Wife and old lecher in the convertible

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

This Thursday is Independence Day in the United States. My wife took Friday off, making it a four-day weekend trip to visit me. She works at an investment bank in City C, handling business with institutional clients (hedge funds, insurance companies, etc.). For example, if a fund needs to buy one million shares of Microsoft stock, they'll call my wife to ask for a quote. Simply put, she works in investment banking and securities sales. Besides excellent communication skills, the most important thing in this line of work is maintaining good relationships with clients and having a stable client base. Therefore, most people in this industry are beautiful, and my wife is no exception.

She's very beautiful, the kind of woman you'd never forget. She also has a great figure, with a bra size between C and D—a true American standard (the size you'd find at Victoria's Secret, unlike Asian bras which are often oversized). Her breasts are full and white, her waist is slender yet supple, and her buttocks are round and firm. Perhaps it's because my wife is beautiful, and coupled with the recent surge in the S&P 500, her performance has been excellent. She was recently promoted and, at only twenty-something, is already "accepting clients" independently. "Accepting clients" is a joke in investment banking, meaning she can contact clients privately, with her acting as an assistant.

Because she's independent, my wife has dinner with clients once or twice a week—so-called business dinners. It's really just to maintain good relationships and to get insider information, such as ongoing mergers and acquisitions or unreleased company financial statements. These are theoretically forbidden discussions because they involve insider trading, but everyone does it. The key is to maintain a proper distance and not leave a trace.

Most clients are very professional, especially larger institutional clients, because the help is mutual. However, some clients, especially men, tend to behave inappropriately around beautiful women, especially after drinking. And since I'm out of town and not with my wife, I'm actually quite bothered by this.

That time, I went to stay with my wife for a while. One evening, she called me and said she had drunk a bit too much and couldn't drive. She asked me to take the subway to the fifth floor of a parking lot somewhere in the city and come to me. She said she would wait for me in her car and I should drive her home.

It takes about an hour and a half to get to that parking lot from my wife's apartment by subway. However, when I received the call, I had just met a friend nearby and had a few drinks, so the subway ride there only took about ten minutes. My wife hung up the phone very quickly, without giving me a chance to explain.

I also had my wife's car keys on my keychain, and since I had nothing else to do, I decided to wait for her at the parking lot.

When I got to the parking lot, I didn't find my wife's car on the fifth floor. I suspected she might have made a mistake, so I searched floor by floor until I reached the second basement level, which was a long-term parking area with many cars that hadn't been driven for weeks. I didn't want to look there, but somehow, I found myself heading deeper into the parking lot.

The underground parking lot was much larger than the above-ground one, but due to the surrounding buildings, it had many turns and bends. Deep inside, one of the lights seemed to be broken, making the light dim, but I could faintly hear voices. I turned my head and glanced into the distance, vaguely seeing the rear of my wife's red convertible.

The environment and the lighting naturally made me have uneasy thoughts, so when I quietly walked over and peeked through the gap between two pillars, seeing my wife being pressed against the back of the convertible by a strange man, my anger outweighed my surprise. But when I saw the man's graying, slightly balding hair, my anger inexplicably turned into… something else.

The man looked to be in his fifties. My wife was calling his name while saying "no," clearly they knew each other. He was very stocky, sitting sideways in the driver's seat on the left, his strong arm pressing my wife against the right seat. His large, hairy hands were prominent, and my wife's white silk shirt had been torn open, revealing a semi-transparent black lace bra underneath. I knew my wife's shirt was a bit see-through, but underneath she was wearing a semi-transparent black lace bra. I guessed this lecherous old man had been drooling over her breasts all night. But perhaps my wife hadn't expected him to be so bold.

My wife struggled weakly, while the old man whispered promises in her ear and then forcefully pulled at her bra straps. Her hair, which had been styled up, was now loose, her long, black hair highlighting her fair and beautiful face. The strands falling over her shoulders made her skin appear as delicate and white as ivory inlaid with ebony. Her slender hands were like a last fortress protecting her bra straps, preventing the old lecher from succeeding.

The old man, growing impatient and embarrassed, lowered his head and bit my wife's firm breast through her lace bra, his hairy mouth making "smacking" sounds. But at that moment, I felt no anger. On the contrary, my penis began to erect… The lace pattern, driven by the old lecher's tongue, stimulated my wife's nipples. I thought, my wife must be having a hard time, because her nipples were one of her most sensitive spots. Her resistance had turned into low moans mixed with her breathing. Her hands, which had been protecting her bra strap, had to push against the old lecher's head, which was covered in gray hair. So the old lecher took the opportunity to pull off her bra strap. One of my wife's breasts was exposed in the dim, pale light of the parking lot. My wife's

breasts were as perfect as works of art: the cup size was between C and D, appearing firm and full without being cumbersome. The skin of her breasts was as delicate and smooth as tofu. Holding them in my hands, I could feel the fullness of the flesh in my palms, while my fingertips felt smooth and pleasant. My wife's nipples were of moderate size, like two plump and glistening pomegranate seeds. When I put them in my mouth, they had an innate milky fragrance.

At that moment, I saw the old lecher's hairy, stubble-covered mouth take my wife's pink nipple into his mouth, and see his disgusting saliva coating it. I was so aroused I could barely control myself. Instinctively, I started to reach down and rub my penis against his shorts, and a strange, unspeakable anticipation stirred within me. I didn't understand what was wrong with me. Why was I furious when my wife was being groped by a handsome man, but with this gray-haired old man, all I felt was excitement?

My mind was a mess; I just silently watched the old lecher enjoy my wife's breasts. My wife still didn't give up resisting. She tried to push away the old lecher who was clinging to her breasts like a suction cup, and said to him seriously, "Let me go, I'm married!"

The old lecher, who had just tasted the pleasure, wasn't about to let go easily, but my wife seemed resolute and covered her chest with her hands again. Seeing that his erection wasn't working, the old lecher seemed to change tactics and began to whisper something in my wife's ear. At this moment, I felt a little disappointed, and my penis started to soften.

The old lecher tried very hard to persuade his wife, whose cheeks flushed red, but she finally nodded shyly. Excitedly, he reclined the driver's seat, lay down, and then pulled his wife's hand to his crotch.

His wife sat up, her back to him, her long, glossy black hair flowing smoothly over her loose white shirt, revealing her fair shoulders. One bra strap was still dangling to one side, so although he couldn't see her face, he imagined one of her breasts was still exposed to his gaze… My penis hardened again… His wife reached down and unzipped his pants, pulling out his old penis from his underwear. It was still somewhat soft, the foreskin seemingly wrinkled. Perhaps due to the lighting, the glans was white, like a small egg. Although not fully erect, it was already the size of a thick cucumber, barely enough for his wife's slender hand to grasp. One could imagine how magnificent it must have been in its youth.

The wife began rubbing the old lecher's penis. Clearly, she had agreed to let him masturbate her; perhaps this was a compromise. The old lecher, however, seemed unsatisfied. He reached behind his wife's shirt, seemingly trying to unhook the back of her bra. This time, the wife didn't resist, merely responding by continuously stroking the old lecher's penis with her small hand.

The lecherous old man unhooked his wife's bra, then pulled her shirt off one arm, revealing her snow-white back. His wife was slender, her back smooth and graceful. He stroked her bare back with his hairy hands, enjoying the touch of her delicate fingers. His penis grew thick and large, the glans glistening with pre-ejaculate under the light, mirroring the shine of his wife's fair hands… I couldn't resist slipping my hand into my shorts and slowly stroking my burning-hot penis… The old man pulled the bra strap off her bare shoulder. Although the other strap was still dangling from the arm she was using to masturbate, her breasts were now completely exposed to his gaze. The old lecher's hand reached behind his wife, pushing her body forward. Her exposed breast was likely right in front of his mouth. Although I couldn't see it, the sounds coming from his mouth said it all—he was definitely sucking on her pink nipple… For some reason, a strong, electric shock-like stimulation coursed through my entire body, even every pore and capillary was filled with excitement. I unconsciously increased the speed of my masturbation, even anticipating the scene of the old lecher's large penis penetrating my wife's vagina. Her vagina must be overflowing with moisture, right?

So when my wife suddenly straightened up, I felt an even stronger surge of excitement, because my mind, filled with lust, imagined my wife lifting her skirt, straddling the old lecher's penis, and using her wet vagina to envelop him… But instead, my wife reached for tissues in the car. While I was lost in my fantasies and didn't notice, the old lecher had already ejaculated.

For some reason, I felt somewhat disappointed. Looking back, the scene—my beautiful wife giving a handjob to an old man while I was masturbating—was incredibly absurd. But deep down, I felt unsatisfied.

That night, I fucked my wife wildly; she had multiple orgasms, but I still felt unsatisfied, not excited enough… In the middle of the night, I got up to use the bathroom and found my wife's pantyhose and underwear in the laundry basket. I picked up her black lace thong; the thin strap through her vagina still held her vaginal fluid, and the pantyhose covering her vulva was soaked. Remembering the scene in the parking lot that night, I got hard again. I put my wife's lace thong and pantyhose on my penis and started masturbating, my mind filled with fantasies of my wife being wildly fucked by that old man…

[The End]

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Wife and old lecher in the convertible

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