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"You like me this way?" Cleo whined, her fist jacking Malcolm's dick. "It isn't me, Malcolm," she added before lapping his bell-end. "You know me; I'm not so bad..."
The woman rose up and took Malcom deep into her mouth. She gommed the big dome and tickled the sensitive frenulum with the tip of her tongue, flicking the banjo string like a serpent tasting the air.
"I'm not a whore," Cleo insisted. "But for you, my darling, if you like me to pretend ... I can be the prostituta. For you I will be a slut -- but only for you. It can be a game we play together, in private."
Cleo went back to it while Malcolm processed the news. She sucked and slurped and slobbered with her husband gawping at her, his eyes going from her face to her breasts to the awful lump still embedded inside her.
"Cleo," Malcolm grunted, the sensations overwhelming him. "Cleo ... Babe ... Darling..."
And then, when Cleo fixed her attention on Malcolm's face, the first flick of cum arced from him and described a steep parabola, the dollop a glistening snotty rope clinging to Cleo's hair.
Yelping triumphantly, Cleo took her husband's cock-head between her lips. She sucked at the mushroom dome, the muscle at the base of Malcolm's dick pulsing, jizm pouring into Cleo's mouth.
The woman snorted and snuffed, air going in through her nose while the outpouring continued, spunk leaking between Malcolm's girth and her lips, the gloop squeezing through the gap like oil seeping through a perished gasket.
Finally, with Malcolm groaning and wincing he pulled out, Cleo's mouth like a pelican's pouch. She held the jizm inside for a few seconds and then let it dribble out, a cascade of cum that slid over her chin and spattered onto her chest.
Gelatinous spunk glistened close to Cleo's collar bone, thick globules of the stuff clinging to her skin.
Cleo squinted at her husband and grinned, going up to suck at him again, coaxing cum from the slit in the end of his dick, the woman moaning in satisfaction of a job well executed.
"Happy Valentine's Day," Malcolm's hot wife purred. She scooped up spunk with her forefinger and slipped the digit into her mouth, lips pursing. Winking at her husband, Cleo did it again. "You should turn off the camera now," she said, nudging her chin at the unwinking lens.
"I will, babe," Malcolm crooned, a palm smoothing his wife's long hair. "Then we can get cleaned up and have a drink. There's something I want to talk to you about."
A day later, Malcolm set about selling off his business, the video clip stored in a hidden folder on an external hard drive he kept locked in the safe at home.
It was time to put the old life aside and look forward to a new one with Cleo. He wondered what else she had in store.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousabout 9 years ago...I especially appreciated the attempts at representing a Brazilian woman.
You might put some phrases with context together and ask someone from
Brazil to translate. You (and Google) might be surprised and gratified by the result.
I love a Brazilian woman to the point of pain at being apart from her. I can't say the interplay is remotely like that of your story, but it is intense and fills me to exploding.
I have never known anyone so sensual, yet demure, demanding, yet so, so giving.
She is the most loving, affectionate and supportive woman I've ever known. She doesn't demand things, she demands me....to be with her, caring and attentive, aware and at my best.
But, oh, my God! She treats me like a king, shows me off like she won the man-lottery, and is so excited to show me off, making every other woman mad with jealousy.
She rattles me to my foundations every time we are intimate. There is no question where her heart lies...or mine. When I fell in love with her, I made it my life's work to never give her reason to cry.
I failed almost immediately.
Three months after finally accepting that I couldn't breathe without her, I took her out to her favorite botanical garden for a late spring, midday stroll. Then we rode to the restaurant near the park where we first met. We enjoyed a light (as these things go) Rodízio with the ever present Arroz e Faijão to fill out the meal. Done right, these things take hours, nearly three in our case.
As the waiter brought dessert, I stood and stepped aside her, bending to feed her little tastes of the sumptuous Pudím de Leite com sabor de Maracujá she loves. I set down the spoon and knelt to her side, raising my hand with a small black box and asked for her hand.
Damned if she didn't squeal and fall onto me bawling like a little girl.
I was crushed when she climbed up and asked me to take her home....without answering.
I paid the bill, feeling as deflated and morose as I ever had. Snagged a taxi and rode to her home in silence, my stomach at my throat.
She invited me in, but I declined, certain that anything she could say to me there would only gut me. She got a little fiery and said I would shame her if I did not accept.
Broken and near tears myself, I stepped in and stood at the door. She walked into the apartment a little farther, calling to me a small smile coming to her face...finally.
I took a few hesitant steps, fearful of the sorrow that was about to engulf me, when she called out to her father and mother. They and the whole brood came pouring in from the back of the floor. She stood close to me and announced that I had asked her to marry me.....but had failed to address my interest to her father. Oh, God! I was a deadman.
He asked me a few questions and said that if I could love her as he loved his wife, he would grant us his blessing....if I asked him for it.
Choking with emotion well beyond my normal placid state, I told him that over the last year, I had become a hopeless mess, unable to breathe, let alone think or work or...anything, without her...and could he, would he please grant my greatest hope, or shoot me immediately, as I could not live another moment without her.
Before I could take my next breath, I was enclosed in the biggest, laughing, crying, singing group hug I could imagine. After everyone separated, Sr. Amorim took a stern look and told me how much I had worried the whole family as our romance grew. They were certain I would break her heart and disappear back to the U.S. as soon as I tired of her. But that now, they were gratified to see that I was sincere.
I answered somewhat haltingly, that I could not dare to break her heart, as it was my heart that would break. Well, as you might guess, it was out of control from then to the honeymoon...and we've never looked back. Renata is my soul, my heart and my life. One day, perhaps when I am retired, and somewhat distanced from the security constraints the prevent my doing so, I will create a membership and submit several of my stories, both real and fictional....as I have come to believe that they might, just might be worth you time.
Thanks, and please keep sharing.
Anonymousabout 9 years agoAnyone who thinks cheating adulterous sex is more exciting or mind blowing than genuine loving forever sex, has, sadly, never experienced it. Thank you for writing a story that illustrates that.
mike9698about 9 years agomy first thought was only an idiot would forget the first V- day after he got married. i understand he was married twice before. still this was very dumb on his part. my second thought was man i love women from brazil. for the anon that said he doesnt speak spanish so you shouldnt put it in the story. neither does she you dipshit she was from brazil, not mexico as she even said in the story.she was speaking portuguese not spanish.
