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It was the hottest weekend of my life.
Literally. It was 90 degrees on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday afternoon, so obnoxiously hot for mid-September. The heat that makes you wish for winter, forgetting how miserable it is waiting for the car to warm on dark winter mornings.
I was thankful for my car’s AC functioning system air and Violet’s decision to keep her college “going out” clothes, despite graduating four years ago. I didn’t meet my wife until after college, so I loved to imagine her wearing these outfits to parties, enjoying her life as a beautiful, unencumbered college girl. On hot Summer days, or boring Winter days stuck inside, she liked to put on a fun throwback fit. She walked out of our bedroom in a skintight dress and heels, or tiny skirts and lingerie she used to wear as tops. No matter what I was doing, I stopped everything to make her feel beautiful. I couldn’t help myself. I felt so fortunate to have such a hottie as my wife, one who never made me doubt her loyalty to me.
Back when she had reason to go out, before she sold her soul to corporate and let the signature pink and purple dyed streaks in her hair fade away, back to brownish-blonde, my wife loved to buy new going out outfits. She and her friends poured the money they earned working in dining halls and coffee shops into their online shopping carts, a stream of Forever 21 packages constantly arriving in the dorm mailroom. She told me how much fun they had swapping outfits to find new combinations, hyping each other up while they pregamed for parties.
Sometimes, we scroll back five years into Violet’s iPhone camera roll. At least half the photos are of her and her friends on nights out, taking selfies and mirror pics in the same familiar places- apartments, frat house basements, the massive main lawn of campus with stately red bricked buildings. From early Fall through Winter and late Spring, endless photos of Violet and her besties wearing outfits nowhere near warm enough for a college up north. It never fails to make us feel frisky. Over the years, Violet has also told me (I think?) all her favorite college stories. To be honest, I picture them often. I remember every one. The craziest parties, times she escaped the police or campus officials, late-night meetups to smoke weed and hook up with boys. She used to be surprised how little I resisted hearing every detail.
The more she tells me, the more I yearn to know more. Young Violet was so fucking hot. Nowadays, Violet is still a hottie but exudes undeniable “bring home to the parents” qualities. Young Violet had an unexpected and insatiable wild side. The fact she enjoys still talking about it encourages me. It still exists. Secretly, I hope re-living these stories keeps that side of her from fading away.
As we made the two hour drive to her campus for homecoming weekend, with Violet dressed in a black miniskirt and red crop top to match her school colors, my favorite of Violet’s Wild College Tales played through my mind. I couldn’t wait to see what the main lawn looked like, to picture the time she ran through it naked, or the soccer bleachers where the goalie convinced Violet to give him a blowjob before the game.
That weekend, we would relive everything Violet did and more. It would be one of the most memorable nights of our lives.
“Violet, what was your favorite bar called again?” I asked as I opened the maps app on my phone.
“You’re silly. You don’t need that!” she replied, referring to my phone, smiling as we drove past the university welcome sign. “Bang a left!”
I turned onto a street lined with bars, coffee shops, and a humongous student bookstore full of memorabilia, school-branded athleisure, and books, I suppose. A long line of students stood waiting outside of a brick building, two stories tall with black trim around the windows, green awnings, and a swinging wooden sign above the door painted in white and red letters: Luigi’s Pub. This was her place.
We found a spot to park, a discreet adjacent lot Violet knew about from the two or three-thousand times she’d been here before. I pulled into the space and put the car in park, beyond ready to house some beers. Time to get the weekend started! Violet turned to me.
“Baby, thank you. Thank you so much. A, for driving while I slept. But B, for being here with me. Ew, cheesy, I didn’t try that,” we laughed. “But it means a lot.” Violet smiled and hugged my arm.
” I can’t wait,” I answered. “I’m excited Casibom Giriş to be here with you too, baby. After that drive, I need a fucking beer. Let’s go!.
“Wait,” Violet said, looking down at her outfit. She planned to wear the red crop top and black miniskirt in the car and change when we got to the hotel. The thing is, we got into town early, the hotel probably wasn’t ready, and we were starving. “Should I change?” she wondered aloud. “I probably should…”
After years of dating and a year being married, I knew my wife well. She needed her hype man. “Baby, stop. You look so good. You better not change! Please wear it!” I begged, pleaded and borderline groveled, the way she liked. Predictably she relented.
“Okay, I guess if you think I look good, I’ll wear it for you baby!” Violet smiled proudly and held my hand as we walked through the door to her old favorite bar.
Immediately, I felt a mixture of ego boost and jealousy when one after another, heads turned and looked at Violet, up and down, taking her in with no concern over her lab-grown diamond ring or the guy she was with. I wondered what they might have thought and done if they’d seen her here five years ago.
We sat at the bar. The bartender was a tall, younger guy with dark hair, about 6’2″, sturdily built and New England handsome, wearing a brown flannel. As he got closer, I noticed Violet’s back straighten, the tone of her voice changing ever so slightly.
The bartender asked what we we’d like to drink. He directed the question at both of us, looking at me first. But once he saw Violet, he kept his gaze on Violet, Violet, and only Violet. There was a strange twinkle in his eye. He grinned as she told him which IPA she wanted, answering “Great choice!” on his way to the taps. After years of dating and a year being married, I knew what my wife would say next.
“I think I know that guy,” she said, her eyes twinkling much like his did.
“Yeah, no shit,” I said.
He handed us our beers and as he did I studied Violet, noticing without a doubt her awkwardness, which she typically masked well. At this point, the bartender and the lonely couple in the corner have probably noticed too. Violet didn’t just know this man. She had a massive crush on him, and there’s a good chance it was mutual.
Faced with a scenario I always pictured would be hot, but now actually seeing it in real life, I felt so many things. A whirlwind of jealousy, excitement, lust. Maybe we could really do this…
When the bartender walked to the other end of the bar to take another couple’s order, I turned to my wife.
“Baby, tell me the truth. Did you used to have a crush on this bartender? Did you ever hook up with him?”
She smiled and bit her lower lip. Oh god. I studied the emotions on her face as she studied mine, deciding how she’d react to my allegation. She told the truth, and nothing but the truth.
“Ugh, why do you always notice these things. Okay, baby. Yes. Mike was in my bio class and I had a huge crush on him. But we never hooked up.” Violet said.
Her honesty meant the world to me. It allowed me to make the first move.
“Tonight you have my permission.” The words I always wanted to say.
“Permission? For what? Wait, do you mean, like, permission?” She looked back at me, waiting for me to say I was kidding. I nodded. “No baby, you have to say it. Are you sure you want this?” Violet looked surprised, but far from upset. I was so turned on knowing she wanted it too.
I held a finger to my lips. Mike the bartender walked back towards us. Only a few feet away, he turned to place a rack of clean beer mugs on the rack above the bar. I squeezed Violet’s leg. She looked towards me and I nodded. “Yes, baby.” I said, quietly. We both smiled.
Mike disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few moments later, asking if we wanted a second round. Violet took control. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” She asked.
Mike and Violet conversed, “suddenly remembering” how they knew each other. They did a convincing job pretending it was the first time they’d thought of each other in years. Violet told Mike how cool it was that he was still hanging around campus, sounding almost genuine. Mike tried his best to hide disappointment at the reminder she’d moved away, turned corporate, got married before he could get his hands on her. I listened to them exchange the requisite information, hoping it Casibom bonus would lead where we all wanted it to go.
“So, when does your shift end?” Violet asked. I was shocked and impressed by her boldness, ready to fuck the shit out of her if Mike wouldn’t. No man would pass up Violet.
Mike was visibly disappointed as he told us his night had only just begun. He was closing the bar that night and might not be home until 3, far from fresh after a long Friday night. As much as he wanted to hook up with Violet, and as bad as we wanted it too, it wasn’t going to happen after work that night.
Oh well. Carrying on as if we weren’t disappointed, Violet and I finished our second drinks. I ordered a third. Violet got up to use the restroom. When she was out of earshot, Mike and I made eye contact. I felt my face turn pink. Since taking my first drink order, he and I hadn’t exchanged words. Yet, my wife had openly flirted with him. In front of me. He could probably already tell what I wanted.
Mike nodded as I spoke, giving the appearance of understanding and respecting what I was telling him. “Mike, I’m not sure how to say this,” I heard the words as they escaped my lips, wishing they sounded more confident. I’m not sure there is a suave and confident way to deliver this message. At the time I definitely didn’t know or care. “My wife wants to have sex with you. I want to watch.”
Mike looked back at me. He didn’t say no. He nodded.
It was time for me to take control.
“Follow my lead,” I said.
Violet returned from the bathroom and hung her purse on the bar stool before she sat down. Wearing fresh makeup, push-up bra working overtime, she looked flawless. She hadn’t given up on our fantasy.
I said to Mike. “Hey man, want to go have a smoke?”
Violet looked at me, confused. I don’t smoke. She and Mike might’ve shared a drunken cigarette years ago, but she was pretty sure he didn’t smoke either. Why the hell was I asking him that?
I took Violet by the arm as Mike and I walked towards the back door. Just trust me,” I whispered in her ear. On his way from behind the bar, Mike leaned over to tell his colleague something. He pushed through the grey steel door under the red exit sign, back to the loading area with the equipment shed where he and his colleagues were permitted to smoke.
Against the wall, with Mike’s hands holding her waist, Violet kissed him like she had wanted to for years. Eyes closed, she pressed her mouth into his, feeling the warmth and softness of their lips together. He kissed back like he had been dreaming about this too.
Violet lifted her leg around Mike’s waist. He reached one hand to cup her face, kissing her and feeling her tongue flick against his. I felt my cock stiffen as I watched Violet lose herself in the moment. She looked at Mike with longing, passionate eyes, as if she had forgotten I was there.
Violet turned to face me. As she did, Mike reached his hand up her black miniskirt, feeling her ass. They kept kissing, her skirt riding above her waist. As Violet’s ass popped out, fully exposed to me, Mike took a big, powerful handful, squeezing her ass cheek until it spilled from his hand. Violet’s ass is so impossibly fat for an otherwise petite girl. I had dreamed forever of seeing how it would look in another man’s hands. It was better than I ever dreamed. From my angle, I tried to “keep watch” on the bar’s back door, but I could only watch them. Truly, I didn’t give a fuck if we got caught. That was Mike’s problem.
“Violet, honey,” I said as she kissed him. Briefly, they stopped kissing, still holding each other. My wife looked towards me. For a moment, I admired her in this state, the fiery look in her eyes, the one that said she wanted to go feral for him.
Violet checked in with me. “Baby, I almost forgot you were there. Sorry. Is this okay?”
“Yes, honey,” I wanted to push it further. “You look amazing. Keep going,” I said. Violet looked relieved and eager for more. I knew she was ready.
I continued. “Violet, Mike has to go back to work soon. Before he does, I want you to suck his cock.”
Without saying a word, Violet dropped to her knees. She kept her eyes locked with mine, a knowing, sly slutty smile on her face. A couple years ago, when I first mentioned my hotwife fantasy, Violet thought it sounded ridiculous. She only wanted me. The longer we played with the idea, the more serious Casibom güvenilir mi? she realized I was. Then there was a turning point. The day Violet realized that as long as I was okay with it, she wanted another dick, too.
Mike was predictably long and thick. Bigger than me, but not by much. I was a little jealous, but I knew Violet could handle it. She looked beautiful as she knelt before him, looking him in the eyes. She took his cock from his pants and held it in her hands, jerking slightly. Mike swelled harder to full mast, pulsing in Violet’s hand. I hated to admit but he had a nice cock. One that Violet deserved. She slowly moved her head towards his massive, erect penis, stopping just as her lips grazed the tip of him. She pulled away and let his cock rest against her cheek. Smiling, she looked towards me. She liked to draw it out, at least a little. I wanted to take a photo to make it last forever, but could only take a brief mental picture before Violet devoured him.
Violet blew him fast, hard, and vigorously. When it’s just the two of us, she usually teases me endlessly, drawing it out, saving her best work until I reach the point of no return. With Mike, she had no such concerns. He needed to get back to work and she wanted this for years. The last thing she wanted was to let him down. Violet took Mike deep into her throat, waiting until she heard him squeal before she pulled her mouth away. “Holy fucking shit,” Mike said, amazed by this random girl from his past sucking the life from his cock.
When I saw Violet take Mike all the way into her mouth, fitting every inch of him, pushing past any limits she’d ever encountered before, I nearly lost it, jerking my cock until I was sweaty and horny and almost blew my load. I wasn’t sure how much more I could handle.
I let Violet blow him for maybe thirty seconds longer. I couldn’t take any more. I tapped her shoulder, letting her know it was my turn. She turned towards me, obediently dropping Mike’s cock from her mouth. Though eager to return to him, she sucked my cock slowly and sensually, the way l could handle. In the back of her mind, Violet wondered how long Mike would stay this way. She knew she married a man who loved to watch. But she doubted Mike was the same way.
So badly, Violet wanted to feel Mike’s cock inside her. She wanted to feel the world shake as he entered her pussy. She wanted to watch my reaction as Mike pounded her. She wanted to find out if we could really handle this. But this was not the night. We were outside a popular restaurant crawling with college kids, and could be caught at any moment. Plus Violet had’t had time to prepare. She wasn’t wearing a matching bra and panty set. If she was going to fuck Mike, she was going to do it right.
Unable to take it any longer, Violet returned to blowing Mike, making sure he was the one to come first. Mike was the alpha that night, the bigger cock, the one who needed to get back to work. Mike was the one Violet had wanted the hardest for the longest. She wanted so badly to make him feel good, to make him explode with pleasure.
Violet never felt so slutty as she pushed her lips deep onto his cock, taking all of him. As she pulled back, preparing to go back down, she left a long trail of slobber, remembering that I’d asked her so many times for a sloppy blowjob but she’d always felt too shy to try. But not now. For twenty or thirty seconds, she blew Mike just the way I’d always wanted her to, spitting and gagging for him with no shame, submitting to him with everything she had.
Mike groaned, then burst onto Violet’s left cheek, leaving streaks of sticky white. He spilled the rest of his load onto her chest, mostly covering her but leaving enough space for me. What a gentleman, blowing his load onto the perfect hotwife. Violet turned to me and smiled, taking in my reaction as she smiled through her first load of hotwife cum. I lasted maybe seven seconds, exploding onto her chest with the most powerful orgasm of the weekend (up to that point). I held Violet in my arms. She wasn’t finished, but her men were. That had to be enough for now.
Violet hugged Mike, thanking him, I’m still not sure why, before taking my arm. We had nothing to clean her with, so we had to go straight to the car. When we arrived, Violet sat in the back seat and sprawled, unbuttoning her pants. She swept her finger across her chest, gathering a mixture of our cum, then touched her pussy, pressing it into herself as she came in our backseat.
In our hotel just a mile off-campus, we woke up late the next morning, laughing at how I had to bring toilet paper out to the car before Violet could come inside. How we fell asleep holding each other, blissed out. What an insane night. I couldn’t believe that it actually happened. And it was only Saturday.
