Speaker 1: The morning light cut through the cafe windows in that
particular way, honeyed and slow, pooling on the scuffed hardwood floors.
I was stirring my Americano when I saw Marcus's gaze
snag on something behind me, midst his spoon frozen halfway
to the saucer. I didn't need to turn around. The
weekly rotation of college girls working the counter meant we'd
developed a kind of shorthand over our twenty three years together.
But this one, this one was different. I twisted in
my seat, pretending to reach for a napkin. Jesus, the
girl was bent at the waist, wiping down a low table,
and the black apron she wore did nothing to hide
what God had given her. That ass was obscene, round
and full and straining against the fabric of her jenes
like it had a personal vendetta against Denim. She couldn't
have been older than nineteen brunette curls escaping a messy ponytail,
cheeks flushed from the steam wand a dusting of freckles
across the bridge of her nose. When I turned back
to Marcus, he was still staring. But here's the thing.
His expression wasn't sheepish, wasn't caught red handed. It was knowing.
He raised an eyebrow at me, a slow smirk spreading
across that face I've memorized for two decades, and I
felt the heat rise up my neck. He'd seen me looking.
We didn't say a word about it until we were
in the car. That waitress, Marcus said, pulling out of
the parking lot, the brunette, the one with the He
made a gesture with his hand that was both rude
and worshipful. That's the one. I crossed my legs, already
feeling the thrumb between them. She's delicious. Marcus exhaled through
his teeth. What would you even do with a girl
like that? The question hung in the air, and I
let it, let it curl through the car's interior like smoke.
My husband's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. I'd
start with those lips, I said, voice lower than I'd intended.
The bottom one's fuller than the top. I'd suck it,
bite it, see if she moans. And then Marcus tell
me the house was still three blocks away. I unbuckled
my seat belt just to feel the restriction loosen then
i'd get her shirt off. Those tits she's hiding under
that apron. They're not like mine anymore. My breasts had
no nursed. Two children had Gravity's signature etched into them.
I loved them, I loved what they'd done. But this
girl's would be different, fat and firm and unapologetically young.
I'd put my mouth on her, circle her nipple until
it hardens, Suck until she's pulling my hair. Then the
other one slower. Marcus groaned. The car accelerated. Then I said,
I'd work my way down that belly, her hips, and
when I got between her legs, I paused, watching his
jaw clench. I'd bury my face in her cunt, puffy wet.
I can tell she's the kind who gets slick fast.
I'd lick her clean. Then i'd flip her over her ass,
that fat, perfect ass. I'd spread her cheeks and lick
her there too, everywhere until she's shaking. We didn't make
it to the bedroom. The front door barely clicked shut
before Marcus had me pressed against the hallway wall, his
mouth on my neck, his hands rocking up my dress.
You're a filthy woman, he growled into my ear. You
married me twenty three years and you still surprise me.
He unzipped his trousers. You'd really do it everything you said.
You'd suck her tits. Yes. His cock was thick in
his hand, already slick at the tip. You'd eat her
fat ass until my jaw cramped. He spun me around,
bending me over the arm of the sofa. My dress
pooled at my waist. His fingers found me soaked, embarrassingly soaked,
and I heard his low chuckle before the head of
his cock replaced them. You'd bury your face in that
puffy little cunt while I'm fucking you, Marcus. Please. He
drove into me, the kind of thrust that rearranges your thoughts.
I griped the sofa cushion and let him take what
he needed. She's nineteen. He panted, each word punctuated by
a stroke. That tight little body. You'd get her on
the bed, spread her wide. You'd lick her clit while
she squirmed. Those little sounds she'd make, high pitched, desperate.
I was climbing fast. His words were gasoline on the
fire in my pelvis. You'd get her off with your tongue.
Then I'd push into her right after, when she's still pulsing,
tight and slick and fuck, you'd watch me fill her
while you licked her juices off your lips. The orgasm
tore through me, from the base of my spine to
the crown of my skull. I screamed, I honest to God, screamed,
and Marcus followed second later, spending himself deep inside me,
with a groan that sounded almost wounded. We collapsed, a
tangle of middle aged limbs and race and hearts and
the image of that waitress. Those curls, that ass lingered
behind my eyelids. The next evening, I was chopping onions
for dinner when the garage door rumbled earlier than usual.
I wiped my hands on a dish towel and rounded
the corner to the mudroom. Marcus stood in the doorway.
He was not alone. The brunette from the cafe was
beside him. No apron now, just a white T shirt
and those same straining jeans, A duffel bag slung over
her shoulder. She shifted her weight from foot to foot,
chewing on that fuller bottom lip. I'd fantasized about this
is Chloe, Marcus said, his voice was steady, deliberate, like
he'd rehearsed this. She has the night off. I told
her about us, about what we'd want. My heart stopped, restarted,
a hummingbird in my chest. You told her. I showed
her your picture, told her about your mouth, your tongue,
what you wanted to do to her. He stepped aside,
giving Chloe room to enter. She's curious. Chloe looked at
me then. Her eyes were hazel, wide and curious, but
there was a flicker of something smokier beneath the surface.
She'd been paid. Marcus had handled that part. But she
was here, standing in my mudroom, reel and breathing and
so young. I could smell the vanilla lotion from across
the room. I walked toward her. Have you ever been
with a woman? I asked. She shook her head, no,
not not before my hand found her cheek, soft warm,
Her skin was electric under my fingertips. Do you want
to be She nodded, and her exhale was shaky, but sure.
I leaned in. The first kiss was a question, the
second was an answer. Her lips parted slowly, and the
taste of her cherry chapstick and something saltier. Something that
was just her made my knees forget they were forty
six years old. I sucked on that bottom lip, gently,
then harder. She made a noise, small, muffled. It was
better than I'd imagined. Marcus moved behind us. I heard
the click of a door, the soft shuffle of shoes
being removed. He was giving a space watching. I could
feel his eyes on my back, like a physical weight.
We moved to the bedroom. I don't remember walking there,
just the transition mud room to haul way to the
cool cotton of our sheets. Chloe beneath me, her t
shirt already gone. Her breasts were exactly what I'd described,
full firm, the nipples a shade of rosebud pink that
made my mouth water. I took one between my lips
and heard her gasp, circled it, sucked until she was
arching off the mattress, her fingers threading through my hair.
Oh my god, she whispered. My hands found her jeans unbuttoned, unzipped.
She lifted her hips to help me slide them down.
And then she was bare, and I forgot how to breathe.
Her cunt was shaved clean, puffy lips, already glistening. Marcus
from the chair in the corner, roll over. Let her see.
Chloe hesitated one heartbeat two, then turned onto her stomach.
I actually moaned aloud. Her ass was everything, pale and
round and dimpled at the sides, the cleft a perfect shadow.
I wanted to lose myself in. Go on, Marcus said,
low rough. I lowered my mouth to her. The taste
of sweat hit me first. She'd been working all day.
It was there in the salt on her skin, the
musk between her cheeks, and I loved it, that human,
unwashed realness. I spread her open and dragged my tongue
from her clit to her asshole, slowly, deliberately. She whimpered,
that's it, Marcus said, lick her dirty little hole. I did.
I licked her there until her thighs trembled and she
was pushing back against my face, and then I moved lower,
lapping into her cunt, tasting the slick heat of her.
She was soaking, My chin was dripping. I buried myself
in her tongue deep nose pressed to the puckered skin above.
Then the bed dipped Marcus behind her. I looked up
through my lashes and saw his hands on her hips,
his cock still half wet from me from last night.
Positioning at her entrance. She lifted her head, panting, eyes glassy,
can I He asked her, yes, please, yes, He pushed inside.
I watched, inches from my face. I watched my husband's
thick length disappear into this beautiful, willing girl, stretching her,
filling her. Her gasp was sharp, his groan was deep,
and I stayed right there, mouth open, lapping at her
clit while he fucked her. The rhythm was brutal, primal,
three bodies moving in a sink we hadn't rehearsed. The
smell of sex thickened the air, musk and sweat, and
the metallic tang of arousal. I sucked her clit, flicked it.
She was building her cries, pitched higher, her hips, bucking
between my mouth and my husband's cock. I'm gonna, oh fuck,
I'm she shattered. Her orgasm clenched around Marcus, and that
was what pushed me over. The taste of her flood,
the sound of her scream, the way her body convulsed
under my tongue. I came with my face still buried
in her, moaning into her flesh. Marcus's rhythm stuttered. He
pulled out, fisting himself twice before the first hot rope
of his seed paint in my tongue. I opened wide,
Let it fall. More followed, dripping from Chloe's swollen hole
onto my waiting lips. He pulled me up by my hair, gentle,
always gentle, and I dove back down, licked her clean,
every drop, every fold, the mix of him and her
and us. When I surfaced for air, panting, my voice
was wrecked and reedy. Best dessert I've had from a
coffee shop ever ever. I hoped you enjoyed today's sexy story.
If you love this podcast, leave an Apple review. Share
what sexy fantasies you want to hear. Maybe we can
make your dirty dreams come true. See you soon,