Recreational s**: 6 hot stories of spousal sharing (Anthologies of Infidelity) by Marissa Reed

Author:Marissa Reed [Reed, Marissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PMI
Published: 2022-05-21T23:00:00+00:00

What’s a Hotwife Among Friends?

Quinn brought over some private-label beers while Jenne and I were laying out the array of mini-neopolitan pizza toppings for a roof-top stone-oven party.

“Nice pieces you got going on in there,” he said, toting his heavy bag and hooking his thumb over his shoulder. Jenne and I converted an old car-mechanic’s garage into our modern home with an adjoining art studio in the car bays. Even though we all went in different career directions after college— Quinn became an instructor at the college, my Jenne became a school teacher, and I hacked away moderately successfully selling art — we stayed in close touch, Jenne and I eventually deciding to just get it over with and marry.

He brushed behind Jenne and pinched her ass making her jerk up from where she was bending over the counter to chop green onions. “Watch it, knife in play!” she shouted at him without looking.

“Can you please make your wife not dress in such a hot fucking outfit, Jesus, Gil,” he said, pulling open the fridge and loading it up. “It’s getting outta control,” he mumbled as though to himself but loud enough for both of us to hear.

She did look pretty hot in her black-with-pink floral patterned backless romper and bare feet, all toenails and fingernails painted frosted gleaming white. She chirped with a grin, stuck her ass out and bumped him chest-first into the fridge. “You’re the one getting out of control,” she said, turning around and leaning on the counter to eat the end of a sausage she’d sliced up. She propped one foot on top of her other foot and swung the knee back and forth like a front yard gate caught in the wind. “You even getting laid at all these days?” she asked him in mock seriousness before chuckling at her own humour.

I was mincing garlic on the other end of the counter. “Don’t you worry about ol’ Quinny boy there, he gets laid plenty,” I snickered. “New crop of prey every fall, isn’t that the way you high fallutin’ college instructors think?”

He closed the fridge door behind him with his foot and cracked open three bottles. He reached over my wife’s head to slide out from the overhead rack three stemmed beer glasses. “It’s always the one you don’t hear coming that gets you, too,” he said.

Jenne jabbed him with her long fingers in his side under his ribs and made him crunch down in reflex reaction. She tittered and when he reached again, she tickled him again, making him crunch down and stay down this time.

“You got a problem missy?” he said to her with his head turned sideways close to the surface of the counter.

“Nope,” she couldn’t stop giggling.

He suddenly grabbed her side below her ribs and she shrieked and doubled over. Jenne was always excessively ticklish. But she had enough control left in her to grab right back at his sides with both her hands. They both laughed and contorted and fought for control of each other’s spasmodic bodies.

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