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You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation. I shower every day, I work out, I cook, I clean, and work a full-time job outside of our home.

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She also has a nice little bottom that is nice to squeeze. Sue has always been an exhibitionist. Fortunately, the club has relaxed its rules concerning the dress code at the dances. In other words, you can be dressed, topless, bottomless, or totally nude. This story takes place one Saturday night at the dance at the nudist club. We were all clothed.

We enjoyed the conversation and shared a little wine. What I did this evening is what I usually do. I usually take off everything except for a blue long sleeve shirt that I unbutton. I love that feeling of being bottomless because I love to show off my dick. I admit that I am an exhibitionist. When I am on the dance floor nude with my sexy wife, it is difficult for me not to become aroused. Part of the arousal is due to a lack of control.

I have only so much control over whether or not I have an erection and when I am bottomless and dancing close to my wife and she squeezes my butt, my dick starts to stand up whether I want it to or not and everyone can see it! On this evening my wife was still sitting at the table fully dressed. After a couple of glasses of wine, though, I did manage to coax her into taking off her blouse and bra so that we could admire those beautiful tits.

Her tits stood out even more because of the cool air in the clubhouse. I had been living with my wife for over a year. She was quite tall and slim and pretty too.

Very sexy, very smart, but best of all, she loved to party. Being in a huge city, bars, people and music were never hard to find. Sitting at a bar drinking beer was one of our favourite pastimes. So we were out one night, drinking, laughing, dancing to crap music, looking at sexy girls bodies swaying to the beat. And, at my age, was a master. All of them were looking. It was something about the way she moved her body: I had gotten used to the staring of other guys, and over the months I had relaxed about it, evolving into somewhat of a quiet voyeur from the angry douche bag I used to be when I had first started living with her.

We carried on drinking and talking, with her dancing attracting ever more daring partners — one even putting his hands around her waist as they danced. We got drunk and left in the middle of the morning, sleeping through Sunday until mid afternoon. Oh the joy of no children. We snacked until early evening, when I suggested the movies. The game started again.

I selected a normal top, with a matching short skirt. I convinced her no panties. I suspected she liked the idea of sitting in the movies, being able to open and close her legs as she wished, exposing herself to the darkness.

She dressed and we walked to the elevator. The elevator arrived and we entered. I knew she was wet. Her shocked facial expression intensified to sheer horror as the elevator slowed three floors from the bottom.

She glared at me as she pulled it up hastily trying to re-arrange herself as a neighbour stepped in. Just as I had had that thought, he gazed down, and smiled. We enjoyed the night. Friday night came, and we played the dressing game again. I nearly came in my pants as she pulled them on and they went right up the crack or her arse.

We finished a bottle of wine and left for our local bar. She was already tipsy, and after a couple more and some flirting with the barman she wanted a dance. Damn she looked hot; my cock started to twitch watching her move. There were a lot of eyes on her too, men, boys, and horny girls.

I wanted to fuck her there and then. The drinking and dancing continued for a few hours. She came back to finish off yet another glass and said she was sweating and asked if it was ok to take off the leggings.

I suggested no and that perhaps the skirt removed would cool her somewhat and still retain some dignity. She agreed and went to the toilet and unclasped the skirt, putting it in her handbag. Watching her walk back I realized I was getting anxious with nerves at everyone looking. Her leggings showed everything, even pulling tight up her vagina.

Camel toe gold medal; and the girl did have big pussy lips. She gave me a slutty kiss and told me to check her bag as she went off to dance. I opened it — the tiny skirt was folded, and on top, her wet string.

His wife giggled, looked up, and jokingly suggested he go dance with the girl with no pants on. There were men all around her, staring at her arse and prominent cunny lips. He walked up to her and put his arms around her neck, softly grinding into her. My cock jumped, his wife placed her hand on my knee and smiled at me with a slutty drunken look.

She was about my age, way too old for me, and slightly chubby, in a sexy way. She came over for a drink and told me she was drunk but oh so horny. His wife was trying to listen above the music. She finished her drink, gave me a fake look of shame, and went back to dance. A different guy grabbed her, equally as drunk, and started to kiss her.

She responded to his kiss with too much vigour for my liking and I knew it was approaching home time. I had enjoyed the show so far but kissing was taboo.

When hands dropped to her arse she turned around and ground into him, bending to touch her toes in time with the pounding music as he held her hips dreaming of his own pounding. The couple had gone onto the dance floor too, drunk and in their heightened state of sexual arousal. I rubbed my cock through my jeans.

I need to cum. My dirty unfaithful lady staggered back when the song finished. As I paid up and walked to the cloakroom, the middle aged couple also left. They walked along with us, and the conversation revolved around the hot little girls dancing in their little skirts. His references to wanting to see their tight young bodies were obviously aimed at my wife, who bit and asked was she as sexy, turning and pushing her arse up for us to assess.

I started to feel relaxed, thinking of all the illegal things I wanted to invent to do to this slutty bitch, when I heard myself ask:. The offer was gratefully received by our new acquaintances, and we went up and entered the apartment. As we took off jackets and shoes, my dirty cow once again bent right forward so we could all see her arse and, unknown to her, those very wet and prominent lips, which had soaked her leggings, making her look incontinent.

The middle aged man took it as another queue to have an uninvited play and stepped in, held her hips and started grinding into her arse and pussy, simulating thrusts and dragging a finger across her lips.

He let go and stepped back, and the three of us grinned drunkenly to each other as she tried to stand up straight, regretting bending over in the first place. We travelled to the kitchen and I put on a bit of music, quite but danceable. I grabbed cold beers and some more wine and we all started to dance, my first with my own girl for what seemed like hours.

The look of shock was great. She looked over to our dancing friends and said to the professor look-a-like: It was hot in the apartment, and the middle aged wife decided she had nothing to lose by dropping her jeans and pulling off her top.

Actually she looked quite horny in her satin underwear, and I pulled off my top in approval at my age, I rarely needed an excuse to expose my hard-fought-for six-pack. Not to be outdone, and turned on by the sight of his underwear clad chubby wife, Mr. Horny Old Dude unbuttoned his shirt and almost instantly dropped his trousers, his huge hard-on poking up inside his underwear. I was glad he kept his boxers on though.

Well, there was one left, and she keeping clothed. She walked into the middle of the kitchen, looked me in the eye, pulled up her top, unclasped her bra, and dropped it all, standing topless with her huge nipples erect and breasts swinging freely, Smiling and rubbing them, pulling her nipples out hard. I was so hard and just wanted to suck them. I loved sucking her tits. I stepped toward her but was beaten by a guy 20 years older than her who was determined to have a feel before someone intervened.

Would I let it happen? I stood transfixed as she turned around, hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings, and slowly slowly started to pull them down.

When half her cheeks were exposed, the underwear clad middle aged mum dropped her bra off to reveal a nice pair, and as I stared at them, her husband dived straight in, pinching, suckling, massaging, his obvious excitement encouraging them both on toward something that I had neither planned nor in my naivety, anticipated.

On seeing the shaven older pussy, displayed so openly, my angel bent forward, again, right over this time, and pulled the leggings down and out of the crack of her arse and away from her sticky pussy, dropping them all the way to the floor. Her wet lips had come into view, as had her sweaty anus.

Fifty dropped his boxers, his cock pointing directly at my sluts exposed holes, pre-cum dripping, big head purple and angry. She was looking over her shoulder at him, looking at his cock, just staring, drunken blurry eyes transfixed to a tool 20 years older than her. That cock had been ejaculating before she was even born. Sensing an imminent un-discussed insertion into a much younger pussy, the sexy wife dropped to her knees and made oral love to that cock.

Her actions broke the voyeuristic spell that had befallen us, and my honey, still bent to an almost touchy toe position, began pulling her nipples as she looked over her shoulder at the blow job action unfolding in her kitchen.

Quite why she continued to expose her inner most sexual parts instead of turning was slightly perplexing me, as not only had my voyeuristic side had been fulfilled, I had no desire, perverted or otherwise, to watch her being taken. Despite it all, my cock was so hard; I wanted to drop my jeans, after all I was the only one not fully exposed, and I loved showing off my knob. It felt so good, her warm soft mouth around my aching helmet.

She tickled by balls too; damn I loved that. My baby was watching. By now rubbing her dripping cunt lips openly for all to see, and running her finger over her anus, still looking over her shoulder. I really needed to cum, but wanted my own woman to have it and I so needed to smell her. I was about to pull out of that warm willing mouth and drop to my knees behind my wife, wanting to smell her arsehole, when, as if a scene form a porno, Mr. Horny stopped tugging his big cock, dropped down behind my slut, and just stared into her much younger pussy.

My god it was so horny to see, she loved it too, and started to gyrate her bottom as he nuzzled his nose into the crack of joy. Would she let him fuck her, I found myself wondering, as I watched from another world, not knowing what to do, leaving it up to my slut to call the shots.

It was too horny, too sexy to stop. Far too filthy dirty. As I watched I realized his wife had stopped sucking my cock and was watching her older husband tongue fuck this young woman. She wanked me rhythmically, kissing my head softly, running her tongue around on it, almost lovingly.

It was incredible, watching my previously loyal wife getting her anus and pussy eaten out by a relative stranger as she bent forward and touched her toes. We walked to our bed, a superb Super King size, not purchased for this purpose. I lay her down on the bed and entered her. I thrust in an out, almost oblivious to the scene next to me. The other couple were on our bed too, her wanking and sucking his cock.

She turned around and offered her rear end to him as I watched. As the guy started to enter his wife, mine reached for his balls and massaged them, pushing her thumb against his arsehole.

It was dirty of her, and I thanked the beer for preventing my ejaculation. I reached under and started to massage her clit as she buried her face in the bed and lifted her anus up high. She started to finger her own arsehole, one then two fingers, knuckle deep, and started to cum.

She started to push back harder on his weapon, looking over her shoulder as she came with us also reaching climax. I sat back, my wife lay collapsed, semen dripping from her skin, and our friends lay down to recover. When the heat of sexual excitement cools, the atmosphere equally cools; but, in a friendly way, our guests, no doubt due to their maturity, comforted each other lovingly. I stood and pulled a cover from the dresser, and offered them the couch.

They took the cue perfectly and rose to leave. She came to me and kissed me full on the lips, rubbing my cock as she did so; he turned to my wife and bent over to kiss her on the cheek goodnight. It was so relaxed, so mutually respectful. Consequently we were both looking forward to our planned Friday-night outing.

We just wanted to go somewhere different, with no plans and no structured activities, just having fun. Tracy, my wife, is a hot and sensuous woman with long dark hair, large tits and a very sexy body, and on this night she looked great. However, we were disappointed to find that there were only a handful of people there.

Undaunted, we sat at the bar and ordered a drink. Tracy finished hers rather quickly, and we decided to order one more and then head home. As I was about to pay the tab, a man sitting at the bar struck up a conversation with us. He was a large, rather good-looking black man, about six feet two and about two hundred pounds. He was watching a college basketball game, and he told us his nephew was the star of one of the teams that were playing.

He offered to buy us a drink and we moved down next to him. I got the impression that he was kind of lonely and looking for companionship. He bought my wife two shooters and me a beer, and as we were about to leave he told us about a small, quiet bar he knew near the lake, and suggested stopping there for a nightcap on the way home.

We found the bar, ordered some drinks and went out on the deck to enjoy the warmth of the evening and listen to the waves. When we finished our drinks I said it was my turn to buy, and I headed for the bar. The bartender had gone to the storage room to get some supplies or something, and it took me ten minutes before I returned to the deck with the drinks. As I approached my wife and our new friend, they seemed to get awfully quiet, but I assumed they were listening to the lake beating against the shore.

As I gave them their drinks I had a funny feeling that something was wrong. My beautiful wife must have been kissing this black man, who we had only just met, while I was gone! Tracy had never showed any interest in black men or fulfilling any fantasies with black men without me present, certainly not with a stranger. I was confused and upset, but also, for some weird reason, aroused. Then Tracy took off her jacket. Her large, full tits, encased in a tight, silvery satin blouse, were quite visible in the moonlight.

She was braless, and her nipples were sticking straight out toward our black friend. He was obviously impressed with her tits; he stared right at them and smiled. Her black hair, warm brown eyes, copper complexion, long shapely legs that are inches apart as they reach her slim hips and firm cupped buns, her erect posture and lovely upturned nice sized breasts, her quick wit and sexy smile, her high cheekbones and her soft but well defined jaw-line, her smooth almost silky skin, the black hair of her pussy, her soft abdomen, her outward conservatism combined with her hot and uninhibited sexuality…these attributes have emotionally overwhelmed me for twenty-one years of marriage.

I am hopelessly in love with her. I have always suffered with a streak of jealousy, a possessive element in my personality. I am also idealistic, habitually putting girlfriends before marriage on a pedestal…it therefore always shocks me to learn from some high school buddy that years ago in high school some girlfriend of mine had been promiscuous…I had never dared to even attempt a sexual move on these girls.

But Cyn had been different. We met in college on a blind date; I had been told that she was hot so I tried to fuck her on our first date. Sure enough, she loved making out and dry-hunching…I even got her down to her underwear without much trouble, but after three years of trying I could never get her to go any further.

This experience brought a new intimacy between us in which she confessed to me, after much questioning,her sexual experiences with past boyfriends. She admitted handling the dicks of two boyfriends in high school though she denied ever witnessing an explosive ejaculation as we were by then sharing; she denied ever having intercourse with anyone though she had dated two boys in college before me…one who had claimed so I had been told to have fucked her; she vehemently denied this.

I accepted this but today, 20 years later, I suspect she had been fucked regularly by at least this one boyfriend though she still claims I was the only person to have fucked her when we married. Yes, we had been fucking for a year when we married. The trip to Denver took almost a month -- sometimes I wished that I could have gotten on a horse and just taken off, however I didn't yet know how to ride.

Riding a horse was one of the first things -- along with shooting a gun -- that I intended to learn. The trip was actually good for my ego, however. It seemed like every "unattached gentlemen" that I came into contact with wanted to make me his bride -- or at least his bed companion for a few days. I mostly politely declined, although I did hit one persistent jackass in the face with my suitcase, fortunately not spilling the contents and also fortuitously in the presence of a rather large man with a handlebar mustache who also happened to be packing iron; he intervened on my behalf and precluded any possibility of retaliation by the jackass.

The good ones were Ben Kilpatrick's looks and his reaction to me. He was very tall, and earned his nickname the Tall Texan, and good looking. The two photographs that he had sent to me pretty well accurately depicted him, although he was even better looking in living color.

From what he said when he first laid eyes on me -- starting with the exclamation "bejabbers! The bad thing -- I was on the rag. I was undecided on my long train trip whether or not we would be pirooting before we actually got hitched, but I thought that my menstruation cycle had precluded that possibility. Another good thing -- in fact it did not. After Ben and I had been in each other's company for only a few hours I could tell that he was as horny as a bull sniffing a cow in heat.

As delicately as I could I explained my "condition" to him. I really, really wanted to believe him because in spite of my condition I was like that cow in heat that his bull persona was after. We got a hotel room and I would have appalled my family and friends back East by my actions. I do believe that I became a complete hussy. Ben had no sooner buried his cock in my cunt when I climaxed; the first time of many during the evening. I will say that having a bare cock up my vagina definitely beat using a condom as was the case in the only other times I pirooted.

We left the hotel room bed in shambles and made a quick exit from the inn the next morning before the chamber maid could find evidence of our messy passion. I got a quick indoctrination to riding a horse once we left the hotel. Ben had two horses and a scrub that he used as a pack animal for my two suitcases. My horse was a pied -- a really beautiful animal that was almost as large as Ben's mustang which appeared to me not fully broken in although Ben seemed to handle it easily.

On our way to Colorado Springs I rode side saddle the first day. To Ben's shock, then amusement, I bought a pair of britches the next day and rode just like a cowboy.

Unfortunately I was too sore to sard when we got to Ben's place outside Colorado Springs the second day despite the fact that I was even hornier than our first night. We got married by a justice of the peace the day after we arrived, and we started out our first married night with a marathon sard session even though my period was gone by then.

I hadn't yet told Ben about my keen understanding of the rhythm method of birth control. However, as soon as I decided to become a mail order bride, six months before I boarded the train for Denver, I started keeping careful track of my menstrual period. After we had pirooted ourselves almost blind for several days, I demanded that he use a condom during the fertile part of my cycle.

Since he really seemed to like inserting his key into my lock, he agreed. While it wasn't as much fun as bareback as Ben put it "It's still better than anything we could do with our clothes on.

It was so much fun being away from my stifling family, and learning all sorts of new things. In addition to horseback riding -- which I quickly became very proficient at especially since I bonded with my pied in less than a month -- I learned to shoot guns. I did have to learn to cut back on my cussing when around townfolk, especially avoiding the words "cunt," "sard," and "pirooting," but that was a minor concession. Actually, Ben seemed to be both amused and pleased when I cussed when it was just us two, especially during our frequent pirooting sessions.

Shortly after our one year anniversary, a complication was introduced into our married life. The complication's name was Robert Leroy Parker, who liked to be called -- for reasons that I never figured out -- Butch Cassidy.

Butch was good looking and obviously a real ladies' man, although to me not nearly as good looking as he thought that he was. What I clearly didn't like about him, however, was the effect that he had on Ben. I subtly took out my disgust with him by calling him "Butcher" instead of "Butch.

Around Butcher, however, Ben acted superior to me. After the first two times I "ran errands" for him when he gave me "orders" in Butcher's presence I replied "What the hell is wrong with you? You got a broken leg or something?

That night, after I gave Ben a sard that he'd remember the rest of the year, I snuggled up to him and said "Don't become a jackass like your buddy Butch; I won't put up with it. In addition to Butcher at one point or another Ben introduced me to Kid Curry Logan, Harry Tracy, News Carver, and Laura Bullion the only woman I had met up until that time that was as tough as I was , as well as several other guys that he hung out with.

None of them were particularly likeable, especially Laura who I thought was always making eyes at Ben and who I was sure was a Cattle Kate.

They called themselves the "Wild Bunch," and during the times that we were together at the local saloons the name seemed to fit. While they were always drinking corn juice they gave me shit for normally just sipping a cup of Arbuckle's, or a sarsaparilla. I didn't want to have any lack of control around the Wild Bunch because I didn't trust them. I also always carried with me two of Henry Deringer's.

Before our second wedding anniversary, Ben took off with the Wild Bunch for what he called a business trip. I never did figure out at that time what the "business" was, but it was clear that none of them liked answering questions about it. In the meantime I had set up my own business.

I found out that I was good at working with leather, especially holsters, gun belts, and saddles. I could make them decorative, functional, or both, and developed a few unique designs for saddles and waist pouches that could easily hold a gun for relatively easy access although it would not be visible from the exterior. Ben was gone for almost two months with the Wild Bunch before returning. I was almost climbing the walls while he was gone.

Having gotten used to almost daily pirooting I was horny as a Longhorn steer. Deringer's Pocket Pistol is," was my common retort, although normally delivered with a smile just in case the cowboy would become a customer.

When Ben came back from his two month sojourn with the Wild Bunch he gave a good account of himself in bed the next few days -- although he wasn't as horny as I would have liked. He was in a chipper mood, however, when he flashed the greenback notes that he had "earned" during his business trip. For some reason that I couldn't really explain to myself at the time, when Ben wasn't around I wrote down the serial numbers of all of the larger bills, particularly the Silver Certificates, and the Rainbow and Bison notes, and kept the list hidden in my storefront.

It was shortly after Ben's return from his first business trip with the Wild Bunch that two of the most significant things that ever happened to me occurred. One was blatant; the other subtle. I rode home on my pied just as things were getting raunchier than I liked at one of the local saloons, and Ben, Butch, Kid Curry, and some locals were starting to play poker after consumption of more corn juice than they should have.

It was summer, hot, and unlike the vast majority of ladies of the day I normally slept naked during hot weather. I was awakened by someone banging around in the kitchen and main living area calling "Becca, Becca, are you here?

I'm trying to sleep; and where's Ben?

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