Can a woman be a flirt and still be a loving wife? I say, yes, because I'm married to one!
Barb and I have been married for many years. We were high school sweethearts and married young. My Barb is tall, slender, attractive, and very vivacious. She meets people easily and has seldom known a stranger. Part of what drew me to her was her flirtatious manner.
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There she was, sitting at the bar just like she promised. I couldn¡¦t believe it. The lady in the black cocktail dress was as hot in the flesh as she was in the few pictures that induced me to meet a total stranger in a hotel bar. Granted, it was a nice hotel... and some of those pictures had stimulated some mind-blowing orgasms. Albeit, self-induced. But what red-blooded man wouldn¡¦t wank himself senseless over pictures of a classy, naked slut?
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She was sitting in a booth, facing the front door. I walked up to her and smiled. She was still beautiful, maybe even more so. Her hair was not as long as she wore it when she was a young woman; now it was just above her shoulders in a very chic, professional cut.
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The morning mist covered the grass and flowers; it was a beautiful May morning in Georgia. Birds were chirping and a slight breeze rustled the leaves in the trees that lined the long driveway that led to a spacious mansion. It was difficult for Nora to believe that she was only sixty miles out side of Atlanta;
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The theater was dark. I walked in shyly. Knowing what was about to happen excited as much as it scared me. But there was no going back. A dare is a dare. And I had secretly dreamt of this one for years.
The only noise inside was that coming from the movie. Moaning and panting, enough to tell, even with closed eyes, that I was in a pornographic cinema.
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"-Do you trust me?" Moira asked.
The sun was setting over the southern Ireland countryside, sending long, soft shadows from to tree to hedgerow and slowly turning the sky red. They sat on Moira's couch in her quiet cottage. She had her arm around the younger woman's shoulders. Sinead's school books lay scattered on the coffee table.
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As I knocked on the door of Denise and John's apartment, I wondered what it was like inside. I had been out with them both many times, but this was the first time I had been invited over. They were two of my closest friends, especially since my divorce a year ago. Denise was beautiful black woman that worked with me at work, and she had sensed that I needed to get out more. So she invited me to happy hour with her and John, and it had become a regular thing with us.
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Everyone in this story is over eighteen. It seeks to explore lesbian masochism, which I know exists.
*
It was my husband's fault. Really. Mike was a horny bastard, and something of a voyeur. And that was how he lost me – simple as that. We used to go to a lot of parties, with other young married couples, many of us fancying each other's partners like mad. Nothing unusual in that, I suppose.
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"God, I haven't had a fuck in hours," I thought as I pulled into the parking lot. My last had been a quickie with my boss, bent over his desk as he fucked his big cock into me hard and fast. I rubbed my clit while he spanked my ass and told me what a dirty little slut I was, and we both ended up cumming in about five minutes. It's truly amazing what you can accomplish when you have a schedule to keep.
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It was several months after my wedding that my growing but still largely unconscious suspicions finally emerged into a realization: I had a rival for my husband's affections.
It was surprising, given how grateful he had seemed—after all, Eric had won a bride almost half his age—but I knew that he was possessed of a powerful sex drive and a taste for novelty and adventure.
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