This happened about a year ago. Disclaimer: my wife loves when I overwhelm her with the filthiest dirty talk possible. This one night my girl came home late from working a client dinner with her boss. Usually these dinners involve her dressing up and shmoozing with her higher-ups and either prospective or existing vendors.
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The problem is that Rachel is often given some pretty shitty tasks at these dinners by her boss. For example, he might dispatch her to fetch drinks for himself and clients, even when she’s mid conversation with them.
She was in a bad mood when she got back, mainly because her boss orders around and treats her like an on-call waitress instead of a personal secretary. We decided to unwind by pouring some wine, firing up a blunt and just talking shit.
Rachel was curled up with me on our patio, complaining out Tony (her boss), still dressed in her dinner outfit: a caramel, high waisted skirt that exhibited her ass as tastefully as possible and a sleeveless top. As we passed the blunt back and forth, I stroked her bare legs and listened to her vent her frustrations.
Something about the merlot and the marijuana usually gets us vibing, and soon we were making out under the night sky. I run my hands over her body and comment how sexy she must have looked ferrying all those drinks back and forth. She rolled her eyes at me, but I could tell she liked the compliment.
“You can’t really blame Tony, can you?” I asked her. “I mean…if you were my secretary. I’d want to make sure everyone could see how obedient you are.”
“Shut up.” Rachel told me, but from the way she was grinding on my lap, I knew she was turned on.
“You are obedient, aren’t you? You’ll do whatever he says.” I cupped Rachel’s ample ass in my hands as I kiss her. “Won’t you?”
“Yes,” she told me in a breathy whisper.
“I think you’re just mad that Tony’s not using you in the right way.” I said. Rachel rubbed my cock through my sweatpants and asked me to elaborate. I began to pull her tight skirt up, exposing the black Calvin Klein thong she wore underneath.
“I’d make you wear something pleated. Shorter. Something that would look really good on the golf course,” I whispered in her ear. “And I’d mandate…that you can’t wear these.”
I snapped the waistband of Rachel’s panties and she whimpered in pleasure. I told her that if I were Tony — if I were her boss — she’d be forbidden from wearing underwear to client dinners. That’d she be a showpony, eye candy for any client who wanted to admire her.
Rachel stuffed my dick inside her and rode me desperately. I asked what she thought of my plan. She admitted she liked it and said she wished Tony was better at “using” her.
I told her it was her turn to elaborate. As she bounced on my lap, on our patio, Rachel told me a wild fantasy of Tony loaning her out to his clients. Older men, richer men, with costly appetities. She told me: “He should make me use my mouth to close deals.”
I had to bite my hand to keep myself from cumming inside her as she continued to ride me harder and harder. I told her I had a better idea: that Tony and his clients should take her out on the golf course in a little cart, far away from prying eyes.
“I want them to run a train on you, baby.” I told her. “I want them to fill you up and cum wherever you want. I want them to fuck you in the grass and gag you with your own panties…”
“Fuck yes,” Rachel cried. She was getting close.
“And when they’re done, they’ll drive off without you and leave you there. Just like a used up, cummy whore…”
I could feel her soaked pussy clamp down on my cock as she gasped in perverse pleasure, hungrily stimulated her clit as she choked out my name. Then she whispered in my ear:
“You’ll clean me up after, won’t you Daddy?” I grunted and nutted inside my wife, flooding her as she cooed in my ear: “You’ll still love me, Daddy?”
After I finished pumping the last drops inside of her, she kissed me and called me her “dirty boy.” And the next time she went out to a ritzy client dinner with Tony, I convinced her to leave her panties at home.
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