I wrote at the end of the summer about our first meeting with J. (Titled ‘New Adventures’). The second time felt a lot more relaxed, charged from the moment we stepped into J’s front door. J greeted us with that same easy, smile I remembered from the first meet. S kissed him hello like they’d been lovers for years, and I took my usual place in the armchair in the corner, quiet, taking things in, cock already stirring in my jeans.

We started with small talk (wine, laughing, catching up), but S never lets the lingering pleasantries last too long when she wants things to get going. Ten minutes in, she was perched on the edge of the sofa, her short skirt riding high on her thighs. She steered the conversation exactly where she wanted it.

“ I expect you still think about my tits, don’t you?” she teased, voice low and filthy.

J didn’t bother answering with words. He just slid one  hand up her ribs and tugged the neckline of her blouse open. Her breasts spilled out, heavy and perfect, nipples already hardened. He groaned, cupped them roughly, thumbs flicking over the nipples and S smiled and sighed.

I stayed silent, pulse racing as he bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, teeth grazing, while his free hand shoved her short skirt up higher. S spread her legs willingly, shamelessly, the black lace of her basque already open at the crutch, fasteners popped. J didn’t tease. Two thick fingers pushed the fabric away and sank straight into her dripping pussy.

“Wow, you’re wet,” he muttered against her breast.

S just moaned, hips lifting to meet every thrust of his hand. He added a thumb to her clit, stretching her, pushing his fingers deep until her thighs started to shake. I watched her face flush, watched her mouth fall open, and then she came, hard, grinding down on his hand with a moan that made my cock throb painfully against my zip.

When she finally sagged against him, breathless and glowing, J pulled his fingers free and they kissed passionately. S allowed his tongue into her mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world, eyes closed but intense focus on his kisses.

“Your turn,” she whispered.

She slipped off the sofa and dropped to her knees in front of him. J lounged back on his sofa, watching her with hungry eyes as she unbuckled his belt and freed his cock. It was as thick as I remembered, dark veins standing out along the shaft and the head already glistening. S made  appreciative sounds and wrapped a hand around him, commenting on how handsome she thought it was. She started slow, long licks from base to tip, swirling her tongue around the head, tasting the bead of pre-cum there. Then she took him deeper, lips stretching wide, cheeks hollowing as she sucked. J’s head fell back, a low growl in his throat. He gathered her hair in one hand, guiding her rhythm, fucking her mouth in shallow thrusts while she moaned around him.

Minutes ticked by as she got to work on his hardening cock and she edged him, deliberately pulling off whenever his hips jerked too hard, stroking him with both hands until he was breathing very heavily. At one point she pushed her tits together and slid his cock between them, letting him fuck the soft valley while she licked at the head every time it emerged. J’s control started to crack; his breathing turned rapid.

“Let me take a breath” he pleaded. He hauled her up, spun her around, and bent her over the arm of the sofa. Skirt rucked up to her waist, basque open at the popper fastenings.. He rubbed the fat head of his cock through her folds a little, coating himself in her wetness, then pushed in.

S cried out, fingers gripping a cushion as he stretched her open. He was slow at first, letting her feel every thick inch forcing its way inside until his thighs met her arse and he was buried to the hilt. Then he started to move, long, deliberate strokes that dragged over every sensitive spot inside her.

I had the perfect view from my corner: the way her pussy clung to him on every withdrawal, shiny with her juices; the way her back arched; the obscene, wet sounds of his cock driving into her again and again. J set a steady, relentless rhythm, one hand gripping her hip, the other reaching around to rub tight circles over her clit.

S started to moan. “Please… harder… fuck, I’m gonna—”

Her second orgasm hit like a wave. She shook, pussy clamping on him, a fresh rush of wetness coating his shaft, his pace faltering for a second before he slammed into her even deeper, riding her through it.

When she went limp, he pulled out carefully. His cock glistened red and wet with her cum. He turned her over, pushed her higher on the bed so she was lying back, legs spread wide, breasts heaving. Then he straddled her, wanking himself in urgent strokes.

“I’m going to cum,” he said. “Where do you want it?” She simply replied “tits”.

S stared up at him, lips parted, eyes smiling, and encouraging. Three, four hard pumps and he came with a groan, thick spurts of cum dripping onto her tits, her throat, even reaching her chin. There was so much of it, white against her flushed skin, dripping slowly down the curves of her breasts.

J milked himself dry, still breathing hard, then leaned down and kissed her, slow and sensual.

In the corner, my own cock was aching, untouched, leaking into my boxers. I hadn’t moved the entire time. I had again had the pleasure of watching my beautiful wife get thoroughly, perfectly fucked, and loved every second of it.

S caught my eye as J collapsed beside her, both of them spent and glowing. She smiled, happy and satisfied, cum still glistening on her skin, and mouthed silent words that made my heart stutter.

“Your turn later.“