Blue Bikini Betrayal

The insistent hum of the fluorescent lights in my office felt like a persistent, irritating buzz against my skin. All day, my mind had been a restless tide, pulling me towards the evening my wife had so meticulously planned. This morning, as I emerged from the shower, she presented me with a pair of silky blue bikini underwear, their cool smoothness a tantalizing promise of the delights to come. "Here, put these on," she’d said, a playful glint in her eyes that hinted at the surprises she had in store. I knew, instinctively, that she was feeling frisky, and the anticipation throbbed within me, a warm, insistent pressure building beneath my suit pants.

Just as I was finishing up work, her voice crackled through my phone. “Come on over,” she said, her tone laced with a suggestive urgency. “I’ve made reservations at The Salty Siren, a seafood place down by the docks. You’ll love it.” The Salty Siren was known for its fresh catches, its lively atmosphere, and, if the rumors were true, its even livelier clientele. I could barely contain my excitement.

The drive there was agonizingly slow, each red light an eternity, each passing car a painful reminder of the time slipping away. I stole glances at her legs, her curves accentuated by the flowing turquoise dress she wore, the white high heels adding a touch of dangerous elegance. Her red-painted toe-nails peeked out from beneath her sheer white pantyhose, a flash of vibrant color against the pale fabric. As she closed the door to my office and leaned in close, I caught a whiff of Obsession perfume, a heady blend of vanilla, amber, and musk that sent a shiver down my spine. "Know what I want?" she whispered, her voice a silken caress against my ear. I could feel my love shaft engorging with blood, responding to her touch, straining beneath the fabric of my suit pants. “Oh,” she said, glancing at her watch, “the reservations are for six o’clock, we better go.”

The Salty Siren was everything I’d hoped for and more. The air was thick with the salty tang of the sea, the clatter of silverware on plates, and the murmur of conversations punctuated by bursts of laughter. The waiter, a muscular man with a friendly smile, presented us with succulent lobsters, glistening under the warm glow of the chandeliers. She had dropped several hints throughout the evening, subtle suggestions of a special night, leaving me to wonder what exactly she had in mind. As we sipped the last of the wine, she slid her hand across the table, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. She removed her hand, revealing a small plastic object with the number 161 stamped across it and a key attached. The message was clear: she had a surprise planned.

My heart pounded in my chest as we left the restaurant. The drive to the motel felt like an eternity, each mile stretching out before me like a torturous expanse. I couldn't take my eyes off her, her body a vision of sensuality in the dim interior of the car. Noticing my admiration, she reached down and began to hike up her skirt, revealing a pair of white garters and sheer lace panties beneath. The silky brown hairs of her pubic mound gleamed in the low light, an invitation I couldn't ignore. She licked her finger and slowly slid it beneath her panties, teasingly exposing her sensitive skin. Instinctively, my hand reached for my throbbing penis. I was now fully erect, my love shaft straining against the confines of my suit pants. The silky bikini underwear offered little resistance to the mounting pressure.

As we pulled into the motel parking lot, I fumbled for the key. The room was small, but impeccably clean, with a plush king-sized bed and a vintage vanity mirror. As I raised her skirt, a wave of heat washed over me as her beautiful mound was fully exposed. I began to gently fondle her outer lips with my left hand, while she unsnapped her bra, releasing her supple breasts. The sight of her naked body was overwhelming, a primal urge taking over my senses. I began to suck her left nipple, feeling the warmth of her skin against my lips, as she softly rolled her right nipple between her thumb and index finger. She opened her legs wider, inviting my fingers to explore her now very wet love spot. As I inserted two fingers, a soft moan escaped her lips, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. I continued to suck and lick her nipple, slowly and deliberately, while simultaneously thrusting my fingers in and out of her velvety love spot. “Want to try something new?” she whispered, her voice husky with anticipation. “Exactly what did you have in mind?”

Barely audibly, she asked, "Want to watch me play with myself?" My pulse raced as she retrieved a small overnight bag from the night table beside the bed. She reached in and pulled out a dark tan dildo, its smooth surface gleaming under the dim light. As I slid my fingers from her vagina, she guided the dildo between her love spot lips, her touch sending a fresh wave of heat through my body.

It was so big; I didn't think she could accommodate the massive shaft. With her right hand she began rubbing the head of the dildo up and down from her vagina to her sweet hole. My erection was rock hard as I watched the head disappear between the soft folds of her love spot lips. She then grabbed my shaft and began stroking me as she inserted up to half of the phallus inside her. The scent of her womanhood, mingled with the slightly sweet aroma of the lubricant, filled the air, intensifying my arousal. I leaned over and began licking the soft brown hair at the upper end of her mound, savoring the sensation of her skin against my tongue. I felt my balls becoming tight with anticipation as the pressure mounted, a delicious torture that brought me to the edge of ecstasy. My wife began to whimper softly as she gingerly pushed, her hips beginning to convulse uncontrollably. As I watched her experience the first of several intense orgasms, I could no longer contain the pressure, which had built up, inside my balls. The sticky white love cream surged in waves from my love shaft and across her belly as we came together. Satiated, I lay beside her and explored her mouth with my tongue, tracing the contours of her lips, her teeth, her throat. Completely exhausted, we went to bed early, falling into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

The next morning, we awoke to the same stifling heat and the same insistent hum of the fluorescent lights. But this time, there was no time for lingering. My wife, anticipating my desires, had already prepared for another round. As she expected, we repeated our performance before breakfast, the events of the previous night still fresh in our minds. It was a most memorable evening, a testament to our shared passion and a reminder of the intense pleasure we found in each other's arms. The lingering scent of Obsession perfume and the memory of the silky blue bikini underwear served as a sweet, lingering reminder of the night before, leaving me breathless and eager for the next time my wife would surprise me.

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Blue Bikini Betrayal

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