Wild Adventure at the Pyramids

It wasn't the most comfortable position but I kept his cock in my mouth until he went soft, and then licked it dry once he recovered from his orgasm. He let go of my forgotten hair and motioned for me to get up and sit down more comfortably, so I straddled the stone table. He sat behind me and grabbed my tits, snuggling closely to me, kissing my neck.

"So your balls are definitely still there," I said as I swished some saliva around and swallowed remnants of his cum.

"Yes, both of them, left and right," he said and squeezed my breasts, still horny.

My dress settled to where I almost looked decent, and I closed my eyes and enjoyed being held for a couple of minutes. And then I felt something poking me from behind.

"Umm?" I glanced at him and caught his wicked grin. He was getting erect again and I felt very flattered. He scrunched up a wad of fabric and pulled it out of the way and I felt his cock press right against my crack. It was getting me hornier.

It took little effort to lean forward and rise just a bit so his cock could slide back in my pussy. He grabbed my tits hard and was picking up the pace, fucking me again. Using me. I felt greedy, making him horny again right after cumming. We were in a groove, just doing what we wanted. Fucking. No one here to get in our way. Reaching down, I rubbed my clit and within minutes turned around to tell him I was about to orgasm. He slipped his tongue in my mouth and flicked it against mine, so porny and so hot in the moment.

I came hard. I mean, I always came hard, but once in awhile I cum so hard that I turn incomprehensible. All my previous hot fucks visit me in my head split second before I get off and join me in celebration of my body that I have to fight not calling out someone else's name. Why do we make fucking so hard, I wondered and then cracked my lip trying to stop myself from screaming any louder. Except this time I knew I wouldn't feel guilty.

He held me there until I came to, kissing my neck and still playing with my tits. Like a gentleman, he waited. But now it was his turn and he continued fucking me slowly, just using my pussy. He fucked me slower and slower, and then slowed all the way down and pulled his cock out. I wondered if he wanted me to swallow his cum again when I felt it press against my asshole. Once a year I craved anal and I was overdue.

"What are you doing?" I asked him playfully, still reeling in from my orgasm. He didn't know I was into it.

"Shh," he said and started trying to slip it in. This was a spontaneous attempt and the tip pressing was the question mark, and my not rejecting it was a "lets try it" shrug. It would either work, or it wouldn't, but I was willing to try unprepared.

I was positioned perfectly for an ass fucking, and if there ever was a time and a place for a cheating whore wife to get fucked in the ass, it was here and now. We were committing a misdemeanor down south, the kind maybe you couldn't blame on being dumb tourists, he was additionally on the run from criminals who bothered chasing him across the world, and was I betraying my loyal husband. So I was wet as fuck, and that helped immensely.

"You're crazy," I whispered between kisses.

He grabbed my tits more firmly and was groping them almost savagely as he kept sliding his head minutely into my ass, and I bit my lip to get over the discomfort. Being so wet had its upside, apparently. After a minute he started getting in deeper, and that's when I felt my asshole get stretched.

"Oh god," I moaned when it happened. It was a surprise sensation, but the discomfort was instantly replaced with a feeling of being filled up. That wonderful feeling when you pop your back, it was kind of like that, but deep inside my ass. He was squeezing my breasts as he drove it in, and that felt so hot, a multiplier of pleasure. The world needed more tit men, I decided.

"You're so hard," I remarked in the passionate moment, and he kissed me again, this time more lovingly and less porny. He was barely moving, grinding into me, and yet his cock was sliding in and out almost all the way. Once or twice he slipped out entirely and I gasped when he managed to stick it back in my ass hands-free, because what I said was so true, he was really fucking hard and leaking crazy amounts of precum for which my asshole was grateful.

At this point I was playing with my pussy again, and getting really close. I told him as much and he asked me to wait for him. Cumming at the same time is so erotic, paradoxically considerate of him to arrange it despite selfishly abusing my asshole. This was what I deserved, I thought to myself, a nice thick cock in my ass about to blow its second load. It's all I could think about.

He started groaning louder than before, and I actually felt his cock spasm and shoot warm cum deep in my ass. He had a death grip on my tits and a combination of the two sent me over the edge. Despite the need to be quiet I just couldn't help it and I screamed, "Fu,... fuc... fuck, I'm cumming! Fuck, I'm cumming!"

Piotr must've been good at hydrating because I was impressed with the second load he shot. My orgasm hypnotized me into deep relaxation and we just sat there panting, almost as exhausted as when climbing all those stairs earlier.

"Fuck, I need a cigarette," I whispered.

His cock slipped out without me noticing it and once I thought to move I realized I probably shouldn't rejoin polite society with cumstains on my dress. Luckily my panties were nearby, so I used them to soak up a puddle of watery cum. And... that's when I committed a second misdemeanor. Littering. Purple was my favorite color and I regretfully left them on the altar because I was carrying nothing on the tour and couldn't hide them.

"We should probably leave separately, in case we're seen," Piotr heard me say. Normally it's men who try to disappear, but I got what I wanted. Maybe there'd be time later for a second fuck, I hoped.

Once I rejoined the tour group, I realized my husband wasn't in it. He'd rejoined the wrong group nearby. When I waved him over, he didn't even realize his mistake - he'd been so oblivious, more like preoccupied. And his hand was now clearly stained green.

After the tour the chartered bus took us all swimming to cool off in a local cenote. It was a deep sinkhole of sorts couple of hundred yards across, naturally filled with gorgeously clear freshwater. The stairs from our lockers to the bottom were normally sized, I was relieved to discover. You could see a hundred yards down, it was so crazy deep. Floating in the cool water, I realized I'd never felt so relaxed in my life. The cenote was so refreshing after boiling in the tropical heat, and so beautiful. It had the appearance of a cavern and you could see vast clusters of vines hanging down from the surface.

My husband was also having a good time. He dived off a tall springboard as I cheered him on, and then I swam laps around him while he tread water, admiring the view. When I felt all the sweat and dirtiness was washed over I swam up behind and put my arms around him. He accused me of trying to drown him but when I bit his ear and my hand went inside his trunks and grabbed his cock, he was suddenly willing to work harder keeping us afloat.

There was no guilt anymore, for a long time I felt that society's views on cheating were a construct that pathologically repressed needs. It wasn't that I didn't love my husband and wanted sex on the side, it was the opposite. Sex on the side enabled me to love him on my own terms without them having to compete. This wasn't some bullshit rationalization and it wouldn't convince people who only saw in black and white, but it was the honest truth best I understood it.

And my needs, I decided, were to get fucked in the ass more often when we got back home. Maybe in a parking garage after work, like a real slut. Memory of getting my tits bruised so selfishly was intoxicating. But then the specter of guilt returned, just a little bit. Quitting smoking would be easier than washing away a lifetime of feeling guilty. I stroked my husband's cock some more, whispering how I was going to suck him off later.

That evening at dinner we walked past Piotr sitting at a table with another woman, and I winked at him as we passed by. Guess he was working her, which was totally fair. My ear perked up when I overheard their conversation and I soon started laughing.

"What's so funny?" my husband asked me as we were being seated. He was very relaxed and in a much better mood.

Of course I lied, "Oh, nothing, just remembered something obscure."

But it was very funny, because 'Piotr' was now speaking with a fairly convincing French accent.