My Bisexual Husband's Adult Movie Ménage Bundle

My Husband’s First Time Bisexual Ménage-2

I clicked the lock to closed on my office door and padded back to my desk - there’s something just so deliciously decadent about being barefoot at work that never fails to get me so incredibly hot and wet. I’d actually kicked off my thousand-dollar Louboutins earlier in the day, as was my regular habit – I simply love to give my toes a little freedom during a hard working day, and to hell with what the staff thought. Besides, what is the point of being CEO of your own marketing company if you can’t enjoy a little barefoot me-time in your own nineteenth-floor, executive office?

I sat back in my black leather chair and placed my feet up on the dark wood desk that was covered edge to edge with paperwork, reports, mail and a bazillion inter-departmental memos - all of which were forgotten for the time being. For my mind was elsewhere, as it had been for most of that day, too busy swirling with sexy thoughts of the adventure I had arranged for my hot young husband for later on evening.

I pressed my head back into the soft cushioned headrest of my managerial chair and with one hand I hiked up the skirt of my dark blue Chanel suit, so I could see the tiny black silk panties that clung snugly to the delicate bulge of my warm, tingling p***y.

And before I knew what I was doing, my hand had slipped down the front of those very panties, my wriggling fingers homing directly in on my delicately throbbing c******s. Ever since I’d first discovered the pleasure that could be derived, I’d always loved the feel of my damp p***y beneath my exploring fingertips; the warmth of the skin down there, the slippery wetness, my neatly trimmed landing strip of hair that acted as a kind of guide to the heaven that nestled down below. I have to say that I have never been one for going the full Hollywood, I much prefer to look and feel like an actual grown woman than a prepubescent child, and I know that Tony – my infinitely sexy husband and naughty playmate – prefers it too.

Slowly, firmly, I massaged the throbbing head of my c**t, delighting in the electric tingle that ran all the way down to my naked toes that now gripped the edge of my desk, and up to my n*****s that I could feel were stiffening beneath the confines of my best Victoria Secret bra and the clingy material of my favorite silk shirt. I stroked tentatively at the firm mounds of my generous breasts, teasing myself by keeping my fingers away from the jutting nubs of my n*****s, skirting my playful digits skilfully around the sides of the taut buds, even though they were practically begging for my attention.

Down below, in my panties, I dipped a couple of fingers down along my slit and was surprised to find just how incredibly wet I had become down there. All along my fleshy groove was slick and slippery, my tight hole oozing with juice which had coated my inner and outer lips with a warm wetness that also dribbled down towards the sensitive puckered skin of my delicate brown rose. I slid my fingers up and down, along the contours of my soaking cleft, enraptured by the sensations that radiated out from there and alternating between rubbing over the tiny head of my c**t and plunging them deep inside the crinkled walls of my hot, wet v****a.

In my mind I spun away from the confines of my luxurious office, away from the endless parade pf paperwork, the shrill and seemingly endless ringing of the telephone – I’d had Stacey hold my calls for fifteen minutes – and the intrusive glare of my computer and its constant stream of emails. As I m*********d, I allowed my mind to wander and conjured up hot, racy thoughts of my favorite fantasy – the fantasy that I had all planned to play out in full that very evening; the one and the same that had gotten me all hot under the proverbial collar (collar be damned, a more accurate description there would be ‘hot in the panties’) all day and which now found me m**********g at my desk like some horny teenaged slut who just couldn’t help herself.

Whilst at thirty-four I was well beyond those hormone-fuelled teenage years, the latter part of my analogy was pretty much spot-on, insomuch as I really, honestly couldn’t help myself – I genuinely felt that if I didn’t release some of my pent-up s****l pressure, I would simply explode right then and there in my office! It wasn’t as if this was something I made a habit of – this was my first time as a matter of fact – I really wasn’t the type to have my fingers down my soaked-through silk panties during the working day!

But this was a special circumstance; it was not everyday that I intended to live out my ultimate s****l fantasy of sharing my hot husband with another man.

We’d talked about arranging a truly bisexual experience together for quite some time now – ever since the wine-fuelled evening of Truth-or-Dare we’d played on vacation six months ago, when I’d confessed that I’d always wanted to see him f**k and be f****d by a hot guy.

Bare feet trembling on the desk and thighs tense, I increased the tempo on my aching c**t, already feeling the orgasm that built up deep inside my p***y as I recalled how my husband’s eyes had lit up at the very notion of participating in a threesome with me and another man. I’d expected him to be at least a little reticent at the thought of screwing a guy for my pleasure – it was only a fantasy after all – but no, he’d actually gone overboard to encourage me to elaborate on my naughty thoughts.

My busy fingers squished around between my swollen p***y lips, my hand soaking wet from the juices that welled up from deep inside of my slick entrance. I was dangerously close to cumming; I felt the mounting pressure in my groin, the delicate sheen of s*x-sweat breaking out across my quivering body, my t**s aching to be free of their elasticated confines. I fought the almost uncontrollable urge to strip completely naked at my desk, to present my nude body to the world through the vast expanse of window that lay just behind me and let anyone who cared to see, watch from their own high-rise offices as I fingered myself to a juddering, heart-pounding orgasm, my pink, wet p***y spread wide open for their scrutiny.

I pressed myself yet further back into my plush chair, not caring that my panties and skirt were now totally soaked through and sticking to the expensive black leather. My fingers slid in and out of my tight entrance in a blur as I finger-f****d myself to a climax, my thumb rubbing roughly on my clitty to create what I knew was going to be a real hum-dinger of a climax.

I could only hope against hop that I’d be able to keep it quiet – Tony had called me his Hot Little Screamer ever since our first time f*****g when we’d actually had the hotel management knocking on our suite door to keep the noise down; there had been several complaints from below the Penthouse, apparently.

Thoughts of Tony – my incredibly masculine, perfectly toned and unbelievably sexy husband – sucking c**k made my head spin, and the very idea of him taking a d**k in his tight, muscular ass drove me totally to distraction. As did the knowledge that I had set up a meeting that very evening during which those very scenarios would take place – if everything went according to my lascivious plan. But what if he didn’t go through with it? What if all of his talk during our sexy times was just that – sexy bedroom talk? What if my husband had no desire – or intention – to actually go through with what he’d asked me to arrange in the heat of our fiery, sweat-dampened passion in the comfort of our marital bed? And what if my fantasy of watching my husband’s bisexual leanings in hard, moist action didn’t actually come to fruition?

Those thoughts almost dampened the orgasm that bubbled up inside of my body, even though up to then it had been all ready to burst out like some little kid’s science fair baking soda volcano.

I switched my mind to imagining Tony with his ass stuffed full of fat, meaty c**k whilst I held open my vulva for him to lap at like a kitten at the finest cream, and I allowed my naughty fingers to home in on the erect, sharply pointed n****e of my left breast and tweaked at the firm point with my immaculately French-manicured finger nails.

And that took me over the edge quite nicely, thank you very much.

I clamped my mouth tight shut to stifle the orgasm cry that almost escaped from my lips. At the same time, I plunged three fingers deep inside my hot, wet p***y as the muscles down there clenched so hard that I actually felt my poor knuckles go pop. With my thumb I pressed down hard on my twitching c**t to milk every last moment of that delicious orgasm from its little bulging head that was now so sensitive as to be bordering on being painful. Involuntarily, my head rolled back and I closed my eyes, my legs stretched straight out, my bare toes teetering on the very edge of my desk as my chair rolled backwards into the bookcase behind me.

The climax rolled over my trembling body like waves on a tropical beach, wash after wash of sheer, unadulterated pleasure that gradually ebbed away to leave my p***y sated – albeit temporarily – and my racing mind happy in its anticipation of the pleasures yet to come.

The door opened.

Quickly, I dropped my naked feet to the floor and scooted my chair back up to the desk, pulling my fingers out from my v****a and panties in one swift movement.

“I have the artwork you asked for –” Stacey announced as she barged into my office without as much as a knock.

“Thank you, Stacey,” I replied, fully aware that my voice sounded a tad breathless. I pretended to fiddle with my computer mouse and peered as if in extreme interest at my screensaver.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Wilson?” Stacey enquired as she marched across the office to plop the beige folder on my desk amongst the myriad others just like it. “You look a little – flushed.” She looked at me with genuine concern; her eyes studied my lightly sweat-sheened face that I knew all to well would be a nice glowing, post-orgasmic dark pink. I saw her eyes flick downwards to my chest, and wondered if my n*****s were still hard and protruding through my shimmering sliver shirt.

“I’m fine, Stacey, thank you,” I told her, “I think the AC needs adjusting though, it’s a tad warm in here.” I offered her a smile, all too aware that I was attempting to hold a normal conversation with my young assistant whilst my nether regions were drenched in my own juices and clung to my p***y and ass like a second skin, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d noticed that the hand I had on my mouse was glistening wet.

“I’ll take a look at it, Mrs. Wilson,” Stacey said as she made her way back towards the door. She knew as well as I did that the thermostat was set at a constant seventy-three degrees and that the temperature in my office had nothing to do with the air-conditioning at all; and at that moment I was certain that my assistant knew that she’d just almost caught her boss – the CEO of the company, no less – jilling herself off in the middle of the afternoon.

“Thank you, Stacey,” I said as she left, wanting the girl out of the room as quickly as possible, desperate to be left alone with my post-c*m glow and damp panties.

And I also made a mental note to have the guys from maintenance fix the damned lock on my office door.

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