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  • My Wifes First Threesome

    It had been about six years since my wife and I had bought our house, and our guest bedroom was in need of a good painting. So, I hired a local painter to take care of the job. The guy had been recommended to me by a friend, and after doing a quick appraisal, he told me he could take care of the room in one day. “No problem,” I said, “we’ll be here all Saturday.”

    Around noon on Saturday, the painter — Rob was his name — arrived at the house. My wife, Emily, greeted him at the door, and showed him up to the guest room while I took care of some work in the den. After leading him upstairs, Emily returned to the den to join me, sitting on my lap as I looked over some business reports. Nonchalantly, I grazed my hand across her leg, rubbing her thigh and continuing my reading. Emily was wearing this tight little miniskirt, and after a few minutes, my mind had drifted from what was on those reports to what was concealed underneath that skirt. I began thinking about the amazing sex we had had last night, and I was becoming increasingly horny as I relived those memories. Subtly, I slid my hand in between my wife’s tanned, juicy thighs, and began to edge closer to her nether-regions.

    Upon realizing what I was up to, Emily quickly snapped her legs completely closed. “Jason!” she scolded, “the painter is right upstairs!” I rolled my eyes. Yes, sex with Emily was great, but sometimes, I wished she could be just a little less uptight. While she was by no means shy in the bedroom — she loved to suck cock and had demanded anal on multiple occasions — she was absolutely adamant about keeping our sex life entirely between us. She disliked PDA, wasn’t fond of nude beaches, and absolutely loathed porn. Basically, she felt sex and nudity should be shared between one man and one woman, without others seeing or knowing about it. Obviously, with this firm stance, a quickie with the painter upstairs was out of the question.

    But, being a horny male, I persisted. “Come on, baby, just a quick one.” She frowned.

    “And what if the painter comes down and sees us?” she asked.

    I thought about this for a minute. Desperate to just get into those panties — sex or not — I compromised. “You just sit here and I’ll finger you,” I proposed. “If we hear him coming, I’ll move my hand, and he’ll be none the wiser.” To make my offer even more appealing, I slid my hand a little further up Emily’s leg, prodding her pussy with my pinky finger. Reluctantly, she spread her legs a few inches.
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