The Hotwife Key Party: Willow (Chapter 9)

The size of the guy’s cock was the obvious reason Dragan belonged to a high-profile sex club. If Adrian had a rod like that, he’d join a sex club, too, just for the sole purpose of swanking it around, showing it off to timid beauties, hell, even the brazen ones, for sure the biggest one any of them had ever seen. How many girls had Dragan bedded? How many young ladies had he annihilated with that whopper?

And that was the question he considered now, Dragan querying the use of a condom with Willow.

His heart raced with the notion of unprotected sex. The fucking sheer thrill of it. If he bolted upright and blurted out his answer, who knows what response he would provide. He could shout yes as easily as he could shout no. His voice stuck in his throat as he abandoned control to his wife, giving her command.

Dragan stood seven-feet tall at the side of the bed. His cock stood out from his lean body like a thick and veiny crane arm, the table lamp behind him, turning him onto a rim lit silhouette, dark with mystery and conjecture. Willow, on the other hand, was lit pure and bright, naked as the day she graced this earth twenty-seven years ago. The look on her face sent his heart into orbit. The hesitation. The vacillation. These were the signs of a good woman afraid to admit she wanted it big and hard and raw as fuck, right in front of the man she loved. Willow wanted it bareback. Did she want Dragan to come inside her?

In Willow’s agonizing moment of dirty jurisprudence, he rubbed his thighs so hard and fast the heat burned his palms. What would she decide? Would he abide by her decision? If she said fuck me raw, would he interject? Shit, if she chose a condom, would he assume counsel for Dragan, step in and offer counter arguments?

It could go either way. The party was safe. Everyone checked out. Exclusive. The only burr on this otherwise smooth surface was a sense of sanctity, of preservation.

Willow couldn’t bring herself to say yes. Her canine pulled on her lower lip and at last looking at her husband. The pragmatist in him couldn’t say yes, either, and they stared at each other for a long and enduring moment. He smiled. Then she smiled. Still not a commitment, but there was progress.

Her gaze traveled from his to Dragan now, and she said, “No condom.”

Dragan said nothing, tossing the condom packet to the side table, his profile showing a smile. Adrian collapsed in the toffee chair, hand going from his stomach to his heart now. The urge to deny Willow her bareback joy sparkled on his tongue but fizzled to nothing, like Pop Rocks. He wanted Willow to get it raw, too. He wanted Dragan’s big bare penis to part her sea, to step into sacred domain with no armor, flesh on flesh. This was how one should experience sin. This was how sexual terror glided on a knife edge—but the love he shared with Willow armed the sex with terror. Without love, there was no fear. He trusted her. Willow trusted him. This was for their birthdays, after all.

Dragan kneeled on the bed, occupying its southern territory, a powerful army amassing to take claim on the prime city of the north. And Willow opened her drawbridge, gave Dragan’s mighty battering ram ample access to her entry gates, lying back, head on pillow, watching her lover while drawing her knees high up, her legs apart. Her feet arched, she clamped a provocative bite on her pinky finger, a siren’s lure, encouraging her lover’s mighty barge to enter her shallow waters and attempt to unload its seamen.

Then a small and almost unnoticeable hand wave from Dragan. Big left hand low at his hip, one finger extended, a gentle, curling, come-hither. If he weren’t so tuned into every action’s heavy semiotics, he might have missed it. But the message was clear: move up here, husband Adrian, move up here so you can watch.

Don’t mind if I do, big man, don’t mind if I do.

Up in a flash, he got behind the big formless leather seat and shoved it forward like a plow, happy to discover it wasn’t weighty and it slid well. He maneuvered the chair to a good vantage, close but not intrusive, a great view without disturbing the main actress’s performance, middle of the bed, but angled at fifteen degrees widdershins from the future point of sexual contact between Dragan and his wife.

But Willow caught him, their eyes meeting. She was undeterred, showing him only an expression of grand anticipation, excited but anxious on her pussy’s maximum occupancy. Her pink slit had grown adapted to her husband’s smaller intrusion, probably at most a third of Dragan’s impressive displacement. And since the human body was an organism of adaptation, his wife’s tight pussy faced an imminent challenge of accommodation. It was a challenge indeed, but his wife showed the intrepid resolve of a great adventurer, sucking her lips, deep breathing into belly, her flat tum going up and down with her heavy breaths.

Adrian would have thought they would need lube, but Dragan proceeded as if they didn’t, and he’d have to trust Dragan’s judgment. And that was a turn on. This experienced lover knowing Adrian’s wife was so well teased, so horny for big cock, he would sink inside her with no added lubrication. Willow was self-greased and eager for his oversized masculine intrusion.

With his knees out wide, Dragan situated himself under her held up legs—Willow had pulled her knees to her shoulders, her forearms scooped underneath, hands on her hamstrings, caressing her own skin while she waited for what she wanted. In a way, something that took ten years to arrive. Now that his cock was inches away from her opening, she could barely keep herself together, lost in a sex fugue. Dragan nestled his huge ripe plum into her hot wet nest and Willow emitted a small gasp of preparation, eyes on his. He stroked that cock head up and down, then inched his hips forward, just the head of his cock plunging into the ring of resistance.

“Oh, my god,” Willow sighed, her hands transferring from her thighs to his wrists. He shifted forward and an inch of thick meat sunk inside her.

Her mouth hung open wider, her brows furrowed with a measure of worry. Would his size be too much?

Fuck, part of Willow’s turn on for this basketball player might have been not just his height but some unsaid acknowledgement a man that size would pack a python. Could his wife have been a burgeoning size queen all those years ago? It was such a dirty thought, but in the same moment he watched Dragan’s missile sink inside Willow he conjured up his wife’s deft dirty word play when they fantasized a scenario like this one, how quick she was to get to the fantasy man’s endowment. What a hussy! What a fantastic and beautiful and amazing hussy.

“Oh, slow, oh, slow,” she whimpered, her feet bobbing, toes scrunching.

Dragan eased out, but didn’t wait a second before sinking inside her again, his cock shining with Willow’s lubrication. He got deeper. This time Willow caressed his wrists, then returned her hands to her hamstrings, pulling her legs further back, her knees almost over her shoulders, giving this man’s massive size the best possible entryway to all her secret pleasure spots.

Willow’s acceptance of Dragan’s size astounded him. She took him. Took him deep and without much complaint. In fact, as he got his cock coated with Willow’s wet, he speared her deep in one long slow stroke, not all the way to his balls, but so close. Willow’s whimper changed to an almost exultant cry. Like his deep penetration had been the thing she craved for so long. Her legs hooked Dragan’s waist, her feet arching, toes pointing, and her long arms went around his broad back, her hands stretched out, fingers spread wide, but still looking tiny on Dragan’s vast back. Then Dragan began a steady stroking, his hips going up and down, fucking her with his huge cock. Willow panted and mewled, her eyebrows high, eyes open but unseeing.

“Oh, fuck,” she cried, “oh, fuck, that’s so big, oh, god, oh, that’s deep, oh, mm, so fucking good.”

Adrian pressed a knuckle to his mouth, His stomach a steel cable, his cock throbbing and spilling buckets of liquid excitement.

Willow’s pussy squelched and crackled under Dragan’s girthy impalement, his poor wife’s sensitive membranes stretched to their limit, clinging to Dragan’s cock for dear life. He angled his head rearward for a pornographic view, and was rewarded with the clear sight of his wife’s pussy yawned wide and plowed, in and out, in and out, Dragan’s dangling balls batting her pussy and her anus as he fucked her.

Willow cupped Dragan’s cheeks, looking into his eyes, Dragan smiling at her, an expression of pleasure, impressed by her pussy’s grip and acceptance, loving how she felt around his cock.

Yes, this pretty young woman is the same woman you took to a prom ten years ago, a horny but bespectacled geek uncomfortable in her own skin and still feeling the restraint of a brace that straightened her infected spine. But she wall healed, all Adrian’s, all love and fun, and thank goodness she hadn’t met Dragan before tonight, because, holy cow, there was something real between them, something fun, just like his and her fun, but dark and sexual. As they fucked, rocking hips, wet pussy smacking, hips patting, moaning and squeaking and sighing, he thought about a date for drinks she had made with Dragan. His heart race picked up thinking of them like they were now, after two doubles at the something, Willow bringing this stud back to the McKay compound and fucking him like she was fucking him right now, doing it in their bed while he was on the lot, dealing with script hassles. He bit his knuckle hard. Loving the idea. Coming home and Willow’s dressed down, cooking something on the stove, tangled hair pulled back, saying she went out for drinks after the London Exchange closed and then she and Dragan fucked. And he’d sing “Afternoon Delight,” and she’d laugh and tell him to knock it off. God, the idea was dark and perverse and he fucking loved it.

Willow’s hands went through Dragan’s hair, swirling and holding his huge head. And Dragan’s hand slipped between Willow’s head and the pillow, tangling in her hair. The guy could probably palm a basketball, and Willow’s head looked small in his hand.

They touched forehead, they caressed faces; Willow’s sounds of pleasure changed pitch, and he knew she would come soon again. Dragan fucked her deeper, and she wailed cries of exquisite delight, her head rocking on in Dragan’s hand, eyes closed now, mouth open, begging for an orgasm. The soles of her feet rested on Dragan’s hips and her hands went to grip her ankles. She begged him, babbling, “Please, please, please,” and Dragan changed direction, fucking her in long strokes, straight down, sending Willow into orbit. This angle was the ticket. His cock stretched perfect parts of her that her husband couldn’t reach and her hands grabbed his ass now, panting and gasping, “Oh, mm, I-I’m gonna, oh, I’m gonna…”

And come she did, her body tightening, legs locking around Dragan, arms clutching him, her body stuck to his as she rode out this incredible missionary position he pounded into her.

The sounds she made drove Adrian wild. They were joyous, ecstatic, voluminous and complimentary, saying how he was so deep, saying she loved it deep, saying he was so good, so incredible.

But Dragan didn’t stop, didn’t give Willow reprieve, only slowed his thrusts, rocking with her right through her orgasm, touching foreheads again, and as Willow’s sounds attenuated, he began fucking her hard once more. Her cries rose, and then rolling her to her side so she faced her husband, Adrian getting another good look at that thick tool wedged inside his wife, Dragan’s balls laying on her creamy thigh. He spread Willow’s legs open wider for Adrian, giving the husband a show, kissing her neck and fucking her from behind, caressing her throat while Willow drummed her fingers on her own clit.

Adrian buckled, holding his stomach and doing everything to stop what he was sure was going to happen: he was going to come in his pants watching another man fuck his precious Willow.