Shameless Shopping
I love my husband. And he loves me back—I feel it constantly. We have a happy family, though that's rare these days. Of course, we have disagreements—who doesn't!—but we've never stooped to insults and mutual humiliation. There were no issues we couldn't agree on. But what we feared most was passing the "point of no return"—infidelity. Betrayal seemed to us a terrible sin, capable of destroying our relationship. Until today...
A delicious smell filled the hotel room. I stretched sweetly in bed and opened my eyes. In the bedroom, in front of the bed, stood my husband Sergey
with a tray: on it were several plates covered with lids, and a cup of aromatic coffee was steaming. He placed the tray on my lap and lifted the lids: underneath were canapés with cheese, a small bowl of cherry jam, and a French loaf with a crispy crust. I smiled admiringly."Is this for me, darling?" I asked, despite the obviousness of the situation.
"For you, Vika," Sergey sat down next to me on the edge of the bed, "good morning, my love!"
"Then feed me," I pouted my lips "capriciously," and, raising my hands, adjusted my hair.
The blanket immediately slid down, exposing my breasts—I pretended not to notice. Putting my hands behind my back and arching forward, I shrugged my shoulders and looked slyly at Sergey. My breasts swayed, and Sergey stared at them—he always admired their beauty and impressive size. My husband broke off a piece of the loaf, dipped it in jam, and brought the "treat" to my mouth. I took a bite and washed it down with a sip of the scalding drink—the coffee was truly wonderful. A bit of jam dripped onto my chest and began to run down, leaving a sweet trail. I looked at my husband, and he understood me without words.
Moving the tray aside, he leaned over and began licking the sweet traces, irresistibly approaching the peaks of the mounds. My nipples are very sensitive, and he knew it. I barely managed to place the cup of hot coffee on the bedside table when I felt a hot wave between my legs: Seryozha was already sucking and gently nibbling my nipples. I accidentally glanced at the tray, where canapés and pieces of French loaf were scattered: under a plate lay some kind of envelope.
"What's that?" My breathing was ragged, and I tried to cope with the overwhelming sensations and not lose consciousness from pleasure.
I was very aroused and felt hot. I threw off the blanket, and an obscene picture opened before my spouse: my legs, bent at the knees, were spread apart, and my wet pussy glistened between them. Sergey moved closer to my open thighs and showed me his tongue, which he playfully fluttered teasingly in the air.
"This is my gift to you for our anniversary," he said and buried his face in my crotch.
"I thought the trip to Moscow, last night's dinner at an expensive restaurant, and the wonderful night in this fancy 'Hilton' were your gift," I whispered, already barely aware of what was happening around me: my desire to make love was becoming unbearable.
With my hand, I accidentally knocked over the bowl of jam, and it spilled. While I writhed under my beloved's caresses, I got completely smeared in the dessert: cherries ran down my thighs and pubis, and Sergey caught them with his lips, playing with the berries on my clitoris and my wet lips.
"Frédéric Beigbeder wrote that love lasts three years," my husband tore himself away from the scorching caresses for a moment and looked into my eyes, "yesterday, as you remember, we celebrated three years of our life together."
He gently inserted two fingers into my womb and pressed on the inner wall of my pubis. I gasped with pleasure and began involuntarily moving my hips, impaling myself on his fingers.
"I don't want him to be right in our case, and starting today, a new stage of our relationship begins," with these words, Sergey bent down and began quickly moving the tip of his tongue over my swollen clitoris, without removing his fingers from my vagina, "yesterday was the first day of the 'new era,'" he said, tearing himself away from the amazing caress for a moment, "in this envelope—is the continuation."
He began sucking my clitoris, now quickly licking its head, now deeply thrusting his tongue into my vagina—his fingers had by this time moved to my ass, stretching the pulsating hole of pleasure. I grabbed his head and pressed it between my legs, not thinking about whether he had any chance to breathe there. In a paroxysm of pleasure, I rubbed my pubis against his face, feeling how sometimes, besides his tongue, his Greek nose would plunge into me.
I started screaming, forgetting about the envelope, about the new continuation of our life, about everything in the world: I was hit by such a powerful orgasm that I was afraid my beloved might choke on my secretions. But, thank God, everything turned out fine: I convulsively came in his mouth, and he drank me and smiled...
"What's in it?" I asked, twirling the envelope in my hand, slightly stained with cherry jam. I had already come to my senses and was lying relaxed on my side, looking affectionately at my spouse and stroking his tense member with my fingers: he still hadn't come.
"Money," he said.
"Money?" I asked in surprise, stopping jerking him off for a moment, "what money?"
"For you. For your sweet little whims," he said, squeezed my hand, and continued moving it along his cock, "after breakfast, we'll go shopping."
"Shopping!" I squealed, beside myself with joy, and feverishly began feeling the envelope: it was suspiciously thin. "How much is here?" I asked businesslike, again forgetting about my favorite "toy."
"Fifteen thousand," Sergey answered and moved my hand to his scrotum.
"Yeah... This money is really only enough for 'sweet little whims,' nothing more," I was a bit upset.
"And where are we going?" I tried not to show that I had imagined the "holiday shopping" differently and resumed the caresses: after all, he should also get pleasure, despite his modest contribution to the "sweet little whims."
"To some big shopping mall," my husband settled more comfortably in my hand, "I want you to buy yourself the best clothes."
"With fifteen thousand?!" I couldn't help exclaiming.
Sergey stared at me uncomprehendingly, then his gaze became sympathetic: that's how they usually look at complete idiots. He took the envelope from me, opened it, and pulled out a beautiful piece of paper that looked like a stock or a bond.
"This is a Certificate for fifteen thousand euros," Sergey explained, "that's... More than a million rubles. Isn't that enough?"
I involuntarily squeezed his balls so hard that he cried out and looked at me offended. Then I hurriedly leaned towards him and silently put his head in my mouth. I began sucking his cock with such grateful frenzy that my surprised spouse came in record time. I continued licking, sucking, kissing his genitals until he fearfully pulled away. I crawled towards him again, smiling predatorily: before my eyes stood a million that I could spend on "serious whims," and I was ready to fuck him to death.
"Darling, I also want a new stage of our relationship to begin for you starting today," I kissed him everywhere I could reach while he shied away from me all over the bed, "what do you want?"
"Let's go shopping without panties," he immediately blurted out, as if this thought had been bothering him for a long time.
"Okay, darling, whatever you say," I said and thought: "God, what a child he still is—is that all it takes?"
"And you'll give it to me everywhere I want," he quickly added.
"Everywhere. Wherever you want," I echoed and rubbed my face against his chest.
There was a knock at the door: the maid had come to clean the room. The pretty girl, seeing us, was about to leave, promising to come back later. Sergey stopped her with a gesture, inviting her to stay, and the maid began tidying up the room, paying no attention to us. After our crazy night and no less stormy morning, she had plenty of work.
Sergey pulled me to him and, glancing at the girl, began kissing me on the lips. I understood what he meant when he talked about his desires for the "new stage of the relationship," and I gladly responded to his caresses. We kissed passionately, both glancing at the maid, and—strangely enough: the presence of a stranger wildly excited us! I didn't notice the girl looking our way, but she clearly knew what was happening: her cheeks were crimson with embarrassment.
I demonstratively knelt before my husband, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, and began caressing his cock with my tongue and lips, accompanying it with wet sucking sounds and moans. Glancing at Sergey, I caught his gaze: he was staring unblinkingly at the girl, who had stopped tidying up the room, judging by the silence that had fallen. I looked back: the girl was standing, leaning against the bedroom doorframe, her uniform skirt was pulled up to her navel and tucked into her belt. She had moved her small panties aside and was masturbating while looking at us.
This turned me on even more. I suddenly wanted dirty public sex. I was surprised by my own desires—usually our lovemaking with my husband was long and tender, face to face. I stood up, turned to face the girl, spread my legs, and slowly sat down on my husband's cock, which had been standing at attention for a long time.
"Fuck me," I whispered, looking at the maid, not believing what I was saying, "today I'll be the last slut for you... Who needs to be fucked like... A cheap whore..."
Sergey growled and thrust his hips so hard that I hung on him and his cock, kicking my legs in the air and trying to keep my balance. The girl moaned and slid down the wall to the floor. She completely pulled off her panties, spread her legs wide, and began rubbing her clitoris, periodically plunging three fingers into her vagina. My husband got seriously carried away: he lifted me by the hips and spread them wide apart, driving his organ into me with sharp, deep thrusts. The maid could clearly see how his cock dove into my hot crotch.
"I adore your... Cock," I moaned, watching the girl writhe, tormenting herself in unison with us, "Hey! Crawl over here, you... Damned whore!" I shouted at the maid, amazed at myself: I had never cursed so filthily.
"More! I want more! Say it again!" My husband went completely crazy from my terrible curses: I felt that he wasn't making love to me anymore but was fucking me hard like a jackhammer.
"Yes! Say it again!" The girl crawled towards us on all fours and sat on her butt right in front of Sergey's feet, "that drives me crazy!"
"You're just some fucking perverts!" I was no longer aware of what was happening: my vagina was sore from the aggressive thrusts, purple bruises were spreading on my thighs, which Sergey fiercely squeezed, trying to hold me in the air, and... "Ostap was carried away,"—"Hey! Stop fucking me in the cunt, you fucking ass-licker, you've already torn my pussy apart!"
"Yes-yes, fuck her in the ass!" The maid was disheveled and so carried away that she looked like a witch, "tear that bitch's asshole in half!"
But the heroine's wishes from the movie "Drag Me to Hell" were not destined to come true: my husband's excitement from this unexpected debauchery reached such a climax that he jerked asynchronously with my movements, and his cock flew out of my womb at the most inopportune moment. Sergey growled with displeasure, but then the girl suddenly moved close to him and impaled her pulsating vulva on his big toe—it seemed to me he didn't even notice. The maid began fucking his foot, and at first I didn't know how to feel about it. But when the girl grabbed my beloved's cock and began frantically jerking it with both hands—that I really didn't like.
I didn't have time to be indignant when Sergey, squinting with pleasure, began groaning and shooting streams of cum right onto the girl's face. She skillfully directed his cock at herself, catching his hot seed with her open mouth and trying to swallow it immediately. For some reason, this picture finished me off: I came simultaneously with my husband, tightly squeezing my legs and not even touching myself with my hands: it was the strangest orgasm of my life...
"Fuck off," I said shortly and lightly kicked the maid in the forehead.
A squelching sound was heard, and my husband's foot returned to its usual appearance. The girl, grabbing her things, quickly retreated from the bedroom without uttering a sound.
"Thank you, darling, for everything," Sergey wearily leaned back on the bed, "that was fucking insane! And you jerked me off at the end so well I saw the sky in diamonds," he glanced at me affectionately, "you have so many hidden talents, dear..."
I smiled sourly and mentally dismembered that fisting fool into fifteen thousand pieces: so, my husband still didn't understand who sent him to heaven. And I wasn't going to enlighten him. I took Sergey's limp cock and twirled it in my hand: just as I thought—that bitch didn't leave me a single drop. My husband propped himself up on his elbows and cheerfully asked:
"Well then—shower, and let's go shopping—to spend all my money—together?"
In the shower, we splashed around longer than usual: a million rubles stood before my eyes in the form of a colossal phallus, and I wanted to caress it, nurture it, and cherish it. And since the only one at hand was my husband, thanks to whom this image so vividly hovered before my happy gaze, all the privileges deservedly went to him. We fooled around, groped each other, poured water, and played around so much that I gave him a prostate massage with my tongue.
My husband shot an unknown which portion of cum right onto the mirror, and it flowed down in an intricate pattern resembling a "dollar." "That's a sign," I thought and licked his seed off the fogged glass, every last drop—especially since instead of the last ejaculation, I got a "blank": the rider on his foot had doused herself with my husband from head to toe.
I put on a short white dress, pleated at the bottom and with a deep neckline at the top: it was easy to take off with one movement of the hands, and this was always a great convenience in fitting rooms—no need to spend a lot of time "undressing." According to my husband's orders, I wore no underwear. I didn't even put on a bra just in case, though that was a mistake: my full breasts kept falling out of the neckline, and I had to constantly stuff them back in. Later in the store, I realized that choosing a beach dress for shopping wasn't the best decision: as soon as I, forgetting myself, bent over for something or simply leaned forward, my nipples would "innocently" peek out through the front of the dress, and from behind, my chocolate eye winked at everyone around.
Sergey put on shorts and a Hawaiian shirt with a "Jungle Fire" pattern: he didn't particularly "stress" about choosing an outfit. After checking that we hadn't forgotten our documents and the Certificate to Shambhala, cheerful and in love, we left the room and got into the elevator.
The transparent cabin rushed downward, and a magnificent panorama of the capital opened before our eyes: the elevator was located on the outside of the hotel building, right "on the street." The sight took our breath away, and we began kissing passionately, floating in the clouds both literally and figuratively. My husband, in test mode, checked his desire, calmly slipping his hand under my dress, and then even pulled it up to my navel. My naked, appetizing ass soared over sunny Moscow at bird's-eye height, and for greater clarity, I put my leg around