Wife's First Boudoir Photos - Sex Stories

Wife's First Boudoir Photos

... they made me feel as though I was at fault and being unreasonable. After all, we were paying for sexy photos. Who was I to complain about the methods? “I’m really sorry, folks, I just, well, it’s weird seeing my wife getting naked in front of a strange man and then have him whipping his dick around and everything.” “Yeah, that’s ok man, I sure wouldn’t let my woman do it,” laughed Enrique, clapping me on the shoulder. “Now if you excuse me, I want to go check out your naked wife’s hot body, because she is a total MILF.” He strode back into the bedroom but left the door open. “For reals, your wife is smokin’ hot,” laughed Maria. “Juan’s gonna bust a nut right up in that shit.” “Ah, what?” “Don’t tease him, Maria,” said Isabella. “He can’t handle it.” I heard Claudia suddenly cackle with laughter from the other room. “Oh my god, are you serious?” laughed my wife. “Yeah, I’m serious, lay on your back. Ooh yeah, now spread them. Uh huh, hold up Enrique, hold up. Pinch those nipples, yeah. Oh fuck yeah. Ok, ok, now it’s your turn mama, now you get the prize baby. You made this wood, now you get to taste it.” “What’s he talking about?” I asked in bewilderment. “Man, he’s gonna stick his thing right into your wife’s mouth,” laughed Maria. “And she gonna suck it too. She’s into him, I could tell,” agreed Isabella. “No, I don’t believe it,” I gulped, my pulse racing. “Turn around, turn around on all fours, get that ass up here. Enrique, man, what the fuck? Oh shit, ok, go ahead if she ...

... don’t mind. I’m a tap this now. Gimme that ass, baby, I got something for you.” “Ooh, shit, he’s doing her doggystyle now!” gasped Maria, putting her hands in front of her mouth as she blushed. “Enrique probably trying to get her to suck his too now,” chimed in Isabella smugly, shooting me an evil glare. “How’s that feel, hubby? You like that?” “I mean, it sounds bad, but I just don’t believe that my wife would do something like that.” “Not with a cholo you mean,” spat Isabella bitterly. “Man, you racist.” “Why do you say that?” asked Maria. “He called me a stripper,” replied Isabella indignantly. “For reals?” mouthed Maria in shock. “That ain’t right.” “Look, I’m really sorry about that.” Somehow I felt like an utter heel. And she was right, I must be a little racist because I couldn’t imagine my wife agreeing to let some hispanic guy fuck her. But then again, she did seem pretty drunk and she was getting off on the flattery. Isabella tisked, holding her hand up toward me and turning her face away. I heard a lot of muffled exchanges from the other room and maybe I heard the sound of bed springs creaking, but I couldn’t be sure if it was my imagination or not. I was afraid to go in and look, though I desperately wanted to see what was happening in there. Could my wife really be fucking these two guys? I couldn’t tell if the idea disgusted me or fascinated me. I had grown so close to Claudia over the years and thought that I knew her so well. The Claudia I knew would never be ...