My wife and I have an unspoken ritual we call her “Slut Appointments” — moments when she meets with another man, and I stay home, anticipating her return. Often, she comes back flushed, dripping with desire, sometimes even with signs of their encounter left on her body. She never washes it off immediately; instead, she slips into her panties, still marked, then seeks me out so I can peel them off and press my mouth to her willing skin. I indulge her, savoring every taste and stroke while she recounts every vivid detail of her evening.
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One day, I came home early from work to find her in the midst of getting ready. She was perfecting her makeup, painting on red lipstick to embody the confident, irresistible woman she transforms into. I loved watching her prepare for these encounters.
She asked for my help picking out her outfit, a task I willingly took on. Normally, I snap a quick photo before she leaves, the image fueling my fantasies while I try to focus on my work. Today, I lingered longer, watching her try on various enticing ensembles: a short leather skirt paired with a low-cut top revealing her red bra, a dress designed for “easy access,” and a sheer nightgown with a jacket. After each outfit, she’d pull me close and ask, “Can you picture me getting fucked in this tonight?” Without hesitation, I’d say yes each time.
But I craved something more specific — a certain one-piece bodysuit she owns, semi-transparent over her breasts and hugging her curves perfectly. It featured a tempting clip right over her pussy. I dressed her in that piece, ensuring she wore neither panties nor a bra beneath it. She teased my cock, whispering, “I’m so ready for him,” as I kissed her neck and played with her nipples, nearly losing myself in desire.
We finished with tight leather jeans that molded her ass flawlessly and a cropped jacket. She confessed feeling primed to be taken, and though I stayed behind, unable to join her, I resisted release, lost in thoughts of her pleasure throughout the night.
Hours later, she returned radiant, her makeup smudged beautifully from passion. She crossed the room to the couch, slipping off her jeans. Right where the bodysuit’s clip sat was a heavy, unmistakable sign of the night. She told me how he unclipped her, impaled her from behind until she nearly begged for reprieve, then flipped her around, spilling his load across her stomach and pussy. Finally, he clipped her back in place and praised her as his good girl.
She unclipped the bodysuit for me and I eagerly licked away his mess, tracing it from her lips down her stomach. She pressed the fabric against my face, murmuring, “Taste how well he fucked me.” Overwhelmed by the intoxicating moment, I came hard, the warmth spilling onto the floor as we shared the aftermath of her wild night together.
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