Dirty Little Secrets 2: One Step Leads To Another - Sex Stories

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Dirty Little Secrets 2: One Step Leads To Another

Date: 9/3/2015, Categories: Wife Lovers, Author: PervyStoryteller, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

at the window. I imagine Mark out there, wanking frantically as he watches me with my legs spread, shoving the dildo into myself, my body writhing on the bed. “Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!” I’m screaming out loud. “Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuckmeeeeei’mcumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” I tighten and cum hard, everything but the explosions inside vanishing, before I return to the slightest slither of normality. I sit up and look straight into the camera. “That concludes this evening’s performance,” I say. “I hope I provided satisfaction.” I blow the camera a kiss and stop the recording. I don’t know why, but I have to see Mark, if he’s still there. My legs are shaky, but I make it across to the window and open it wide. He is standing there, in his hoodie, though his eyes, which are all I can see of his face, look less menacing tonight. More surprising is that a huge, condom-clad erection is pointing over the edge of his sweatpants. He hasn’t ejaculated yet. Obviously my eyes betray my surprise, because he says, in that nervous voice of his, “You didn’t ask me to cum for you.” I almost burst out laughing, it’s so absurd, but it’s sweet too, and I don’t want to embarrass him. On instinct I reach out over the window ledge and make a grab ... for his hard cock. As my fingers close round the shaft, he gives what sounds like a sob. Then he’s twitching in my hand. Pulses of sperm are jetting out into the protection he strictly speaking doesn’t need. It’s dirty and illicit, and for the few seconds it lasts, utterly enthralling. “I’m sorry,” Mark gasps. “Don’t be,” I reply, moving my hand away from his shaft. He begins to stutter. “I have to… be… go…” “It’s alright,” I say. Then I indicate the condom. “Let me take care of that for you.” And suddenly I’m left with a sheath full of male ejaculate, wondering exactly which compartment it should go in for recycling purposes, then feeling immensely stupid for thinking such a thing. Having dealt with the rubber, I sit on the bed and write a short e-mail to John, telling him about my day, but thinking guiltily that most of it has been spent thinking of Mark. I attach the latest video and press send. The next morning there’s a text message for me. “Will you be wearing that outfit when I return home?” I text back, “If my darling husband promises to ravish me at once, then of course I will.” But I can’t stop thinking of Mark, and of what happened last night. Another small step. I shouldn’t keep taking these small steps, I should put a stop to them, but I don’t think I can. Where will it all end?