Ordering In

Ordering In

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My girlfriend, Letitia, was so amused she was practically cackling. The waiter was staring at me, and I couldn’t help staring right back.

He had just asked if we needed anything else.

“No. Just — ”

“Your number,” Letitia interrupted. “She’ll take your number.”

He gave me an appraising look, and I felt a flush spread from my cheeks to my chest to my pussy. Letitia was having a grand old time.

“Is that so?”

I shrugged, not missing the fact that his gaze had settled on my cleavage. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn it down,” I said, doing my best flirty voice.

He held out his hand, and I stared at it.

“Give him your phone,” Letitia said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh!” I handed it over, and he tapped rapidly on the screen and then handed it back.

“Jackson,” he said.

I nodded. I’d already known that. His name tag was prominent. “I’ll call you, Jackson,” I said.

He winked and wandered off.

“Give that man a tip and a half just for that cute butt!” Letitia whispered, plenty loud enough for him to hear as he retreated.

My phone buzzed, and she giggled a second before I asked, “Is that you? Did you take his picture or something?”

“You know me too well. I was super slick, though, right? You didn’t even know.”

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“You gonna tell Logan?”

I nodded. “Of course I am.”

“Man, how’d you luck out like this? You get a smoking-hot husband, and he likes sharing you with other men. Lord.”

I grinned. “Just lucky, I guess.”

The night of my date with the waiter, Logan asked, “Now who is this charming gentleman who’s going to fuck my wife?”

I hadn’t shown him the picture yet. He knew I had one, but I was making him wait until the last minute.

Shortly after we’d exchanged numbers, I’d called Jackson and explained my situation: That I had a husband, but we were in an open marriage. I felt it only fair he be informed.

He was fine with our arrangement and asked me out for drinks. I was currently in a tight blue dress and tall black boots. Minimal makeup with bright red fuck-me lipstick.

Logan grabbed me around the middle and pulled me back against him. I could feel his hard-on pressing against my ass.

“The picture. Show me,” he whispered demandingly in my ear. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and my scalp prickle. Beneath the bodice of my dress my nipples spiked.

I pulled out my phone and found the picture. “Here he is.”

He looked over my shoulder, still trapping me close to his body, his hard cock still nudging my ass. “Hmm. He looks like a strapping young lad. I think your pussy is in for a full-throttle workout.” Then he grabbed my mound through my dress and squeezed.

The rude gesture made me wet. I was going to be soaked before I even got to my date.

When I finally left the house, my cunt was thumping along with my heart. Logan had pinned me to the wall and whispered in my ear, telling me to be ready for round two when I got home.

The idea of being fucked by Jackson, and then immediately being taken by my husband, made my head buzz with anticipation.

When I arrived at the bar, Jackson was waiting in the vestibule. The wind snatched the door out of my hand and blew my dress up around my thighs. “Hi,” I said, looking up at him.


God, he was even more handsome than I remembered.

We sat at the bar and sipped our drinks, but I wasn’t interested in a second round.

“Can I ask you question?”

 “Sure,” Jackson said. “What?”

“Can we get to the fucking part now?”

He blinked at me and then grinned. “Sure, do you want to ride with me or follow me? I’m about 15 minutes from here.”

“I’ll follow you,” I said. Then I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.

He parted his lips, then slipped his tongue into my mouth. Then he flicked his rigid tongue tip against my Cupid’s bow, almost like he was showing me what he could do to my pussy. A sigh slipped out of me.

“He plunged a finger inside me and then drew my own wetness across my clit.”

“Let’s go,” Jackson said. He yanked me against him briefly and ran his teeth down the side of my throat until I shivered. His erection pressed against me, stiff and tempting.

He released me from his embrace and headed out the door. I followed close on his heels as the wind swirled, and my thigh-high stockings did little to protect me from the cold.

His apartment was ground level, and the moment we entered, he said, “I like this dress, but I’ll like it even better on the floor.”

I watched as he tugged at the belt. The garment fell open instantly and hung there. That’s the beauty of a dress — you get to the sex faster.

He traced the lace of my bra and then tugged the cups down. His lips and teeth and tongue were on me all at once. His hand slipped inside my panties and found me wet. He plunged a finger inside me and then drew my own wetness across my clit, painting tiny circles that made my toes curl in my boots.

“Take off the dress.”

I shrugged it off, and it hit the floor.

He smiled, pulled off my bra and then said of my panties, “Careful now, we’re going to take these off, but you are going to leave those hose and boots on.”

I nodded and watched as he made it so. He held me steady as he slid my undies down and off. I stepped out of them a moment later.

He pushed my thighs wide and put his mouth on me. He recreated what he’d done to my lips, flicking his tongue against my clit. Pleasure swirled through me, and I thrust my hips toward his face, eager for more.

He responded, slipping his finger inside me and plunging it deep, while flicking and licking me with his tongue.

My knees felt like they’d buckle, and I grabbed handfuls of his dark blond hair. I wasn’t shy. I ground my pussy against him, and as I came I pulled his hair hard enough to make him gasp.

He stood, kissing me roughly and tugging my hair. He yanked my head back and bared my neck, nipping me just above my collarbone.

I could see the desperation in his eyes and knew he needed to get off. I dropped to my knees as he worked his belt buckle open.

He unfastened his pants and pushed them down as he toed off his shoes. Once he was totally naked, he grabbed my hair again. Then I was sliding my mouth down his shaft. I tickled his balls and let him push the back of my head forward. His cock slowly slid into my relaxed throat.

“Holy shit,” he muttered.

I hummed, sucking him faster and faster. His cock was wet with my spit, my fist following behind my mouth to stroke him.

He pulled free of me with a cry and held out a hand to help me up. Then we moved to the sofa together. I sat on the edge of the cushion with my knees bent and my thighs wide. He knelt before me, held my knees and slid into me, watching his cock enter me.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he muttered.

I studied his face as he rocked his dick in and out of me. He pumped steadily, his dark eyes intense.

He stroked my tits as he fucked me, keeping his eyes locked on where we were joined. He thrust into me hard and deep, and I met every one of his motions. I clenched my pussy tight around him, while he pinched my nipples. Jackson chuckled when I gasped, and then his thumb was on my clit, swirling and nudging me closer to coming.

I clenched around him again, and he swore. I liked that. I was getting to him.

His thumb kept pressing my clit, stroking me blissfully. A surge of warmth swept through me, and I cried out, coming hard as pleasure wracked my body.

“Nice,” he said, appreciating my undulating body, then he moved me — manhandled me really — turning me onto my belly on the sectional. I shivered in arousal.

I like a man who can manipulate me, make me his puppet, his bendable poseable girl.

I was on my knees and belly on the cushion, with his hand pressed against my lower back. He slid his cock into me slowly and then grabbed my hips hard. His fingers bit into my flesh as he thrust deep, fully penetrating me with each steady stroke of his staff. The goodness was breathtaking.

“I lost it, shooting my spunk up into her, sealing my fantasy of this woman.”

I moved back to meet him, but my motions were controlled. I found myself chanting as he slid out of me and then slid back in with great care.


“Again?” he whispered, laughing softly.

“Yes,” I said insistently.

He pulled out of me briefly to scoop up some pussy juice and then jammed his cock back into my cunt before working his thumb into my back hole. I groaned and tried to keep my body still. I wanted the luscious, slow fuck to continue. I didn’t want to distract him from his task. But I needed more.

I rocked backward, and with his digit in my back hole and his fat cock in my cunt, the sense of fullness was amazing and soon pushed me over the edge.

I came, sobbing into the couch cushion. He made a sound that was a half laugh, half snarl, and his fingers sank deeper into my flesh. Then he really pounded me, taking the brakes off and fucking me as hard and fast as he needed. I took it, slamming my body back to take his. He pulled out of me suddenly, and I heard the rasp of his hand jerking his cock and then felt the warm splash of him painting my back with his come.

Afterward, we had a couple of drinks and some small talk before making plans to meet again. We’d been good together; he was a promising new playmate.

Once I was in the car, I called Logan.

“Are you wet?”

“Soaked,” I said.

“Was he good?”

“Hell, yeah.”

I put the car in gear and put him on speakerphone. 

“Are you ready for me to fuck you?”

“Very,” I replied.

“Good — then hurry home.”

I did, and he did. And it was great.