A message reply to what I like…

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A message reply to what I like…My wife and I went to a party one late summer night when the temperature started turning cool. I had been friends with the host since high school and for the past 23 years. He and his wife went through a very rough patch, but were able to save their marriage and since then took over a gym. 23 years of partying with the same people can get old sometimes, but for this party they invited some of their employees and new gym members. It was a new mix of people, and I was unexpectedly thrown off my game. New people to meet, new stories to hear, and new ideas to ponder changed the scene.One woman, near the same age as us, lived in our more liberal part of town kept publicly talking about what turned her on. She openly talked about how she “hated” perfume soap, how cologne made her head hurt and how much she loved the natural scent of her man. She kept talking about what she wanted; “a man, a real man. A man that has the body hair of a man, that smells like a man after mowing the lawn and washing the car and just oooohhhh. You know.” She was a totally new dynamic in the usual party scene, and I loved it. I loved listening to her as most of the regulars were the highly primped, pruned, and would never consider such rawness of this new person.As the party continued and the groups of regulars splinter into their cliques. I notice my wife not hanging around the hostess as usual. marsbahis güvenilirmi As the drinks flow, my wife is in the formal living room talking to another old friend, the new liberal girl, and another lady-acquaintance. The four of them were enjoying their red wine, laughing, having fun. It was great seeing that, as my wife is 15 years bored with the host and hostess. I walk near the conversation and could tell they were talking about going wine tasting. So I step in and introduce myself into the conversation and my wife catches me up with how we all need to go wine tasting. I exit the conversation leaving the girls to their own frontiers and go back to the other splinter groups.The weather turns cool, and I start a fire in the backyard. The splinter groups notice the fire and start to migrate to the yard emptying the house. Now the cliques have rejoined and more cross-talk, jokes, and getting close to warm up begins. My wife and the girls know that there is a fire in the backyard – it’s a bonfire at least 6′ high. They ignore it and continue whatever it is they are talking about. More beers, wine, and other shots flow, and still we are missing the 4 girls. In my mind – this is great – my wife is mentally engaged and is interested again.The girls finally show up to the fire, mention how the chiminea is glowing red, and two of the girls say their goodbys to the group. marsbahis yeni giriş As they go around my wife comes up to me, hugs me, and kisses me. I kiss her back and told her she’s beautiful. The girls leave, the chit-chat resumes, and my wife lets me know that she’s going potty as she does the ‘potty dance’ jokingly. That leaves the new liberal-smelly girl as the sole envoy of their group. She didn’t say much, but you can tell she had fun – or she was plotting.She found the time to go into the house for what I presumed was more wine as there was barely a gulp left in her glass. I continued my fire duties and probably did a few fire dances to keep the people chuckling. Time waning on, beers being drunk, not ever noticing that the 4 girls who are now 2 girls are missing from the fire, I had to go to the bathroom myself.As I exit the bathroom, I hear my wife’s familiar throat clearing. You know the one she does as she’s working at the computer or other activities when her mind is engaged. This noise comes from a darkened room, somewhere that I need to investigate. I do, and as my eyes adjust to the residual light, I hear a very-long inhale. A inhale that fills the heart and mind not just filling the lungs. There is a story to be told about the desire behind what I heard. This inhale was meant to taste, not to merely smell. A sensory not to be deprived. I notice the silhouette marsbahis giriş of my wife against the white walls, and her pants are pulled down to her thighs, her shirt is open, and that new liberal woman on her knees with her face buried in my wife’s panties. I stand, I mentally adjust to the scene – remembering what I know, what I learned, telling myself not to do anything until you have a good plan. Be patient, be smart, don’t overreact.My wife is a prude. She does not like other girls. In our many discussions she is not interested in being a sex toy. To her sex is not a game to be played with, sex is highly emotional, and very intimate experience. Now she is at a party, in a closet or whatever, her pants down to her knees, shirt torn open, and the face of a stranger buried in her crotch – a face of another woman. She must of heard my thinking and re-thinking, because as I consciously leave my mind and focus on what’s in front of me I hear a “Hi honey” from my wife’s voice. Before I can clear my throat and reply “what’s going on?” The new girl has pulled down my wife’s panties down past my wife’s knees and reburied her face in my wife’s pussy. My wife moans, and I can only presume that this new girl had just presented her tongue to my wife’s lips. As they struggle to open my wife’s legs more, I stand. I allow what is to happen – still in shock and not sure what my wife is doing. Finally, my wife grabs the girls hair, focuses her eyes and says; “Lets go.” She pushes the girls head back, pulls her panties and pants back on, and catches her desire. The girl stands up and as my wife buttons up her shirt my wife leans over to the new girl and says to her; “lets go to my house.”

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