It was a business meeting. Not mine. My wife was to meet a potential client for her apparel business. Large order, long term contracts, a big advance, the works. She had been working on the presentation for three whole days now, barely getting any sleep. The client was visiting our city with his wife, and my wife had offered to pitch. He had given us 72 hours and taken, for that time, my wife’s sanity and peace. I wasn’t sure if she’d taken a shower at the time. I’d fix a plate for her at meal times, and leave it outside the study. Twice, the plate lay there untouched, long after I had left it for her. The client had changed his plans suddenly, and invited us for dinner instead. The restaurant in the hotel’s lobby was good. Could we join his wife and him? My wife was to pitch to him after dinner, and we could do it in his room. He assured us the dinner would not affect the decision he made.
We had gotten ready in a hurry, my wife revising her notes till the last minute. She had showered, put on her makeup and picked a formal outfit to wear- a top and trousers. She had put her hair in a high ponytail. I had picked a shirt and trousers, and dabbed cologne on my neck.
The client and his wife received us warmly. They were slightly older than us, he was tall and bearded, while she had long black hair and a welcoming smile. He was dressed in a shirt, like me, while she wore a dress that ended above her knees.
Their place of choice was the seafood restaurant, which had a spectacular view of the promenade and the beach, and was known for its Thai selection. Playing it safe, we stuck to Thai cuisine, and turned down their offer of cocktails. My wife meant business, and she wanted him to know it. But the client was a seasoned player too, and he ensured that the conversation on the table veered away from business. My wife would try to bring up the deal, and he would find a way to convert it to something trivial- an anecdote from childhood, or a story about his youth. Finally we refused dessert, and he cleared the bill. We headed to their room – a suite on one of the higher floors, with a better view of the sea. The room was all beige and white, with opulent furniture and a large bed. There was a study with a mahogany desk, with a sliding door to separate it from the bedroom and a selection of fine alcohol was placed on the mantelpiece above the faux fireplace.
“They used to have a real one, you know. But sealed them up years ago”, she said, noticing my gaze.
The potential client asked us to excuse my wife and him, and they went into the study.
“We won’t be long,” he promised us.
I wished my wife luck as he slid the heavy door behind him closed.
His wife offered me alcohol, and I tried refusing. To convince me, she extolled the virtues of the single malt, and reasoned that, since our partners were taking care of business, we could afford to let our hair down. She ran a hand through her hair. Before I could refuse her again, she poured the scotch into the cut glass tumblers, getting ice cubes from the small refrigerator. I held up three fingers and she put in three ice cubes. She took two for herself and topped it up with soda. I sat on the edge of the bed and she beckoned me to sit with her on the couch, to enjoy the view. She brought her hair over to one side, and let them fall over her shoulder. Then she brought her feet up on the couch when I sat next to her.
“How long do you think they’ll take?”, she asked me.
“I don’t know, I’m generally not involved in these things”, I told her.
She asked me what I did, and I told her. She was an interior decorator herself, and she also invested in apparel brands. She asked me if I worked out, and I told her about my days playing football. She told me she used to be an athlete, but had stopped after marriage. She only went to the gym now.
I noticed her shapely calves and how dainty her toes looked. Her nails were painted a deep maroon, and she wore toe rings. I noticed she had a mole above her lips. She joked that our partners were so busy, they’d probably not notice if we had a whole another party outside. At least, her husband barely did. I wondered if her joke hadn’t been so innocent. I had sipped my scotch slowly, but she was pouring her second glass. She drained it in one gulp, poured the third and came back and sat next to me. Her speech slurred and she rested her head on my shoulders. Her hands wandered, and I found them on my thighs, moving upward.
I knew my wife would be there for a while, and I ran my hands through her hair. They felt thick, and soft. Gathering up courage, I smelt them, and ran a hand over her shoulders. She looked at me, paused, and then kissed me softly. Then she grabbed my collar, sat on me, and thrust her tongue into my mouth. I put my hand in her hair, and pulled it. She bit my lip, my neck and my ears, as I unzipped the back of her dress. She undid my pants and noticed I was erect. She ran her painted nails over my chest, my stomach and bent over my cock. Then she tugged at the band of my underwear, and took my cock in her mouth, as if she was starving. I pulled her by her hair and pulled her dress off her. I threw it in one corner of the room, and ran my tongue down her neck, teasing her navel. I stuck my hand inside her damp panties and she shoved her finger in. She held my wrist and stroked herself, rubbing herself against my fingers. I stuck my other hand in her mouth, and she bit and sucked on my fingers. I spat on her pubis and ate her pussy with a frenzy, letting my tongue go all the way to her tight asshole. Overcome, she mounted me, and ground herself into me. I covered her mouth to stop her from moaning loudly and alerting our partners. She threw her hair back and rode me, ecstatic, till we climaxed,I after her. I came all over her stomach, and she hurried into the bathroom to clean it up, taking her dress with her. I got dressed and knocked on the door of the study.
“How much time?”, I asked from outside, loudly.
I got no answer. I waited a bit, and knocked again. This time too I was met with silence. His wife came out now, fully dressed. She looked at me quizzically.
“That’s strange,” she told me.
She tried knocking, and the response was no different. Alarmed, I slid the door open. My wife was naked, anf on her knees, while the girthy cock of her potential client was in her mouth. He didn’t notice us, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, but my wife did. She stopped suddenly and looked at us alarmed, her eyes wide and fearful. Just as she stood up to explain, he spurted on my wife’s face, the thick white stream covering her mouth and dripping down to her breasts.
I guess that’s why her pitches never failed.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/wb32hp/pitch_indian_adultery_milf_mf