The Hotwife Summer (10 page)

C
HAPTER
12
: His Just Desserts

I remembered Summer mentioning Marcel. She had mentioned that he was handsome, that he was French, that he thought “The Chef” was a jackass, that he was also very appealing.

She had not mentioned, however, that Marcel was black.

Inky, deep, night-time black.

So black that he could only be seen against he darkness in the kitchen because he was moving. When he stopped moving, his skin faded away and he seemed to be absorbed by the black-blue light.

Summer was saying something as she came through the door. Something about “it” being “just over here.” How had she lured them, I wondered. But then I saw her ass as she turned on her heel to look back at them, two perfect mounds that moved up and down in the most rounded, interesting way as she walked. The matter was easy to solve.

She wore white jeans, so they must have changed after their class already. I imagined her leaning against a locker, walking her fingers on the metal, fluttering her eyes. “Marcel,
mon cherie
, could you help me with something? You're so
big
and
strong
.”

I could see that the two of them – Sandro and the enormous, muscled Marcel – did not know exactly what was in store for hem. But they had hope. They had sniffed it first with her suggestive walk. They were, like any men, expecting her to ask for help with a heavy box, but secretly letting their imagination drift to a fantasy in which she bent over, and asked them to fill her up.

A fantasy in which she did precisely what she was doing now.

She leaned backward against the door. I heard it click as she turned and locked it.

I could only see the two men vaguely in the dark, but the outlines of their forms prickled like animals: ears perked; faces turned; spines stiffened. It was almost as if you could see them sniffing at the air for their prey.

I looked through the camera lens without hope. It was too dark.

Summer, however, was utterly prepared. She behaved as if this were a play she had rehearsed a thousand times, or perhaps it's better to say, she was like a puppeteer. “I like to see what I'm doing,” she purred. “I like to see what
you're
doing. Turn on the light, would you?”

No one would say no to a request like that, and a voice like that.

The room filled with fluorescent lights and the hum that came with them. The steel glowed.

I could see the face of Marcel now. His eyes shifted from Summer to Sandro, who I could not see but imagined smiling smugly. He was unsure of what he was being trapped into.

Summer ran her tongue along her teeth while she smiled. She was leaning against the door.

“You are one naughty girl, Summer
Brooks
,” Sandro declared. I could hear it in his voice. How much he liked to say her last name, to enjoy the taste of her belonging to another man -to me  - in his mouth.

Summer
was
a naughty girl, but when her eyes and her smile quickly flickered to me, under the table, I knew she was naughty for me and me alone. I knew in that moment that I could trust her plan. I began to relax, to enjoy the show. I still had no idea what she had planned, but I knew I would like it.

I held the camera steady. My cock was throbbing, but I wanted to wait until the end that she had promised me.

“Don't let yourself come until I say so,” she had told me. “You'll see why.”

I licked my lips.

“I have a little fantasy,” Summer said, moving her fingers along her neckline, “and I think you two might be the ones to help me out with it.”

Marcel's mouth was hanging open, and he looked almost ridiculous for a moment: a big, ebony god with eyes wide, scared of my wife.

But as his eyes moved over the scene, and especially over my wife's body, he quickly grasped what was about to happen. He recovered well.

His voice was deep and syrupy with a French accent. “What is it you need for this fantasy?”

Summer gave Sandro a look, and then she moved closer to Marcel.

“I have a thing for sausage,” she said. Her hand moved over his chest, and began to make its way down to his crotch, where I could see part of him already understood Summer's desires. “And I've never had any French sausage before...”

Her hand squeezed him through his lightweight jeans.

“I was thinking that maybe we could try out some kind of fusion.”

The two men were moving closer to her now. But she kept right going, so there was nothing unclear about what she wanted.

“An Italian, French, American fusion,” she murmured. “With sausage?”

It was almost funny, when I thought about it later: so cliched, so hilariously lifted from some B-grade porno script. The three of them, though, had become animal-serious, circling each other, getting ready to mate. No one laughed.

And what of Ben, tucked away under the table? I was sweating, even though the kitchen was cool and the floor had frozen me through my ass earlier. I was breathing in serrated gasps, and despite my best efforts, the scene on the camera screen jumped round wildly as though I were running.

Inside, I felt like my guts were sweating as well. Was it from excitement? From fear?

Summer was formidable. She had converted into my fantasy woman, and now she almost terrified me.

And then there was the reality unfolding before me: she was going to take it hard from two men.

My mind remembered Sandro, but my rushing blood drowned everything out except Summer. Summer sliding the straps of her shirt off each shoulder. Summer slipping out of her jeans. Summer encased in black and white panties, which I could only guess she had bought for this occasion.

Marcel was the first to act. The enormous ebony man pulled his shirt off in one quick movement, and revealed a chiseled chest, a vicious burn on his forearm, and biceps that seemed as large as Summer's waist.

She looked him up and down with approval. Her hand was in his jeans as he took them off, and when she found his cock with her exploring fingers, she opened her mouth in gigantic smile. She treated me to a sideways glance at that moment. When her eyes widened with her pleasure, my pulse quickened as though I had been stabbed with a needle-full of adrenaline.

In a tidy movement, Summer moved slowly down to a crouching position, as though inspecting tires on a car. As she moved down his body she placed her hands on him, feeling with obvious pleasure the hard, dark body. She tugged at his jeans until they slipped down around his ankles, and then she did an amazing trick of turning herself slightly. He followed her cue, and also made the slight turn.

“Take it all off for me, Marcel,” she said, and lifted her eyes to meet his.

Sandro had leaned against a table, and was smugly and slowly unbuckling his belt. He had kicked off his shoes, I noticed. Summer's were still on: black heels that wrapped around her foot like bondage.

But it wasn't what I was looking at: I could see Marcel's cock clearly now. It was a long, thick, black-red snake stretched in front of him. Just inches from Summer''s wet mouth, which she was twisting around seductively in front of him, moving closer to him without touching him. Teasing him.

Her eyes focused on his cock as she let her knees drop, one by one, so that she was no longer crouching but kneeling. Her eyes widened as she drank in the sight of him, and she licked her lips appreciatively.

She reached with her hand and grasped his hard flesh. She smiled. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “Oh, it's so big! It might be too big.”

She looked back at Sandro. Was she goading him?

Her voice was carrying everywhere, it seemed. Echoing endlessly in the metal and tile room.
Oh it's so big, oh it's too big!

My cock throbbed. I wanted desperately to shift my position, but I was afraid of dropping the camera, or missing a moment of the action. Or worse, disappointing Summer by falling out from under the tablecloth and ruining her unknown plan.

Summer guided Marcel's cock to her lips, and she rubbed the tip of it against them. The man's enormous member twitched, and because it was so big, I could see it from where I was. Summer wrangled it back to where she wanted it, and then she looked over at Sandro invitingly.

The message was clear, and he understood it.

I couldn't have had a better view: Summer was kneeling between the two of them, and they were turned at a slight angle toward her. She placed a hand on Sandro's cock. With one huge cock in each hand, she looked from one to the other, as though she simply couldn't decide which delicious treat she wanted to eat first. She was almost facing me now, and she looked to the center, at me, for me..and winked again.

Marcel was the first to break. His giant black hand came out of nowhere and cradled Summer's entire head in his palm, like a basketball. He pushed her toward him.

Summer opened her mouth, and I watched as her red-painted lips slid down Marcel's black shaft. The dark meat disappeared into her, inch after thick, black inch, until her lips closed around the base of his cock.

Marcel groaned.

Summer leaned back ward, and the seemingly endless black cock slithered out her, wet and sticky with her spit now, slipping from deep in her throat. When it fell from her mouth it was so much harder that it barely bobbed down, and now it seemed almost monstrous. She returned her hand to the shaft, and turned to Sandro.

She gave his cock a look. It was almost imperceptible, but I am sure that Sandro saw it. A look as though her next task would be easy. Almost a shrug of the face.

She repeated her talented dive over Sandro's cock. Her lips slid easily over him, and she opened up wider and wider, without even gagging, taking the whole fat Italian cock into her mouth.

I watched in lurid fascination as she moved back and froth from Sandro to Marcel, and the fat members of these two other men filled her throat. They grasped her head and her hair, and pushed her deep onto them, until even the talented Summer began to gurgle a little, and choke slightly. Each time her mouth left the tip of one cock, spit trailed from her lower lip to the flesh of the man she had just sucked. It was dribbling down to her breasts, dampening the bra she was wearing. Her makeup began to smear. She was turning into a beautiful, exquisite mess.

It was Summer who remained in control, however. Summer who stopped by resting back on her heels and scooting away from them. She was gasping for breath, and covered in slick, viscous saliva and precum. She didn't make a move to wipe her face.

At this point I saw that I had let the camera slowly drop, and I was filming the floor. I jerked it back to her face.

“I want you inside of me,” she said. “I want to fuck both of you at the same time. I want to get all. Filled. Up.”

She felled the giant Marcel by reaching out for his cock and pulling him down to the floor with it in her hand. She pushed him down onto the floor, where now they were close enough to me that I could smell the sweat of their bodies. Beneath that scent was the sweet, honeyed aroma of Summer's cunt. She wriggled free of her underwear, and was left in only her lovely bra and the black heels that so sexily bound her feet.

She straddled Marcel, who seemed to have been taken utterly by surprise and was only just recovering his senses enough to grab for her body with his giant hands. His dark skin was pressed against Summer's hips, then her breasts, then her legs. He was moving his hands around her body like she was silly-puddy he would mold into something different. In his enormous paws her body – so round, so full – looked fragile as a teacup.

His cock was pointed at he ceiling, just behind her ass. Summer rocked her hips a little, so that her fleshy bottom stroked his shaft with a feathery kiss. Where her mound met his pelvis, a sheen of her excitement stuck to his skin.

Impatient, Marcel used on of his hands to grasp her arm and hold her in place, and the other to grab his own cock. He lifted her up – and she had to rise to kneeling, which even then was not high enough – and guided his cock to her pussy.

Summer reached down with her own hands, and held the big cock between them. She rubbed the tip of his shaft against her clit, but because of its length, she almost had to bend it. She abandoned the plan and moved the tip of his cock to her wet hole.

She looked over to me, biting her smiling lip as she sank down his column.

I sucked in my breath as my wife's pink pussy filled to the brim with his black cock. When she came to rest against his pelvis she let out a deep moan, and purred like a cat. “Oh, fuck, your cock feels so
good.
I'm
all
filled up by it.” She mewled again. Sweat was gathering on her skin, making her shine as though she had been oiled.

Marcel grasped her hips, and moved her easily, as though the weight of her were nothing, up and down, over his cock. The sticky sound of her flesh being fucked while she creamed all over another man's cock filled my ears.

And then, to my utter surprise, she leaned forward, propping herself up with one hand on Marcel's hard chest. For a moment it seemed that this was to position herself so that Marcel could pump away at her, which he did. But I saw her extend her arm behind her, and over her ass, and then stretching gracefully, she reached for her own ass with her fingers.