"Huh," I said when my computer pinged a Facebook message. 

"Hmm?" my husband grunted from the coach, still engrossed by the game. 

"I just got a Facebook message from some guy I used to know in college."

"Huh," Bryan replied, disinterested. A few moments passed, and then he said, "When you say, a guy you used to 'know,' do you mean like a guy you knew or a guy you knew knew?"

I smiled. I love my husband, and I've never held back my sexual past from him. In fact, that's one of the reasons I love him. I spent most of high school and college on a wild sexual tear. Most of the guys I'd ever gotten serious with had freaked out when I told them about how many guys I'd been with (sometimes all at once).

Turns out, most guys want a girlfriend that's slutty for them, but lose their shit when they hear about the first time you let a bunch of guys run a train on you. Go figure.

But Bryan wasn't like that. When we'd started getting serious, I had slowly started to leak my sexual history with him and it never seemed to bother him. I remember how nervous I'd been the first time I told him about giving a blowjob to some random stranger at a bar, or when I got gangbanged visiting a friend in college. I remember thinking, "This next one is going to be the one where he throws his hands up and walks out." But it never happened. Eventually, he must have realized what I was doing and told me straight out that he didn't care how many guys I'd fucked, and that he loved me for who I was. 

"A guy I knew knew," I said sweetly.

Bryan's head popped up over the back of the couch and he looked at me, "Do tell?" he said with renewed interest.

"Remember that guy I told you about, the one who drove the Beamer--" I started to say.

"Holy shit, Mike!?!" he practically yelled.

And that was the other amazing thing about Bryan, not only did he not care about my sexual past, he actually loved it when I told him about it. He'd practically memorized half the stories I told him. And then, usually right after I told them, he'd fuck the hell out of me. 

I met Mike my freshman year. I was out clubbing with some girlfriends, and Mike had come to chat me up. Tall, clean-cut, and good-looking, he started buying us all drinks, happily flashing a roll of cash. I'm no gold digger, and I've never looked to be a kept woman, but I have to say that I fully appreciate the effort to impress. Mike told me he was a businessman who traveled to Columbus about once a month and he was looking for a little companionship. I have to say, I didn't care. He could have said he was a college student or a school teacher, I was already into him just on his looks and charm. That was why, about an hour later, I was leaning over in the front seat of his BMW giving him head. 

If that had been the whole story, though, it wouldn't have been remarkable. I couldn't count the number of guys I've given head to if my life depended on it. Nor was it a big deal that Mike drove me back to his hotel room and fucked me. Again, that was just a typical weekend night for me back then.

The part of the story Bryan liked was what happened the next time Mike came into town. He texted me to see if I wanted to get a drink, and I agreed because he'd been a lovely fuck the month before. So, we met at a nearby restaurant for a nice dinner. At the dinner, he asked me if we could go back to my place this time because he didn't want to fuck me at the hotel. While I loved his forthrightness, I told him that I didn't have an apartment, I was living at the dorm.

He immediately got this look in his eye like he'd hit the jackpot. I'd seen it enough to recognize it. Something I'd just said had kicked Mike into immediate overdrive, and he was probably already getting hard. What I found out later was that that was one of his favorite kinks: he loved the idea of fucking a girl in her dorm room. 

And boy, did he. When he was back in my room on top of me, I felt like he was trying to break my tiny twin-sized bed in half with me under him. Over the next few months, whenever Mike came into town, he'd take me out for drinks and then take me back to the dorm room to fuck me silly.

This was the part of the story Bryan liked. Most guys just want to cum and go, but some guys have their own kink, and Bryan loved hearing about those. That's Bryan's kink; the dirty things I do to satisfy other guys' fantasies. 

"Dorm Room Mike?" Bryan asked. 

"Dorm Room Mike," I agreed with a laugh.

"What'd he say? Ask if you're still in college?"

"No, dummy," I said with a smile, "it just says 'Hi Becca, long time no chat, this is Mike.'" 

"Pretty original line, bet he just wants to fuck you again."

"Of course he does," I said. And meant it. A huge number of the friend requests and messages I get from Facebook are from guys I fucked at some point in the past. I used to respond to them because I'm nice, then I responded to them just to see how long it would take them to get around to mentioning sex (average number of messages before sex: 9), then I just stopped because it got tedious. 

Bryan knew this but said, "You should say 'hi' back."

"But then he'll think I want to fuck him."

Bryan shrugged, "No biggie if he does," and then turned back to the game. 

I moved the mouse to close the chat window, but then stopped. Well, why not, I thought.

"Hi, Mike, it's been 4ever!" I wrote.

Almost immediately, I saw that he was typing a response. "It has. What you been up to, hot stuff?"

"Just living the dream"

"I bet," he wrote, "still looking sexy as hell in your profile pic!"

"LOL, I wish, my college bod is behind me"

"Oh I doubt that! I bet your still hot as ever" he wrote back.

I hadn't noticed, but Bryan had snuck up behind me. He must have heard the message pings and snuck over to come to the kitchen table to read over my shoulder.

"Yeah, he definitely wants to fuck you. He also spelled 'you're' wrong." Bryan said and I nearly jumped out of my skin. 

"You think??" I said, sarcastically, "I'm not sure spelling was ever his strong point."

"Was his strong point the way he fucked that hot little college bod of yours," Bryan said, breathing low into my ear.

"Yes, it was," I replied.

Bryan's slid his right hand around from behind me, up my shirt squeezed my breast gently. "Was it how he used you like a slut?"

"That, too," I moaned.

His left hand slid up and cupped my other breast. He began slowly massaging them. "Do you miss it, the way he treated you?"

I didn't, not really, because I'd found the same thing in Bryan. They were both fun and charming to be around, but once we got to the bedroom they were both confident and commanding. They treated me exactly the way I loved to be treated: with a kind of respectful but forceful dominance. They both made me feel used, desired, and, in Bryan's case, loved. It made me melt into a sublime submissiveness followed by a contented happiness afterward. Of course, with Mike, it'd had never been anything more than a weekend here or a weekend there. But I'd love the way he'd practically assumed ownership of me.

For example, on the third or fourth month after we first fucked, we were at a bar and he'd casually mentioned his fiancee. It stood to reason that Mike wasn't single. He looked like an actor and dropped $100 bills like pocket change. But being engaged wasn't something he tried to explain or even preface, he just started talking about his fiancee assuming I wouldn't care. And he was right. Later that night, as he was sitting on the dingy couch in our dorm room, with me kneeling in front of him sucking his cock, he even texted her to wish her a good night. It not only didn't bother me, but it also made me want to please him even more.

The following month, Mike sent me a care package before he arrived. It contained a pair of $1,300 patent black Louboutin stilettos with a 4" heel and an Agent Provocateur garter belt and stockings. Although he'd never seen me in anything more dressy than a college t-shirt and jeans, he never had a moment's doubt that when he showed up, I'd be dressed to the 9s. So when we met at a nearby restaurant, he didn't even smile in satisfaction when I walked in wearing a slim pencil skirt, a nice blouse, and stockings and heels. He knew I would do as he wanted.  

"I do miss it," I moaned to Bryan. Bryan slid his right hand down under the hem of my loose gym shorts.

"You're wet, Becca," he said, nibbling on my ear. "I think that you're thinking about him fucking you."

And that wasn't wrong. Now that Bryan had put the idea in my head, it was hard to think about anything other than Mike's fit body and delicious cock. 

Bryan lifted my t-shirt to expose my lacey bra, "Why don't you send him a pic, see if he thinks you're still hot as fuck?"

I reached up to pull my shirt down, although Bryan held it there, "Bryan! You know I'm not a tease!"

And that was the other thing about me. I hate girls who tease: who leads guys on and then leaves them dangling. I have friends who get a kick out of that, dancing up on a guy at a club all night, getting them all revved, and then splitting for another place. That's never been my style. Don't get me wrong, I've met plenty of shit guys I couldn't stand. But teasing them? No thanks, some guy is acting like an ass, I'm going to let them know immediately.

"Tease?" Bryan asked incredulously, "can you really tease a guy who's already fucked your brains out?"

"Still," I said, "I'm not sending my pic to someone who could share it. No way."

"No problem," Bryan said, "Just aim the camera down. Bra only, no face. It'll be fine. Watch." With that, he reached forward to open the camera app on my laptop, then tilted the screen down so only my bra and midriff were showing. "See, even if he foforwardedt, no one would ever know it was you, and it's no more than you show off at the beach." Bryan stepped off to the side and, as he did, clicked a key on the computer. I heard the shutter sound and looked down at the pic.

"See," he said, "that wouldn't even get a PG-13 rating in a movie."

But I wasn't looking at the pic, I was looking at Bryan. His shorts were massively tented from what I could tell was a fufull-onrection. He looked down, then looked back up at me with a sheepish smile.

"I think," I said slowly, "that you might have an ulterior motive. Looks like a big one."

Bryan laughed, "I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am," he said as unconvincingly as was humanly possible." 

I turned my attention to the pic with a smirk. It did look pretty good. My cleavage was on point, and there was nothing in it that would identify me. I attached the pic to the message and wrote, "Well, what do you think? Do I still got it?" Then I looked back at Bryan. He read the message and nodded at me. I rolled my eyes once and hit send. As soon as the message pinged off, he smiled.

"Get up," he said. I stood up, and he slid down into the chair behind me, pulling my shorts down as he did. I felt his hands on his hips, pulling me down, and I spread my legs to straddle his thighs, as his cock pushed up into me. I leaned back into his smoothly muscled chest as his cock slid into me.

The laptop pinged. "Read it to me," he said.

I continued to work my way down his cock, my palms flat on the kitchen table for support. "He said, 'so sexy, I wish I was fucking those beautiful tits.'"

Bryan thrust up into me, and I moaned loudly. "Tell him you want his cock," Bryan said.

"Oh my god, Bryan," I protested between thrusts. "You know I don't like to tease!"

"It's not a tease if it's true," he said, and rammed his full length into me. "And it is true, isn't it, Becca?"

I didn't respond. Bryan continued to thrust up into me. And then finally, he repeated, "It IS true, isn't it, Becca?"

"The only cock I want is yours," I said.

Bryan stopped thrusting into me. He reach his hands around my tits and pulled me back so his lips were next to my ear again. "That's not true, baby. The only cock you'll take is mine. Because you love me. Because we're married. And because you're the most amazing wife in the world. But it's not the only cock you want. And that's okay. I know you want his cock. And I love you."  

I leaned forward and typed, "i want ur cock" and then I stopped. Bryan looked over my shoulder. Then he released my right breast, reached forward, and sent the message. He leaned back, his hands on my hips directing me to grind down on him. 

Bare seconds later, ping. 

"What's it say," Bryan grunted.

"Says he's traveling here next month."  

"How convenient," Bryan laughed.

"Isn't it, though," I said, also laughing. "What do you want me to tell him?"

"Tell him you want him to come and fuck you," Bryan said.

I paused and said disapprovingly, "Baby, that's mean. You're taking this too far"

"Why's it mean," he asked, pushing down on my hips, but this time I didn't budge.

I have to admit, it's hard to have a "serious" relationship moment when you're facing away from your interlocutor and his cock is halfway inside you, but I tried anyway. "Bryan, c'mon. I'm not going to get him all pumped up just to blow him."

"He'd be lucky if you blow him off," Bryan said with a grin.

"You know what I mean," I said, smacking his thigh.

"Then get him all pumped up, and deliver." 

"Excuse me???"

Bryan's fingers tightened around my hips and he pulled me down, pushing his cock inside me as he said, "I want you to invite him here. And then I want you to fuck him."

"Bryan--" I started.

"But there's a condition," he said, pushing me back up and pulling me down again.

I rode the bliss of his cock pumping into me for a few seconds before I said, "What's the condition?"

"I get to watch. I'll set up cameras and watch everything you do and everything he does to do."

This stopped me in my tracks. Well, proverbially, anyway, as I continued to let Bryan guide my pussy up and down his shaft. Finally, I said, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, baby," he grunted as he thrust into me. "I want to see you in action. I've wanted to see you in action since the first time you told me what a slut you are."

I felt myself peaking, the excitement of this unexpected conversation pushing me to an amazing climax. I was trying to formulate, in my head, what all this meant. "Is this something you've thought about," I asked. 

"Yeah," he said, "it would be so hot to watch you fuck another guy." 

This, also, wasn't a first for me. I'd been with guys who wanted to see me with other guys. Sometimes strangers. Sometimes their friends. But those were just guys. The guys who composed my long behind me slut past. Those were not my husband. 

"God, Bryan, if you're bullshitting me right now, I'm going to be soooo mad," I panted.

"Not shitting you." 

I looked back over my shoulder at him with sly eyes. "Do you want to watch me be a slut?"

Now it was Bryan's turn to moan, gripping my hips so tightly his fingers were dug into me.

"Want to watch me be a dirty little whore for another man?"

"Yessss," he hissed as he thrust furiously up into me.

"Cum inside me, baby. Fill me up with your cum. I want to feel how badly you want to watch me fuck him."

Seconds later, he did. 

****

After Bryan came inside me, he watched me type a few quick messages to Mike. I told Mike I wanted to fuck him and we started planning. Bryan suggested that I coyly mention my husband and see if it caused any pause. "It not going to," I told him, but I did it anyway, and Mike didn't even seem to register it. Over the next couple of days, Mike and I worked out the details. I told him I'd arranged to have my husband go camping with some friends. When I told Bryan that Mike didn't even seem to question the fortuitous coincidence, he just rolled his eyes and said, "That's the problem with guys. Always thinking with their dicks."

I kept worrying that Bryan was going to back out, have second thoughts, or tell me this was all a ruse to see if I was truly faithful to him. I stopped thinking that as the Amazon boxes full of cameras started piling up on the doorstep. If I hadn't known Bryan so well, I'd have wondered if he'd been a spy before we met. He positioned cameras around the house so that even I had trouble figuring out where they were. He tested different cameras and different apps like it was some newfound hobby, not like a man setting up to watch his wife fuck another guy. 

Of course, we tested them to his heart's content, which meant Bryan fucked me in every position he could think of and studiously checked the recordings from every camera. Lamps were moved for ideal lighting, chairs were adjusted to prevent obstructed views. Nothing was immune from Bryan's fastidious approach; the couch, the bed, the dressers, the kitchen table. Bryan wanted every angle perfect. You'd have thought he was a movie director. 

As Mike's arrival date approached, we discussed my outfit. Mike, like Bryan, like a sharply dressed woman. So, we decided on a slinky black dress, a red and black corset with garter straps, and black lace-top stockings. For old time's sake, I dusted off the 4" Laboutins Mike had bought me all those years before. Bryan, on seeing me in my "game day uniform," as he called it, decided we definitely needed to try it out, "for the sake of making sure the lighting works," he said with a smirk. Then, in what had become an extremely familiar gesture over the last few weeks, he opened the app on his phone, pressed Record, and pushed me back onto the couch. 

I also tried to discuss limits with him, but he looked at me like I was speaking Chinese. "Limits," he asked, "when have you ever had limits?"

But I was nervous and I needed reassurance on this point. "Look, Bry, we've never done anything like this. I've never done anything like this," he started to interupt, "well, okay, I have done stuff like this, but not with you. Not married. I need to know what's too far. I mean, like what if he wants to fuck me up the ass?"

"God, that'll be soooo hot," Bryan said. 

"Okay, anal is fair game. But what isn't? What's too far?"

Bryan shrugged, "If we've done it, it's cool," was all he would say. Which wasn't helpful, because the list of things we hadn't done together came down to really only the most fringe stuff out there. Eventually, I gave up and decided to just roll with it. 

I thought I would be more nervous, but Bryan's confidence was infectious. If anything, he seemed to get giddier--and hornier--as the day approached. We fucked like honeymooners and my orgasms got more and more intense as the thought of another man blended in my mind with Bryan's own increasing intensity. 

****

I sat there with butterflies in my stomach. 

"You look amazing" Bryan texted me from the basement. It was still throwing me off a bit, the fact that Bryan was sitting in the basement watching me on a laptop. 

"Which camera are u looking at?" I texted back. 

"Bookshelf. You look so fucking sexy." 

I looked at the bookshelf. I knew where the camera was, but I couldn't distinguish it. I crossed my stocking-clad legs. I tapped my foot. I stopped tapping my foot. I considered, very seriously, turning off all the lights and pretending like I wasn't home. This was crazy. This was going to end badly. What a terrible idea. 

But when the doorbell rang, my fears evaporated and suddenly I felt like my college self. Mike was back. Mike was here. And I was about to get an amazing fucking.

I strode confidently to the front door and opened it with a smile.

Mike looked ... well, ravishing. The perfect hair, the warm and confident smile, the immaculate shirt and pants. With a confident flick of his eyes, he looked me up and down, and, by the slight broadening of his smile, I could tell he liked what he saw.

"Becca!" he said like a long-lost friend.

"Mike!" I mimicked back at him. 

He stepped across the threshold and into the house, even though I hadn't actually invited him in yet. 

"Am I late?" he said, flipping up his wrist to look at the sparkling watch there. Without even looking, I knew it would be a Rolex or some other expensive bauble. "Fucking Uber took forever to get to the airport."

"No, you're fine," I said and walked him over to the couch. 

Mike sat back on the couch, and I asked, "Do you want a beer?"

"That'd be great," he said.

I turned around and sauntered back to the kitchen, my stilettos click-clacking on the floor. I could feel his eyes on my ass.

I popped the caps off two bottles and walked back around the coffee table, standing between his spread legs. I handed him the cold bottle with a smile, and then took a drink of mine. I turned slightly, put the bottle down on the coffee table behind me, and then slid down to my knees. 

Mike didn't say anything, just smiled down at me and took a long pull from his beer as he watched me deftly undo his belt, unbutton his pants, and pull the zipper down. I tugged the hem of his boxer briefs down enough to free his cock, and then leaned down to wrap my glossy lips around the head. I luxuriated in inhaling the deep musky smell of him as I felt his cock begin to harden in my mouth. My tongue swirled around the ridge and I began gently stroking his shaft, feeling it grow to fill my grip. 

I began to bob my head up and down in his lap as his cock grew larger and harder in my mouth. I'd forgotten how big Mike was, and it seemed like every time I tried to work my way to the bottom, he just got harder and bigger. His cock pushed against the roof of my mouth and filled my cheeks, but I kept taking him deeper. Soon, he was pushing against the back of my throat. I continued sliding up and down his shaft with my mouth and hand, my fingers slick from my saliva, and then, as he pushed against the back of my throat again, I half-swallowed and let his cock push deep down into my throat. 

Mike groaned loudly and I glanced up at him. He was looking down at me intently as my lips finally reached the base of his massive cock. Although I couldn't breathe with his cock filling my entire throat, I held him there for a few seconds more, and then slowly, slowly slid him out, inch by delicious inch, as he watched his cock reappear like some pornographic magic trick.

He took another drink of his beer, and said, "God, I missed that mouth. My wife can't suck dick to save her life."

As his cock popped free, I smiled up at him, my lips shiny with spit. I ran my tongue up and down his shaft, then in quick circles of his balls as he watched. "That's a shame," I said teasingly, "But I guess if she could, you wouldn't be here."

"Oh no, I'd still be here," he said, "no one sucks dick like you, Becca. You can trust me on that."

I laughed brightly at that. Holding his shaft between my two palms like a sacred object, I brought it back to my lips and softly kissed the shaft, then slid the head across my cheek and over my face. "Still out there getting some side action?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, "Here and there. Girls you meet today, though, they're just dull. Swear to God, I think all they want to do is put selfies on Insta and take pictures of their food. Hardly worth the effort."

My lips slid back up, and I teased my tongue along his glans and felt his involuntary twitch. "And I am," I asked.

Mike took another long drink of his beer, his eyes still locked with mine. Then he reached his right hand out and around the back of my head. "Less talk, Becca."

With that, he pulled my mouth down onto his shaft. My lips parted eagerly, and I hungrily swallowed his cock. I saw him lean his head back on the couch, his arms stretched out before I looked back down to focus on his shaft. I alternated between short, shallow pumps, focusing on the head of his cock, and long deepthroats. I keyed myself to Mike's deep breaths and groans, I followed and played off the micro bucking of his hips when he needed to be just a little deeper in my mouth, I reacted to every quiver of his rock-hard cock. At times, I'd feel his hand on the back of my head, changing the rhythm, forcing me down or holding me back just slightly, or just resting there as I did my work. 

I knelt there before him for what felt like half an hour, serving him. Finally, he pulled me off him and said, "Jesus, you're not going to stop are you?"

I smiled back up. When I spoke, my voice was a little raspy for the beating my throat had been taking. "Not unless you want me to," I said.

"So I could blow my load down your throat and walk out, and you'd be fine with that?"

I wouldn't, of course. I wanted to fuck. And more importantly, I wanted Bryan to see me fuck. I knew how hot I must look, all dressed up, on my knees, sucking Mike's cock. But I wanted to give Bryan the full show. Still, I knew how to sate Mike's ego. "As long I get to swallow your cum, I'd be fine with it," I said.

Mike put his hand on my face, his thumb at my lip, wiping the saliva from the corner of my mouth. "Well, I'm not done with your mouth, but I want to see that body. Take off the dress."

I dutifully stood up, and turned around, "Unzip me?"

Mike leaned forward and reached up. As he did so, I looked to where I knew the closest camera was hidden and smiled at it. Mike slowly pulled the zipper of my little black dress down, then I heard him lean back into the couch. 

I turned around to face him and shrugged my shoulder free of the dress. I shimmied it down my body, exposing the lace-up front of the corset. Then I pushed it down over my hips and let it drop to the floor in a heap around my heels. 

I looked over to the empty bottle in Mike's hand. "Looks like your empty," I said. I stepped out of the heap of my dress and picked up my bottle off the coffee table. I took a long drink, loving the feeling of the cold beer washing down my throat, as I walked back into the kitchen. Mike turned to watch me. His eyes roamed over my body; my long stocking-clad legs, the deep curve of my waist in the corset, and the press of cleavage at the top. I grabbed another couple of beers, popped the top, and headed back to the couch. I handed Mike his second beer. He looked up at me appreciatively.

He sat forward, drinking the beer with his left hand, and the fingers of his right ran along the curvey waist of the corset. He followed the line with his eyes and his finger over my hip, the smooth skin at the top of my thigh, and down the garter strap to the top of my stockings. His eyes were hungry. He's practically salivating.

Then he leaned back against the couch, his rock-hard glistening cock standing up straight. I don't need any more of an invitation.

I knelt down on the couch, my knees straddling his thighs, as I reached down to guide the head of his cock to the lips of my pussy. I slid the head, huge and hard, against my lips, loving the way it felt parting me. Then I slowly lowered myself down on it, guiding it inch by inch into me. 

This, I know, is one of those money shots for Bryan. Me cowgirling this guy he doesn't know. My black patent leather with the bright red soles glistening. My ass framed by the garter straps. I wonder if he's watching me from the back, or if he's switched to the view from the kitchen. At that angle, he'd be able to see the back of Mike's head, my cleavage, and my face. 

No, I decided, he's almost certainly watching from the back. He'll want to see Mike's face, my ass, and my heels. Bryans loves girls in heels in his porn. And that's what this is, porn just for him, with his lovely wife in the lead role. 

I moan loudly, both from Mike's cock filling me and from the idea of being my husband's personal porn star. The smug look of satisfaction on Mike's face suggests that he thinks the credit is all his. That's okay, it's my little secret.

Mike reaches up to massage my tits, and I reach back to rub his balls as I grind back and forth on his cock, finding new and fantastic spots to hit inside myself. I put one hand on his knee and lean back, forcing the head of his cock to push forward into me, feeling it just below my belly, and I gasp in pleasure. Mike finds my rhythm and begins thrusting and swirling his hips. 

"Oh god, yes," I moan. "MMMMM, fuck right there, oh right there!" I know I'm hamming it up a little for the cameras, but I'm being mostly honest. His cock feels absolutely amazing, and Mike definitely knows how to use it.

My moaning and begging gets him going. His hands roam my body. He begins ramming his cock hard into me. So hard that I start to feel whiplashed from the sheer force of him slamming into me. Even before I expect it, I feel the climax crash up and into me. I lean farther back, gripping both of Mike's thighs, and he puts his hands around his waist to keep me from falling back off him as my body starts to shake. "Fuuuuuuuck!" I scream as I cum. Even though I lose control of my legs and can't seem to move an inch, Mike doesn't let up, he leans forward enough to lift himself slightly off the couch and continues to pound away at me. "Fuck, fuck fuck," I hear myself begging, crying, pleading. 

And with one giant, gasping breath, my orgasm washes over me and I toss myself forward, wrapping my arms around Mike. A hot, sweaty mess, at first all I can do is gasp in air.

"Oh my god," I mutter, spent, "that was amazing." I kiss his neck and cheek, and then press my lips to his. I realize that although we've been at it for what feels like an hour, this is the first time I've actually kissed him.

His tongue slides against mine. His tastes vaguely of beer and we kiss for a long moment. Then, I come back to myself and realize his rock-hard cock is still deep inside me, unsatiated. 

I break the kiss. "Do you remember how you used to like to fuck me on my dorm room bed?" I ask. 

"Of course," he says. 

"Do you want to fuck me on my marital bed?" I say, biting my lower lip and feigning nervousness. 

His smile broadens, "Babe, I thought you'd never ask."