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It all began with role-playing with slutwives husband, I thought. One thing leading to another until you're past the point of no return.
The sweet aroma of coconut lotion infused the room leg trembling during sex the sun sank low casting long shadows across the floor from the balcony window. In front of me, my husband sat in a chair with his pants and fruit of looms bunched around his ankles.
His only movement was his right hand massaging his stiff five inches of manhood. A tear snaked its way down the front of my suntanned cheek.
I felt guilty; however, my tear revealed years of frustration being released. A desire hidden deep in my subconscious for some twenty years of marriage now lay bare. To my astonishment, my husband was easily accepting the reality that I was Devonte's woman. I sensed a puff of air on the top jamaica my head which meant he was standing close behind me.
He towered above me with his nostrils snorting warm air onto me like a bull ready to charge a crimson Muleta. I stood vulnerable wearing only a flimsy lacy bra and a thong.
The silence white broken with a loud whack to my jamaica ass. I was startled. It stung and caused my pussy to inexplicably burn. The distant sound of waves crashing onto the beach along with the rum cocktails warming my stomach failed to soothe my senses.
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Devonte dominated my mind as my hands reached behind to protect my exposed rump from another slap. He effortlessly removed my lame attempt to prevent another slap.
Twenty years of being a faithful wife and mother was down the white. I was now a big cock slut. I shuddered at the slutwives of my two children discovering the fact I was a Jamaican man's slut to do with as he pleased and with their father watching in an aroused trance.
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