Sexwife in real life

My name is Katya, I'm 36, petite, slender, with dark hair down to the middle of my back. My breasts are a firm C-cup, waist, butt, legs — all in place, thanks to dancing. Married. We've been living together for many years, we have a son.

I present to you a description of events that happened three years ago. The story is not fictional, the names of the participants are real.

A little backstory.

I should say that I don't have a lot of relationship experience. Before my husband, I only had one boyfriend, a classmate, whom I dated for a year and a half. He was very passionate, it was always interesting with him. He didn't pressure me into sex, he understood my decision

to remain a virgin until marriage. Everything else was allowed, and although everything else is mainly blowjobs and cunnilingus — there was a lot of that, almost every day or every other day. Anal sex happened too, but less often, as it brought more discomfort than pleasure.

Then a series of sequential events happened — finishing studies, getting a job, and meeting my future husband. I liked him immediately. But our relationship didn't have time to develop because very soon my boyfriend and I left for a long-planned trip to the sea, where he was supposed to propose to me, and I was to answer yes.

I didn't answer yes, but I did lose my virginity to him. I wanted to get rid of that atavism from the past. For three weeks we alternated between the bed and the beach, and from the beach to the bed. I ran to the beach, and my boyfriend pulled me to bed, wanting to make up for everything he hadn't gotten in a year and a half. I didn't resist, but contrary to expectations, classic sex didn't satisfy me. It would start well, but after a while it would become uncomfortable, then painful, and I'd try to finish quickly with a blowjob. Perhaps it was because I had delayed losing my virginity and my body found it hard to adapt quickly to the new circumstances, or perhaps because I couldn't stop thinking about that new acquaintance of mine.

My husband.

Do I regret that he wasn't the first? At first, yes, I regretted it very much, but then I decided for myself that it was a kind of farewell gift and calmed down. Two months after the trip, my boyfriend and I broke up for good, and I ended up in bed with my future husband.

It was something completely different. Bright and colorful. Like IMAX after black-and-white cinema. Everything I had before him seemed like a hazy, ghostly dream. He was tender, sensual, with him I could relax and not think about anything. His penis is a bit larger, when he entered me for the first time, it hurt more than the first time, but with him that pain quickly passed and never returned.

Sex with him brought not just physical pleasure, but emotional too. There were different positions, places, toys, whips, sex outside the home. There was also regular sex, I get aroused from blowjobs, and he loves to kiss me down there. Gradually we moved towards light BDSM. He likes to dominate, I like to submit to him. He likes to tie up, and I like to be tied up. You could say — we have ideal sexual relations, my husband is constantly visited by various dirty ideas that greatly diversify our family life, and in eight years we haven't lost interest in each other. But one day, my husband got hooked on a very controversial idea.

Hotwife.

For those who don't know, a hotwife, or HW — is a wife who has sex with other men with her husband's consent (this is important). This idea has many followers. My husband found a group on Telegram and spent all his evenings there. Since then, my sex life changed drastically. Ropes and whips remained, but instead of kisses, my husband showered me with questions — How many boyfriends did I have before him? Did I suck my boyfriend's cock? Was his penis big? Did he lick me? How many guys have seen me naked? He wanted to find out everything about my sex with my ex, the smallest details. And specifically during sex. At other times, he was shy.

When he had asked everything about my ex, fantasies about a theoretical future began. How another man would caress me, fuck me, how I would suck him off. Or even there would be two of them. After all, sex with two is twice as pleasurable. His voice seemed to program me, hypnotize me, I nodded and agreed. He got even more excited, the fantasies became even bolder… His words painted pictures in my head, which seemed more and more attractive. Forbidden, but sweet. He was corrupting me, conditioning me, and in the end he achieved that I started thinking about other men. And when he appeared, I immediately looked at him as a potential lover.

Alexey.

One of our clients. I liked him immediately. Smiling and calm, it was easy and pleasant with him. He showed signs of attention, made barely noticeable hints. Sometimes he would hug me, as if accidentally running his hand over my butt. He was married, he also had a child. According to my husband — the perfect candidate.

And I couldn't make up my mind. As they say — I want to, but I'm scared. On one hand, I liked communicating with him, and I knew that it would disappear in the form it was, as soon as we crossed the line, and on the other hand, my husband was pressuring me, demanding immediate action.

Alexey was being slow, my husband was pressuring, the tension was rising, and I snapped. I furiously told my husband that I'm not a slut and I won't offer myself to someone who doesn't want me.

— But to someone who does? — my hubby didn't miss a beat.

— To someone who wants me, I'll give it! — I blurted out.

My husband, first surprised by my outburst, was completely satisfied with the answer and left me alone. A roughly month-and-a-half truce began, until one event happened — I had to show Alexey a property, an industrial building. A very good option. With final tram and bus stops nearby, convenient access roads, a dead-end railway line. Inside, there was an overhead crane installed, a number of utility rooms, and so on, and so forth.

The overhead crane — the key moment. During the first inspection, I had to climb onto it. It was uncomfortable, humiliating, and scary. It wasn't the crane's fault, of course, but the fact that it's very high up, right under the roof. About at the level of the third floor. And you have to climb a vertical ladder attached to one of the support columns. For safety, the ladder was blocked by arches a meter apart, but how that made the climb safer is still unclear to me. I was in a skirt and heels. My shoes slipped on the polished metal rungs, the skirt allowed a peek underneath, and even though there was no one below, I felt exposed from all sides, it was very uncomfortable.

As soon as my husband found out about the upcoming showing, he immediately demanded that I wear a mini skirt and a thong. As he put it — time to separate the wheat from the chaff, meaning Alexey's indecisiveness. Deep down, I agreed with him, I also wanted certainty.

D-Day.

On D-day, my husband left for work earlier than me. So I allowed myself to dress to my taste — a regular everyday skirt below the knees with a zipper up to the waist in the back, thin black stockings, very thin, mesh, panties without elastic, my favorite soft bra, a blouse matching the skirt, and a white cardigan. As usual — light makeup and, unusually — hair in a ponytail. To make it easier to kiss my neck (haha).

After getting to the office and attending the routine morning meeting, I, with a cup of coffee, began waiting for Alexey. About twenty minutes later he arrived, and we drove in his car to the destination. After texting my husband that we were on our way, I described my outfit and demanded a new skirt. In return, I promised not to fix the zipper on the one I was wearing, which kept unzipping with every step. He didn't read it. I was starting to get nervous. The journey only took half an hour and there wasn't much time to wait.

My husband was silent. I was getting angry. The road was ending, and I started to panic. After all, who's the main instigator here, I thought?! When we arrived at the building, my nervousness peaked, and I was torn between sexpornotales.cc options of giving in — not giving in, messages from my husband started pouring in on my phone. Everything remained in force, he demanded my fall.

My lower abdomen warmed up, my thighs involuntarily clenched. It's one thing to discuss it at home, quite another — next to the man I'm designated as a sacrifice to. Rationally I was ready, but feelings were raging inside, creating chaos. I was afraid it would happen, and even more afraid that it wouldn't.

The property.

Getting out of the car, we entered the empty, echoing space. Inside it was warm and sunny, but I was shivering with fine tremors. I led Alexey forward, showing doors to various utility and storage rooms. Alexey walked slightly behind. The building was long, but virtually divided in half. Exactly in the middle was that very ladder to heaven, to the crane.

After taking a few test steps, I confirmed by the tension on the skirt that the zipper, as usual, had unzipped to the foundation and Alexey had the opportunity to examine my thighs and the edge of my stockings. When climbing the ladder, the view from below would be as if I had lain on my back on the edge of a table and raised my legs to the ceiling.

If after such a show this ram continues to dawdle, I'll blacklist him, I decided. Let those who didn't get us cry, let those who didn't want us die!

Saying that the last thing awaiting us was the overhead crane, I grabbed the rung with suddenly weakened hands and, tilting my head, hiding my crimson ears, began to quickly climb up. Quickly — that's only in words. Heels got in the way, shoes slipped, and I climbed like a turtle, moving only one limb at a time.

Hearing Alexey climbing up behind me and imagining the view opening up to him, I physically felt his burning gaze on my thighs and my wetting pussy. What might a man think in such a situation? Personally, I'm sure — a woman is either a fool or a slut, there's no third option, but my husband thinks that any normal guy would simply enjoy the view, without making evaluative judgments. How it really was — will remain a mystery to me, but considering that Alexey always turned to me with the most complex questions, he didn't think I was a fool, which means, if he was simply enjoying the view — that's the best I could hope for.

— In close quarters, but not in anger! — I exhaled with a strained voice, glad that somewhere in the middle of the climb, blood was needed by my arms and legs and left my burning cheeks and ears, so I must have looked quite neutral.

— Two speeds in the longitudinal direction, one in the transverse, load capacity 25 tons, fully operational. — I was announcing, and Alexey, pressing against me and looking over my shoulder into the cabin, was examining something. My nipples swelled and hardened. A flame raged in my lower abdomen. No one, ever, had pressed against me like that. My husband doesn't count. Alexey was shorter than him, but larger, more massive. His breath burned my neck, and I hoped he couldn't feel the wild pounding of my heart and didn't notice how my nipples had hardened and how often my chest was heaving.

At that moment, Alexey could have done anything he wanted with me. He could have kissed me, could have started slowly unbuttoning my blouse, pulled down my bra and squeezed my breast, could have simply shoved his hand between my legs. I probably even expected it. Wanted it. But he did nothing! He said he had seen everything and we could go back. Ha-ha three times.

I had never felt like a bigger fool. I became terribly ashamed and uncomfortable in front of him for my behavior. Good thing Alexey didn't see my flaming cheeks, as he had already started descending. I followed him. I didn't care if he was looking up my skirt or not. Let him even x-ray me, I don't give a damn! At least I'll have something to tell my husband, I thought and smirked, imagining how I would tease him, slowly leading up to such a flop in the finale. However, the plans were not meant to be.

Uh-oh.

When there were a couple of steps left to the floor, Alexey's hands suddenly grabbed me by the waist, lifted me off the ladder, and smoothly lowered me down. It was so unexpected that I was taken aback. I wanted to turn around, free myself, thank him, but Alexey pressed me against him. His palms rested on my stomach. Or rather, one on my stomach, and the other a palm lower, on my pubis. I can't say it was rough, no — the palm lay flat, only the little finger lightly touched my clit and even that, I'm sure, was accidental. With my butt, I felt a hard, rod-like penis.

For a second, time seemed to freeze. Stood still. And then it jerked forward. His hands began to slide over my body. Confidently, possessively. One — a bit lower and between, the other — upward, capturing one breast, the other, it slid from my stomach to my neck, caressing, squeezing. Very quickly it was under my blouse and bra, fingers pinching and twisting my nipples. The one that was "lower and between" made small movements, stroking me between my legs — I didn't even notice how my thighs parted by themselves, easing access. My heart was pounding wildly, I was wet like a cat in March. I felt his penis and wanted it. Rubbed against it.

He bent me forward, unzipped the zipper all the way, and the skirt fell to the floor. I leaned my hands on the ladder, automatically spread my legs wider, arching my butt towards his hands, fingers, penis. With one long movement, he pulled my panties down, to my knees. I wanted to step out of them to take them off, but didn't have time, they tore at the thigh and slid down my leg. I didn't care. His fingers finally entered me. Into my dripping pussy. I moaned in a way I rarely moaned under my husband. The moan echoed hollowly. I wanted only one thing — continuation! For him not to stop, to enter me, immediately, right now!

I hung on him for a long time. Even when his penis went soft and slipped out of me, I stood leaning against him. Felt his semen flowing out of me. Tried weakly to figure out what day it was. Seems safe. He held me, stroked my chest, my stomach, played with the hair on my pubis.

I pulled away as soon as I felt his penis hardening again. I picked up and put on my skirt, crumpled the little ball of panties in my hand — can't leave them for the workers' amusement. Fixed my appearance. I was afraid to turn around and look at him, but nothing terrible happened. He also zipped up, hugged me, kissed me, walked me to the car. The first steps were difficult for me, my legs were like jelly, and my head too. On the way, I started leaking again, had to wipe the trickle that had run down to my knee with the ball of panties under his gaze.

The way back passed mostly in silence. My bare pussy slid on the leather seat, the zipper on the way to the car unzipped again, and I hoped I wouldn't forget to discreetly wipe after myself. I felt good. Physically. My head was empty and with a kind of mischief, self-satisfaction — I did it! I succeeded! As if I had risen to a new level and from above, with a smile, I condescendingly looked at my indecisiveness in the past.

Realizing from the sudden silence that Alexey had been saying something and that an answer was expected from me, I strained my brain cells, processing what I heard, and answered that I liked it very much too. I said:

— I liked it very much too, Lesh.

First time I called him that. It just slipped out. I suddenly looked at him with completely different eyes. Something in me changed in my attitude towards him, in my perception of him. Something very deep, that cannot be undone. It was as if I belonged to him now, as if he had implanted a code in me that is now embedded in my genes, like the code of the owner of my body.

Lesha, who had been worried by my long