money to my hard-on. When I
stretched the strap of her panties, she swiveled her hips, bringing
my hand into contact with her drenched hole. Her eyes fluttered
closed, her lips parted, and she danced in place, humping the
fingers rubbing her clit and playing with her lower lips.
She whined and tried to pull away, but didn't seem to be
able to summon her will. I played her pussy like a guitar, just the
way I knew she couldn't resist, as I stared avidly at her gleaming
body and passion-etched face.
She never did manage to finish her strip for me. She
needed to be fucked worse than she needed to complete her
show. I told her, in the heat of desire, that Friday night I'd take
her
to Club Vogue so she could watch professional strippers. Next
time, I told her, would be even better. Her enthusiasm was
unbounded, and our night-long orgy was one of the most
astounding ever.
Maria was strangely subdued for the rest of the week, and I
failed to make the connection. She insisted nothing was wrong -
school pressure - and I bought it. But she did casually remind me
of our Friday night "date," and seemed pre-occupied with some
research project.
When she came out of the bedroom Friday evening, I was
shocked. Not by the risque outfit I'd been anticipating, but by its
absence.
"I, uh, kind of chickened out."
She looked as nervous as she had on our wedding day,
wore a pair of designer jeans that showed off her ass a little, a pair
of low heels, and a modest blue blouse. Her only concession to the
desire I was sure she was also feeling was her favorite red lipstick.
She was chatty and shy. I realized that she was frightened, tried to
reassure her.
"No problem, love. You look fabulous."
Getting into the bar was a slight challenge, as always. But,
by the looks of it, half the crowd was under-age. There were even
a few couples there, which calmed my wife a little. Her eyes
gleamed as they raked the club, but she clung tightly to my arm.
She drank her first two beers quickly, and eagerness replaced the
last of her nerves as the lights dimmed and a frat-rat type emcee
told off-color jokes and explained Missouri's no-touch law: no
pinching, squeezing or fondling of the ladies. The only contact
allowed was the minimum required to gift them with tips under their
g-strings. If a dancer touched you, well . . .
Maria shifted uncomfortably as the show began. Six girls in
various outfits formed a line and began removing their clothes, one
by one, item by item. Maria gasped, mashed her left breast
against my arm.
"I *know* that girl! The tall blonde! She's in my zoology
lab!"
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