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Blondie’s First Gangbang

Blondie's First Gangbang #4 in the Blondie Saga

Young Southern hotwife pulls her first train



All week following Blondie's highly successful pick-up seduction of the handsome young Chicano, Ronaldo, I was in Dallas on business, returning south Thursday afternoon. Blondie hadn't yet come home from her commercial real estate/property management office, so I knocked out some paperwork until early evening, when I heard her car turning into the driveway. By the time she'd gathered her briefcase and files and come through the door from the garage, I had an icy vodka tonic with lime awaiting the tired looking lady. Kissing me a perfunctory welcome home, she brightened when she saw the sweating glasses on the breakfast nook table.

We sat down in the cozy alcove, taking long pulls from our drinks, and swapped our news from the four days spent apart. When we'd caught up on the minor chit-chat, there was a momentary silence, broken when my sexy young spouse, asked nonchalantly,

"You feel like havin' us a fun little party tomorrow evenin', sugar?"

That "sugar" came out "shugah" in her unique blend of warm, syrupy Dixie drawl and more clipped Cajun speech patterns that had come from being raised in the more ethnically diverse Baton Rouge rather than in the bayou country where her parents were. Their generation had grown up in a time before Cajun culture became hip, where their Acadian parlance had in fact been disparaged, and consequentially had striven, through college educations and their professional lives to limit, if not fully eliminate, the Cajun influences in their own speech and that of their two children. However, there was still some South Louisiana French strewn through their family conversations, especially when the grandparents were around. The Cajun influences in Blondie's French were further diminished by several high school and college French courses she had taken for easy credits.

I found the more languid Dixie drawl Blondie had acquired from her white-Southerner, mostly non-Cajun schoolmates a delightful complement to her bayou country, "Jolie Blon" (pretty blonde girl) charms and loved her frequent use of French terms of endearment or the muttered Gallic expletives sprinkled into her usually spicy vocabulary. As soon as my new bride-to-be had discovered early in our courtship that her use of profanity didn't bother me, she let 'er rip, so to speak, and has had quite the salty mouth on her from that very day forward.

But getting back to that evening's current conversation, when this alluring Louisiana belle innocently suggests a party, it always carries with it special implications regarding the participants, with the usual attendees being limited to her, whoever the guy is that she wants to entertain, and me, her voyeur husband, whose role is mostly just watching them screw their eyeballs out. As usually happens when my wife proposes having sex with another man, her question that evening gave me a pleasant little jolt in the groin, as watching my comely, blonde Cajun cutie making hot love to other men had recently and quickly become my favorite sexual activity other than screwing her myself, of course.

When I asked for details, she said with a smug smile, "Apparently I made quite an impression on young Ronaldo last week—he's called three times today to see about us gettin' together for a little sexy foolin' around tomorrow night."

"I don't have any problem with that," I said, "You guys really put on a hot show last week—the kid's a real hoss and you were incredibly responsive to him," an understatement for sure.

Eyeing me closely to gauge my reaction, she purred sexily, "Très bien (very good); now how about if we do somethin' a little different?" She paused, "Like includin' a couple of his 'vatos' as he calls them, his little buddies from work, like we discussed last week?"

Fixing me with a steady, measuring gaze, she asked, "Think you could be cool with your wife entertainin' more than one guest at one of our little parties, cher?"

Chuckling, I replied, "So you want to try playing choo-choo, huh? Try pulling that train? Boy, it sure didn't take you long to decide to give that a shot, did it?"

The previous Friday when we had gone to the El Rincón, a popular area bar, to pick up a new boytoy for Blondie, the fellow she had quickly decided on, Ronaldo, or Ronnie, had been sitting at a table with a few of his construction worker buddies, like him all young Chicanos. After we invited Ronnie over to our table for a drink, it was fairly obvious to anyone watching what we were up to, and his buddies had all sat there leering at my wife, or as she had later put it,

"Strippin' me bare-ass naked with their eyes."

More pertinent to our current discussion though, had been my little slut's Saturday morning admission that she had been quite sexually aroused by that telepathic undressing and the collective lust focused on her. It had brought back memories of a former schoolmate who had confessed to my future bride that gangbangs were in fact, quite fun and exciting. Blondie had acknowledged that, sitting there as the virtual bullseye for all that concentrated desire, she had been seriously sexually aroused at the notion of serving as the star attraction in their youthful gangbang imaginings.

Young Ronnie had cannily picked up on her lustful vibes, and later at our home, after fucking her a couple of times, had proposed that she "dance" for his friends as she had for him and had asked her again the next morning as he departed. I then pointed out to her that he was surely setting her up for a gangbang, which was when she confessed her long-held interest in the topic.

It was Blondie who had used the expression "pulling a train" to describe being a woman getting gangbanged, something she'd learned from, Yvette, that high school acquaintance who clearly had liked pulling trains on occasion. Evidently, my bad little bayou babe was now ready to explore the reasons for Yvette's affinity for gang sex by playing a bit of choo-choo herself. With a crooked, bad-girl smile and a searching gaze, she now asked somewhat skeptically,

"Think you can handle your femme coquine (naughty wife) doin' somethin' so totalement sauvage et fou (totally wild and crazy)?"

Up to this point, our sexual perversions had been essentially private, with us and only one other male partner at a time being participants, and therefore only that man being witness to my willingness to let Blondie mate with other men. At the El Rincón we had taken it a step further, publicly revealing my cuckold role to a whole table of young males. With what she was now proposing for tomorrow night, I now would be publicly confirming that I was most certainly a cuckold and one willing to let his marital mate indulge her most depraved desires in his presence, including allowing her to be serially-fucked by multiple men. I now knew with absolute certainty that I was a fully committed cuckold when I responded,

"Yeah, I can handle it—in fact, sweet buns, I've got a boner just thinking about it."

Her gaze stayed fixed on my face, her eyes locked on mine as she said, "I knew you'd get turned on by the idea, but I was afraid you're just too naturally cautious to actually let me do it."

When I said nothing, she leveled another steady, appraising gaze and continued, "Okay then, the obvious next question is, how many do we invite to the party? You have any suggestions on that? Three? Four? All five of 'em? How many?"

She gave me a wicked leer and growled lustfully, "Last Friday night your petite putain (little whore) was ready to fuck all those jeunes hommes (young men), the whole damned table, you know, cher?"

I said, "Whoa! Slow down a minute hotpants! Putain or not, let's not get carried away here our first time out of the chute on something like this, okay, babe?" I paused then said, "Let's get out of these work clothes and relax, talk this thing over some before we go making any decisions."

Many years after this eventful weekend, I was to learn why my wife was both eager and confident—her senior year of high school she'd been a very sexually active, eighteen-year-old, who apparently, according to information I later came across, was not averse to "double dates" where she'd go parking on bayou roads with two LSU frat rats at a time—fucking both and enjoying herself very much. My only disappointment upon discovering this was the regret that had I been aware of this when I married her, I wouldn't have waited so long to propose that she have sex with other men.

Quickly agreeing with my suggestion on relaxing, Blondie vanished into the bathroom while I shucked my business attire and slipped into a black velour robe. I returned to the kitchen, made fresh drinks, rolled a fat joint, then then sat down on the sectional sofa after putting on some easy rock at low volume. It was fifteen minutes before Blondie returned, but, as usual, well worth the wait. She was wearing a white lace negligee with nothing underneath. She'd swapped her work heels for a pair of white patent leather, open-toed, open-heeled stilettos, her "come-fuck-me" shoes, as we called them, and several pieces of pearl jewelry.

I let out a low whistle and said, "Wow! I wasn't expecting all this, babe, but I sure don't mind."

Smiling happily, she picked up her drink then settled herself next to me and took the joint from my hand. She took a couple of deep tokes, holding them in as long as she could before exhaling and explaining,

"Fits the mood I'm in, plus I figured I better give daddy his lovin' tonight so he doesn't have to wait in line tomorrow night while his little mama's busy pleasurin' a buncha horny, teen-aged boys, hmm?"

Leaning over to take back the doobie, I kissed her lightly, then with my lips still touching hers, teased, "Sounds like maybe mama might be wanting that to be a rather long line."

Then her reference to teen-agers hit me—I said, "Whoa, wait a minute! I thought they were in their twenties, Blondie."

She smirked, "Only Ronnie—he's twenty, but barely, an' he's the oldest—the others are nineteen except for one who's eighteen. A couple of 'em are his cousins an' they all went to Lanier High School together, so that's why they're all buddies. Ronnie got 'em all hired onto that construction crew so he's kinda their leader, I think."

Well, they were street legal for drinking and sex in Texas, I thought, but eighteen? I joked,

"Sounds like mama not only wants a long line, she wants a very young one, too, hmm?"

For some inane reason, shortly after we acquired our first pet, we had begun referring to ourselves and each other as "mama" and "daddy," and an affectation that had quickly become part of our sexual banter, seeming to convey some cryptic, naughty suggestion. Go figure.

Laughing, she playfully pushed me away and sighed, "C'est vrai (that's true), cher, long et jeune (long and young), but before we decide on how long, there's more I need to tell you."

When I cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, she continued, "Ronnie wants us to start our little party at the bar—says he wants to show me off a little—publicly parade the blanca (blonde) around, have me dance for 'em un petit peu (a little bit), if you're okay with it."

"More like have you strip for them," I replied, which brought a mocking smile to her lips,

"Of course, but I thought you like for me to strip for other men, cher? I know I sure don't mind doin' it—truth is, I like doin' it." She gave me a lewd grin, "Turns me on just thinkin' about struttin' my stuff for all his little buddies an' showin' 'em my goodies."

With a playful smile she teased, "But you can quit worryin'—Ronnie says no nudity—city laws, an' the manager says he could lose his liquor license, so..."

She continued, "But, Ronnie says El Rincón does have a small private room in the back that he used once for a bachelor party that will give us some privacy. He's gonna slip the manager a few bucks so he'll be okay with some sexy dancin' long as I don't take my clothes off."

Seeing my concern, Blondie smirked, "Hé, détends-toi (Hey, relax)! This way I can meet his friends and get to know 'em a little better, an' decide who to bring over here for mama's little baise partie (fuck party) an' he does have a point, you know?"

Licking her lips, she purred, "Can you just imagine how damn sexy it's goin' to be to dance in front all those boys who were undressin' me with their eyes last week, tease 'em all real good?"

I grinned, "You little pute, that boy's playing you like his personal fiddle. Of course he wants to show you off. He's a young, macho Mexican male—probably been bragging all week about how the beautiful, blonde, married white chick couldn't get enough of his big Chicano dick. I'll bet every one of those boys has heard repeatedly how tight your pussy is, and you can also bet they all want to meet this hot blanca and get up very close and personal. Like your grandpa's fond of saying, you'll get more attention than a June bug strolling through a chicken pen."

Blondie giggled, "You're right of course, but what's worryin' me is if you can handle it—like sittin' there with all those young Mexican studs lookin' at your white wife knowin' you already let one of 'em fuck me an' we're back to do it again—if you're gonna be able to deal with that aspect of it."

Hesitating a moment, she said, "In the short time we've been here in South Texas, that's one thing I've learned, lettin' some guy fuck your woman's a big no-no in their macho culture—a huge fuckin' no-no, like a kill the sumbitch no-no, you know?"

Having spent much of my childhood in Texas, and being fully aware of the cultural tendencies and the risks associated with what we were doing, I felt I could handle the situation, saying,

"Let me worry about that, Blondie—what are you planning to wear for your Chicano fan club?"

She grinned broadly, relieved that I was unconcerned about any potential embarrassment.

"I was thinkin' maybe my black leather miniskirt and that black lace blouse, the outfit Franco likes me to wear when he comes over."

Franco was a handsome, charismatic, Latino cop, the first man she'd had sex with in my presence and now a semi-regular boyfriend whom I suspected Blondie of entertaining when I was traveling on business. I wondered if she wore that outfit for him when I wasn't here.

Looking thoughtful, she mused, "Definitely a shelf bra so they can see my nipples through that blouse—I'll wear that black velvet vest you bought me and keep it buttoned when we're goin' in an' out of the place, then unbutton it or take it off in the room—give those boys a perky pink nipple show, hmm?"

I nodded agreeably. I had read somewhere, and had mentioned it to Blondie, that since most Latinas had brown nipples, their men frequently found the pink nipples of Anglo (white) women to be a real turn-on. If Franco was any example it was true—he loved to suck my wife's erect nipples when she gave him those bare-bottomed lap dances.

She continued, "Think I'll wear mesh hose, black of course, an' wear heavier makeup, lotsa eye shadow an' bright red lipstick, give 'em that trashy blonde hooker look, hmm?"

Chuckling, I said, "Sounds like the perfect outfit for a married white chick looking to pull a train for a bunch of horny young vatos."

Blondie twisted around to lean back against the cushioned arm of the couch, pulling open the gown and lifting one shiny stiletto pump, resting it on the back of the couch, planting the other five-inch heel in the carpet. Cocking her head, she smiled her best naughty-girl smile, crooning,

"An' this little ol' white girl is most definitely lookin' forward to pullin' that train, cher, like maybe helpin' those boys get their ashes hauled, hmm?" I smiled at her wordplay.

With the first three fingers of her right hand she began a desultory massage of her clitoris as I said, "You've obviously been giving this a lot of thought, babe."

She gave me a steamy smile and murmured, "Think maybe? Feel ma chatte (my pussy), cher."

Her pretty pink pussy was liberally lubricating; she could have begun pulling that train right this minute, with no problem. I noticed her luxuriant brown bush was a bit unkempt, "Perhaps I should trim this thing up for you," I suggested.

Still idly rubbing her clit she teased, "Whatever floats your boat, lover. Doubt those boys will be complainin' about mama's little beaver bein' just a tad too wild an' furry as long as she's willin' to let 'em have some of it, do you?"

"Probably not," I said, "But we're going to pretty it up a bit for your party if you don't mind."

A few minutes later I slid a folded towel under her raised bottom and, using a depilatory cream, a disposable razor and barber's scissors, over the next half hour trimmed that disheveled bush into a very jolie chatte (pretty pussy) indeed. And it was a pretty pussy—her pink labia were small and symmetrical, like opening rose petals—not overlarge and excessively fleshy and wrinkled as with so many women. Also her clitoris wasn't large and protuberant as I had experienced with other females. Blondie's clit was a small, sensitive, bud that remained hooded until it came out to play, when it became excitedly engorged to the size of a large pea, a sweet, rosy pea.

While engaged in my barbering task, I asked her just how many young men she thought she could comfortably accommodate. She pondered that, then offered,

"I've been askin' myself that all day an' I just don't know: Three? Four? Five? More?"

Pausing thoughtfully, she went on, "I mean, like, I haven't had any problems handlin' two at a time, like you an' these other guys we've fooled around with, you know? What do you think?"

She grinned guiltily, "Think maybe my eyes are gettin' too big for my stomach? Literally?"

Before I could respond, she said, "You know, Yvette told me her record was six—one right after the other, some of 'em more'n once—right there in her own house one Saturday afternoon when her folks and her brothers were at an LSU game way up in Arkansas."

She chuckled, "Can you believe that? An' that crazy little coonass girl set it up herself—just picked up the phone an' called every single one of 'em and invited 'em to come over an' fuck her, just like that. Screwed six different guys right there in her own damned bedroom! Can you believe it?"

Not wanting to dampen her enthusiasm, but concerned she was, indeed, letting her fantasies get the better of her, I suggested,

"Why don't we start off a little more conservatively, Blondie, maybe three—there were five total, right? Maybe do Ronnie and a couple more tomorrow night, then if you don't have any problems with that, we can always go up from that number."

I grinned, "Look, if your goal is to fuck all of the guys that were at that table last week, hotpants, to somehow prove a point, to show them what a bad girl you really are, okay, I get it. You can still do that, but do it by screwing a few at a time, over a couple of weekends, rather than all of them at once."

"Be reasonable, I said, "You don't really have any idea how many guys you can handle. It will be a lot easier on you physically, not to mention safer, babe. Don't be an impatient little pute."
Laughing, she said, "You're right, of course, cher; I do need to slow it down some. Okay, we'll go with Ronnie an' a couple more tomorrow night."

Later, when she was taking care of me so I wouldn't have to wait in line the next night to get my turn at that marvelously snug, succulent pussy, she kept kissing my ear, whispering, "Choo-choo, baby, choo-choo," causing me to come much more quickly than usual—and also more strongly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Walking across the parking lot at El Rincón at 7:00 Friday evening, I dropped back a bit to appraise Blondie's appearance. She'd achieved the trashy blonde, "hooker look" to perfection. Her lovely ass jiggled most enticingly under the black leather miniskirt and her well-formed legs were exquisitely encased in the black, seamed, high-topped, mesh hose that ran from just an inch or two below her crotch to the ebony suede platform heels that with their thickened soles added some height, which at her normal 5'3" she could use. Her teased, platinum, bouffant tresses were gleaming, in erotic contrast to her black clothing, the inky black velvet vest and her rhinestone-studded black velvet choker. Her multiple diamond rings and her dangly rhinestone earrings provided twinkling counterpoint to her smoldering inky attire.

These boys were in for a treat tonight and they could thank me for much of that. It was largely due to my coaxing, cajoling and encouragement that my pretty Southern belle had become such a sensuous slut, not only willing to dress like this for other men's enjoyment but also willing to undress for their entertainment as well. Unfortunately for the young vatos, only three were going to see that undressing part tonight.

When we stepped inside, you could almost hear neckbones cracking as seemingly every male head in the place locked onto and followed this riveting erotic image wending her way between tables, as directed, to the room in the rear of the place. As Blondie stepped through that interior door, the loud, rowdy group of young Latino males suddenly went silent, with them raptly following her progress across the small dance floor past empty tables to where they were seated on the far side of the small, dimly lit room at three tables pushed together. I noted that the party room had its own vividly colored jukebox, which was playing a brassy, raucous ranchero tune as we entered.

With a huge grin, Ronnie stood and pulled out an empty chair for my wife, obviously the solitary female attendee and unquestioned guest of honor. With six pairs of eyes riveted on her, Blondie remained standing momentarily as she deftly unfastened her vest and let it fall open, revealing through the black rose lace of her blouse the shadowy swell of her moderately-sized, pale and pink-tipped conical breasts held up and out on proud display by her shelf bra. One erect nipple was attempting a breakout through an opening in the black lace, as if seeking to come out and join in the fun. She stood smiling a few moments, glancing at each young man before saying,

"Helloo, gentleman—Blondie's back..."

For a moment you could have heard a pin drop—then suddenly, one of the six let out a Grito, the quintessential Mexican aaaayyyyeeee! and chaos ensued, with noisy cheering, whistling and handclapping. My sexy little Dixie pixie had made the perfect entrance to her very first gangbang party. The girl had a real talent for what she called in her sultry French, la joie de vivre dans le péché, the joy of living in sin.

After being introduced around by Ronnie, Blondie strolled over to the jukebox where she stood moving her dishy bottom to the beat, pretending she was unaware that every eye in the room was fixed on her bouncy butt, so enticingly encased in that short, tight, leather miniskirt and the dark seamed mesh hose sheathing those shapely legs perched on her sexy platform heels. Making several song selections, she pivoted, feigning surprise at all the attention directed her way. She flashed a sultry smile, her perfect bright white teeth framed by those full, luscious, gleaming red lips, and took a few frisky steps to the dance floor where she launched into an energetic head tossing, torso twisting, ass-jiggling boogie that fueled an outpouring of clapping and cheering.

As my wife will readily admit, she has a broad streak of exhibitionist in her, so she responded to their exuberant encouragement accordingly. Dancing around the table, she stood with legs slightly spread, thrusting her pelvis invitingly at the grinning young vatos who held out their tequila shots urging her to drink. Moving along, she continued her suggestive thrusts, cupping her breasts and thumbing her erect nipples, eventually making a complete round of the table.

When the jukebox paused momentarily, a somewhat breathless Blondie told one vato what numbers to play then returned to me. Waiting for her next selection to begin, she stood before me, hands on hips, her voluptuous mouth twisted into a decadent smile. Bending down to my ear, she whispered,

"I'll fuck all of them if you'll let me, party-pooper—just give me the okay."

She reflexively began jiggling her hips as the music started again, and realizing my sweetie was thoroughly buzzed from the joint we'd shared on the drive over and the couple of tequila shots she'd downed at the urging of her enthused audience, I responded,

"Okay, you can fuck all of them—just not tonight. I know you're hot to trot but let's stick to the script: just Ronnie and a couple of others this first time, the others later, okay, hotpants?"

Blowing me a most emphatic raspberry with that scrumptious mouth, she shucked out of the velvet vest, tossing it on the table, saying, "Well then, you spoilsport, I'm gonna give the them a little whiff of what they'll be missin' out on." Pointing at the vest, she instructed me, "Don't lose that," before spinning away to the center of the room and resuming her gyrations.

Within two hours, my Blondie had become the ultimate party girl, having been passed from lap to lap, where she was kissed, licked, felt-up and groped. She'd had exploring hands fondling those prized pink nipples, prizes which were teased by multiple mustached mouths, although filtered through the black lace, as well as exploring hands up her skirt, hands which sometimes had her hips moving in reflexive response. Sure that she had to be lubricating with arousal, I calculated that every young vato now possessed at least one finger coated with my wife's most intimate scents.

When she finally returned to her seat between Ronnie and me, breathing fast from exertion and playfully fanning her face, I teased,

"Well, Blondie, you certainly seem to be adapting to the choo-choo scene with no difficulty."

With a devastatingly wicked grin she said, "I can damn sure see why Yvette found it so exciting bein' the only girl in the room." She grinned happily, "More fun than I've had in a long damned time, cher. I like bein' the center of attention—hell, I love it!"

Before flowering into the lovely creature I'd met and married, Blondie had been something of a wallflower, a studious, nerdy little girl in geeky glasses during her initial high school years. Then she'd discovered the difference bleached-blonde hair and contact lenses made in her desirability, and, more importantly, how the pill, prescribed to regularize her erratic periods, enabled her to act on those strong sexual impulses that had always been simmering in that little geeky girl.

By the time I met her at age twenty, she was very well-experienced in sexual basics and possessed of a very hearty appetite for carnal pleasures, although relatively unsophisticated in matters of eroticism. It was easy to understand her enjoyment at being the focus of all this sexual attention tonight.

She gazed at me searchingly, "You doin' okay, babe?"

Blondie knew I wasn't big on the club scene with all the accompanying loud music and the requisite shouted conversations, but this was a much different situation from that. I laughed,

"Well everyone's calling me jefe (boss) and I haven't had to buy my own drink all night. I've lost count of how many times I've been told what a lucky man I am. Been asked endlessly where on earth I managed to find such a gorgeous, sexy woman to marry. Also been asked more than a few times if that pussy is really as tight as Ronnie has been bragging all week about it being."

She giggled, "Well, by now all of 'em have had a finger in it so they should know, hmm?"

"Have you decided who the lucky vatos for tonight are going to be?" I asked casually.

Without a moment's hesitation, she blurted, "All of 'em—every single one of 'em."

Fearing she was serious, I said, "C'mon, Blondie, that's the tequila talking. We need to stick to the plan and keep it limited to Ronnie and a couple of others."

Glancing across the table at Ernesto, who his buddies called "Che," on whose lap she had just been perched but who was now busily engaged in conversation with another vato, she wiggled her bottom and grinned, "That sexy devil for sure. I'll pick out another one in a while, okay?"

A half hour later, I saw Blondie heading for the restroom and followed, intercepting her as she stepped into the dark corridor. Thankfully, she wasn't as under the influence as I feared but nonetheless, I had earlier counseled her to lay off the tequila, knowing full well how this frisky Cajun cutie could turn into an absolute terror if she got too drunk. When I told her she needed to pick her other partner for her private party, she responded that, other than Che, she couldn't make up her mind. She said one good-looking kid she'd asked, Rey, had told her he had a late date with his fiancée when she got off work that he couldn't get out of.

I suggested that we let Ronnie pick the other guy, taking the onus of deciding off her and keeping to the random nature of a gangbang. Liking that thought, she readily agreed. As she turned to continue to the restroom, she casually tossed over her shoulder, "Two guys. Tell Ronnie to pick two more, besides Che, for four total d'accord (okay)?"

When I just stood there shaking my head and not responding, she stopped and pivoted, shaking her disheveled blonde mane in tequila-fueled exasperation, pouting sulkily,

"D'accord connard (Okay, asshole), we'll keep it to three total, you spoilsport!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Just over an hour later, after sneaking a decidedly disheveled Blondie out the back door of the bar with Ronnie, I pulled to the curb in front of our house, blocked out of my own driveway by Ronnie's Trans Am and two other muscle cars. Blondie had ridden with Ronnie and led the small caravan of horny vatos to our place while I stopped by a supermarket and picked up another case of Tecate as backup to the one we already had.

Stepping inside, I was greeted by a loud blast of rock music requiring me to set the beer aside while lowering the volume. Ronnie and his two homies were in the kitchen, drinking beer and sharing a joint. When I inquired about my wife, Ronnie grinned, winked knowingly and leered,

"She said she gotta get herself all prettied up for her fan club, jefe."

In our sunken living room, I adjusted the rheostats to lower all the lighting to a cozy, more relaxed level then pulled the oversized, glass-topped cube of a coffee table that served as Blondie's dance platform, more to the center of the room between the wall-sized, dark walnut, glass-fronted, wall-unit/entertainment center and the low, contemporary sectional sofa and the modern easy chair.

When I slipped into the bathroom, Blondie was working diligently to repair the extensive damage to her badly bedraggled bouffant and the smudged remains of the heavy makeup she'd so skillfully applied before leaving for El Rincón earlier. She still had on the "hooker look" garb she'd worn to the bar, the perfect getup for an initial striptease for this horny bunch, I thought. She must have been picking up my vibes as she teased and tucked errant blonde wisps back into place in her tousled platinum coiffure, because she smiled knowingly and chuckled,

"Yeah, I thought about slippin' into a negligee, but on the drive home, Ronnie asked me to stick with the slutty look—said his homeboys just ate it up—an' I tend to agree with him."

She threw me a confident smirk, "I sure didn't hear any bitchin', did you?"

I laughed, "Thought they were going to eat you alive, babe, the way they were manhandling you; I almost stepped in a couple of times when they were getting a little too rough but you seemed to be eating it up, being the belle of the ball, so to speak. They didn't do any damage did they?"

As she continued her hurried hair repairs, her mirrored smile was pure sensual gloating,

"Well, I do appreciate your concern, cher, but you're right, I was eatin' it up. An' as for damage, yeah, they ruined those black panties you like so much—flat out stretched the elastic leg and waist bands plumb outta shape gettin' their hands inside 'em to feel me up." She winked,

"But I reckon you consider that money well spent, hmm?" Flashing another heavily mascaraed wink and a pouting sexy smile, she sighed happily, "I know I sure do."

"Looks like you're going to need more time for damage repair," I said, "So I better get back in there and keep your fans from getting restless."

Blondie made her entrance fifteen minutes later, brushing between the sofa and the easy chair as she swivel-hipped over to the wall unit where she stood jiggling her butt just as she had at the bar earlier, examining her dance music options. Making her selection, she pivoted in place to face the three young vatos sitting wide-eyed, watching her, flashed them a killer smile and purred,

"Understand y'all boys ready to see me finally take these clothes off, that right?"

That earned such a loud response I had to calm them down, reminding them that we had normal neighbors so we needed to keep the noise down. As if in direct refutation of that, Blondie spun back around and cranked the music volume up to an almost "disturbing the peace" level. Moving to the beat, she shuffled over to her "stage" holding out her hand for assistance in the step up. All three vatos leaped to their feet, but it was young Che's hand she took, favoring the young man with a naughty wink and a warm smile.

On her coffee table stage, my foxy French femme launched into a series of provocative, head-shaking, torso-twisting, hip-thrusting moves that kept her audience commenting approvingly: "Oh yeah, mama!" "Shake it, baby!" "C'mon, mamacita!" and so forth. I was watching their reactions as much as her moves, exhilarated with the awareness that she was about to strip for three guys for the first time, another significant milestone in her new hotwife lifestyle.

No mistake about it, she was a hotwife alright—both in appearance and behavior—indescribably erotic as she made her suggestive dance movements there on her mini-stage in the warm golden glow of the dimmed lamps, her platinum tresses and Anglo paleness contrasting erotically with her all-black hooker attire. Her glossy red lipstick and matching nails provided the only vivid color, her diamond and rhinestone accouterments creating intermittent, strobe-like flashes.

To enthused calls to, "Take it off, baby!" her shiny red-lacquered nails began toying with the top button of her black lace blouse just a few bars into the second number. She taunted her fans one tantalizing button after another, finally pulling the blouse open to reveal her perky pink nipples, pointed up and outward on proud display, nested in the black shelf bra, as the song ended.

Tugging the blouse from the waistband of her black leather miniskirt as she waited for the next number, she slipped it from her pale shoulders and tossed it in the face of the third vato, a broadly grinning youngster the others called Paco (the Spanish diminutive for Francisco). We confirmed later in the evening that he was the one who was eighteen, a recent high school graduate, the newest and youngest member of their building crew, whose very youthful appearance I sensed was further fueling my wife's depraved lust.

Standing up from the easy chair, I handed Blondie a fresh joint, noting that her pink nipples were proudly erect and on full display for her fans. She took two deep tokes before returning it, asking me if I had enough robes for all our guests and myself, which I did not, being one short. She considered that for a moment before cleverly suggesting,

"Well, I want all these boys in robes so why don't you just wear a set of scrubs, cher?"

When I returned from the bedroom a few minutes later wearing a pair of hospital scrubs, long ago washed to soft comfortability, and bearing the three robes, Blondie was dancing with her back to her audience, her fingers flirting with the zipper on the back of her miniskirt, her head turned, her teasing eyes casting a questioning look over her shoulder at the boys who cheered her on with handclapping and cries of encouragement, "Take it off! Take it off, mama! Yeah take it off, baby! Take it all off!"

Spinning around and smiling accommodatingly, Blondie drew the zipper down; facing her enthused fans, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband and began tugging the smooth, tight black leather down over her hips as she wiggled them in that distinctively feminine way women have of working their bottoms out of tight clothing that I have always found so charming. Smirking at the effect she was having on them, she gave a vigorous tug with her thumbs as the fabric gathered at her hips before sliding easily down her thighs to her knees before falling limply to her feet.

The three young vatos sat wide-eyed, smiling hugely at the sight of my beautiful blonde wife in her sexy black underwear, even Ronnie, the oldest at twenty, who'd seen a similar show a week ago, with his face now bearing a knowing look of the delights yet to come. They were clapping and whistling as Blondie's skirt bunched at her ankles and she stepped out of it, kicking it into Che's lap with a flirtatious wink, never losing the beat nor missing a step. With her nipples exposed by the shelf bra and her dark muff visible through the nearly transparent fabric of her bikini panties, my twenty-five-year-old spouse was now, for all practical purposes, dancing nude in the presence of this trio of boys barely out of high school.

And she was loving it.

Halfway through the next song, Blondie began to tease with the waistband of her panties, evoking raucous cheers, clapping and even foot-stomping, continuing her taunting play until midway through the next number. Pausing her dancing, she stood, her high heels doing little twisting taps in place, her body still moving subtly to the beat, and hooked her long, pointed glossy red thumbnails into the elastic sides of the black waistband riding her flaring hips.

Tilting her head down and cocking a black-penciled eyebrow questioningly at each young man in turn, this little Cajun cockteaser suddenly stripped her panties down to her knees. Bending, she stepped out of them and upon straightening, tossed them to Ronnie, who snatched them from the air, making a playfully exaggerated show of sniffing them before tossing them to Paco who held them to his face as well before surrendering them to Che.

But all those juvenile eyes were riveted on Blondie's hairy pussy as she resumed dancing, launching into a vigorous, pelvis-thrusting series of steps. The pink lips of her pudenda, distended by her own arousal, peeked enticingly at them through her neatly tonsured, furry triangle, making me glad I'd trimmed it up the night before. Set off against her alabaster skin and contrasted by her platinum hair, that starkly dark vee shielding her sex was very erotic indeed.
When that album ended, she stood on her table/stage, apparently perfectly comfortable in her near total nakedness before three young men, her arms akimbo and hands on hips as she calmly surveyed the scene.

"I gotta take a break to go pee. When I get back, I wanna see all you boys in those robes, okay?"

Blondie held out her small hand for assistance exiting her stage and all eyes, including mine, were on her bare, creamy-skinned, wriggling ass as she departed the room. As she strutted past me, she winked bawdily and murmured, "Choo-choo, baby," with a devastatingly wicked smile.

We males were exchanging conniving smiles as I instructed them to change in the front guestroom and just leave their clothes on the bed. There was a festive mood in the air with Che and Paco anticipating what pleasures awaited them, their imaginings no doubt fueled by their amigo's florid accounts, and Ronnie's own fueled by his lurid memories from last weekend. My expectations were a combination of all theirs as I'm sure were Blondie's—who also had to be at this moment vividly aware of her friend Yvette's accounts of playing choo-choo in high school—albeit Blondie was doing it with novice's numbers, only four including her husband. Still, how many wives ever got to bring even three young boys home with them to fuck one after the other?

She had to be excited and she most assuredly was when I edged into the bathroom. She had put on the short black, lace peignoir she'd worn last week for Ronnie and was tucking up loose wisps of hair. I asked, "You sure you're ready to do this, hmm?" She grinned confidently and replied,

"Oh yeah, cher, you better believe I am."

She gave me a self-assured look in the mirror and teased, "Quit your worryin' about me, sugar, I can handle 'em." With an inquisitive glance, she asked, "Got all those boys in their robes?"

When I affirmed that, she said coquettishly, "Think those young gentlemen might like a little demonstration of your sweetie pie gettin' off with her petits amis (little friends)?"

Breaking into a wide smile, I chuckled, "Well I know I would and I'm sure they would, too."

Blondie's petits amis were an assortment of vibrators, both battery operated and the larger, more vigorous models that operated off household current. Watching this lovely woman use them to achieve serial orgasms was a show I never tired of. Opening the door, I said, "I'll get them out."

She leered, "Good, now go fix me a new drink; I'll be out in a minute to get things goin', okay?"

When I stepped back into our sunken living room several minutes later bearing the boot box that contained Blondie's collection of little friends, I was met with curious glances until I set it down on the coffee table, removed the lid and extracted two of her more powerful favorites. Curious looks quickly became knowing grins as I used a long extension cord to connect them so that Blondie could use them anywhere, on the couch, the coffee table or my molded chrome and dark brown corduroy Eames Chair with its matching ottoman.

Looking at the three young men in their robes, I said, "You're going to love this, I promise you," just as Blondie returned, surveying the situation and nodding her approval. She teased,

"How would you boys like to see mama make herself come?" She grinned, "Maybe even get herself off several times, if we're all lucky, hmm?"

As they all responded enthusiastically, she stood watching, taking several hits off a doobie and impatiently tapping a foot to the sexy beat of the music, juking around in place. I had Paco and Che move the coffee table back several feet so I could roll my easy chair and ottoman into the open "L" of the sectional sofa. Taking her seat in the chair, Blondie picked up the two vibrators and switched them on, smiling delightedly when both came buzzing to life.

Relaxing back into the chair, the dark brown corduroy surrounding and setting off her alabaster body, Blondie threw open the peignoir, dug her spike heels into the fabric covering the ottoman and spread her shapely nyloned legs, affording the young fellas an unimpeded view of her hairy vulva and rosy labia. When the rounded knobs of the two vibrators touched her pudenda, she gasped loudly, groaning, "Oh, oui, oui, oui! Mon Dieu, c'est tellement bon, oui, oui, c'est si bon! (Oh, yes, yes, yes! My God, that feels so good! Yes, yes, it's so good!)."

After turning up the volume of the music, I moved up to the elevated entryway behind the couch, pulling in a chair from the dining area, and began interpreting Blondie's gasped, naughty, French exclamations for her enthralled audience. I was looking down over the heads of the two younger vatos, directly between my wife's spread legs at the neatly trimmed bush and blood-engorged lips of her vagina in its highly aroused state. For this show, my improvised balcony seat offered the best view in the house without question.

Blondie possessed, as I had been telling her from the first time I ever laid eyes on it, a very pretty pussy, or as she said, une jolie chatte, with small, symmetrical, rose petal lips and a smallish, neatly-shielded clitoris. With her abundant bush tidily trimmed, as I'd done the previous evening, her vulva was a thing of true beauty. Too many women, from my considerable experiences, had big fleshy folds of external genitalia that I found esthetically and personally unappealing. As if voicing my thoughts, Ernesto, sitting below me, leaned over saying to Paco,

"¡Mira eso! Esta chiquita tiene un coño muy bonito, primo (Check it out! This little chick has a very pretty pussy, cousin)."

I leaned over the back of the sofa and told them, "If you guys want to jackoff, go ahead—she wants you to—it will make her even hotter."

Blondie, realizing what I was doing, paused in her own ministrations, urging playfully,

"C'mon, lemme see those dicks, boys; I wanna see three, hard, young cocks, okay?"

Ronnie, who had been relatively subdued, threw open his robe exposing a huge erection, saying, as he began to stroke it slowly, "You got it, pretty lady, here ya go."

Beaming delightedly, Blondie urged the other two to follow his lead and when, several minutes later Paco still seemed reluctant, she goaded him, "What's the problem, baby, you bashful?"

Ronnie jeered, "He's just a niño pequeño (little boy) un niño tímido (a bashful boy) who just turned eighteen a few weeks ago."

My translation of that bit of information had a definite effect on my naked wife who rather delightedly repeated, "Just turned eighteen—I just love that," with a look of pure decadence before fixing me with a depraved smile which became a wide, self-congratulatory grin when Ronnie continued with,

"Yeah, you gonna get la cereza de ese chico (that boy's cherry) tonight, pretty lady."

My translation of that news, not too surprisingly and to the total delight of her audience, sent my sweetie into a fervent flurry of activity with her little friends, shortly resulting in a cataclysmic orgasm. As she clutched her vibrator furiously to her bucking beaver, her body bounced around in the Eames chair like she was being electrocuted, her blonde bouffant whipping back and forth so violently I feared she might injure herself. Serial spasms swept through her as she cried out repeatedly in her bayou blend of English and French,

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Omigod, yes! Oh fuck yessss!"

It was several minutes before Blondie's moaning throes of orgasmic ecstasy subsided to a point where she seemed to again become aware that four males, hard cocks in hand, had their eyes locked on her fair body as she sat there, breathing heavily, in lingerie that concealed nothing of her naked body. With her head lolling back on the dark corduroy, she flicked her heavy-lidded eyes on each of the young vatos, starting with Paco, the niño, finally coming to rest on Ronnie.

Almost drooling with lust, she moaned, "Omigod! I know the boy's only eighteen but you're tellin' me he's a virgin on top 'a that?"

With a sly smile, Ronnie confirmed, "Yup, we're all cousins—it's how he got hired on our crew when he turned eighteen—I picked him to come tonight cause he's never gotten laid, okay?"

Shifting her gaze to Paco, Blondie smiled seductively, crooning, "Well they sure brought you to right place to get that problem taken care of, baby boy."

Throwing me a smug look, she leered, "Just didn't they though, hmm, cher?"

From my elevated perch behind him, I nodded confirmation and gave young Paco a closer appraisal; he was a short but sturdy young fellow with broad shoulders and swarthy, rather handsome, Indio features under a full head of coarse black hair. It was not difficult to understand my saucy soulmate's delight: Not only was she going to pull her first train tonight, she about to get her first cherry since we started this hotwife lifestyle, a callow teenager at that.

Still recovering from her explosive orgasm, Blondie lay back, immersed in her refractory glow, breathing deeply, and dropped her vibrators to the floor beside the chair, scoffing saucily,

"Well, that sure was fun but this girl's got better toys to play with, doesn't she, gents?"

Leaning back she gave young Paco a come-hither look and crooking her finger, cooed softly,

"C'mere, baby boy, an' give little Blondie a kiss, okay?"

When he was slow to respond, she coaxed, "C'mon, cher, c'mon, it's okay; mama don't bite."

Accompanied by jeers from his peers, Paco stood and bent over my seated spouse who took his face in her hands and initiated a tender lingering kiss. It quickly became anything but tender when her small hand snaked inside the robe and grasped his teenaged tumescence, pumping it slowly. Moments later, Blondie broke off the kiss and nudged the kid to the side as she swiveled the chair to face him, never relinquishing the stroking hold she had on his virginal manhood.

Slipping both hands inside the robe, she pushed it aside, grasping his buttocks and pulling him to her as her lush mouth enveloped his young cock, evoking an involuntary groan from Paco and muted cheers from his two cousins. Tilting her head back and forth she began a very vigorous and inspired fellating of this unfledged fellow.

From my elevated perch, I savored the sight of my lovely blonde wife sitting there in her skimpy black bra and matching garterbelt, black nylons and high heels, sucking this inexperienced teenager's modestly-sized dick with his primo's watching and stroking their own, more robust members. It was like watching a high-quality porn flick with a beautiful blonde starlet and attractive male co-stars in a nice setting. Except of course, that the beautiful blonde starlet performing the exuberant blowjob was the woman I'd chosen to be my life mate and it was abundantly evident that my life mate was most thoroughly enjoying sucking this teenager's cock with two other young men watching.

My cuckold persona loved it that she was taking so much pleasure from blowing this kid and my body was perversely tingling with the knowledge that it had been her idea to sexually entertain multiple young men tonight and that she was the one who had made the arrangements to do so. Her becoming a hotwife may have been my idea initially but it was her sexual aggressiveness that had made it happen and taken us to where we now were. I had unchained her inner slut and I absolutely loved to see that slut in action.

A few minutes later, Blondie paused, said something to the kid that I failed to hear, stood and moved to the couch. As she plopped down, she grinned at Che and said, "Scoot over, sugar an' give us some room. Mama's gonna whip herself up une tarte à la crème de cerise (a cherry cream pie). It was a bit of crafty wordplay meant mostly for me—cherry cream pie was an old Le Monde family favorite recipe—but I suspected what my naughty French floozy was alluding to was making Paco, the cherry, come in her, creating a cherry's creampie.

Lying back with her head on the soft end cushion, Blondie assumed her usual position for sex on this sofa, spreading her legs, planting her right foot on the floor and resting her left on the low back cushion, the black suede, ankle-strap, platform heel just inches in front of and below me. Paco had dropped the robe, and as he positioned his short, stout body between my wife's spread, welcoming thighs, I leaned forward and took her well-turned calf in my hands, kneading gently.

She moaned as her foot came off the floor and locked behind his knee, indicating he had entered her, further substantiated by the sudden, energetic motion of his muscular buttocks. Leaning forward and to the right over the low back of the sofa, I looked down into her lovely face just as she kissed his ear and said into it,

"Slow down, baby, let's make your first time last a little while—make real sure we get all the pleasure out of it we can, d'accord?"

Opening her eyes and seeing me looming perhaps eighteen inches above them, she smiled lewdly up at me, crooning to him,

"You're my first, too, mon doux bébé précieux (my sweet precious baby) the first virgin I've had since high school, mon chéri, so let's take our sweet time an' enjoy it." Looking at me, she said,

"You tell those boys not to be gettin' antsy—mama's got plenty to go around—everybody's gonna get his turn, okay?" She winked, "Prolly several turns way mama's feelin' right now."

With that she turned her full attention to Paco, kissing him tenderly and fucking him slowly, over and over calling him mon garçon vierge (my virgin boy). But in spite of her loving ministrations, the kid didn't last long. He simply couldn't contain his excitement, and frankly, I couldn't blame him. I thought wryly about how excited I would have been if my first piece of ass had looked like my wife instead of the chubby, high school, sophomore English teacher of reality.

In any event, Blondie's tight pussy was just too much for the boy and his growing excitement ignited her own, resulting in a brief but tremendously torrid finish that left both panting and clearly exhilarated with what they had just accomplished. When the kid backed from between her widespread legs, there was ample visual evidence that she had, indeed, whipped up a cherry's creampie. Leaning over the back of the couch, I had a bird's eye view of the residual dregs of their debauchery.

Smiling up at me with smug self-satisfaction, my femme coquine (naughty wife) inserted her middle finger inside herself momentarily, then waved that hand beneath my chin, that semen coated finger extended in mocking invitation. In a voice of insincere innocence she purred,

"You've always loved my cherry cream pie recipe, cher—see how you like this one, hmm?"

I hesitated, glancing guiltily at the vatos, all three of whom were high-fiving and joshing about young Paco's deflowering, paying no attention to my naked mate for the moment. Widening her lovely eyes, she smiled perversely, hissing softly but with a sly insistence, "Suck it!"

As I bent downward, she pressed the slickened digit between my lips, swabbing my tongue and teeth for a few seconds before also inserting her ring finger and mirthfully demanding,

"Clean those off, Dicky boy—mama got 'em all messy."

Blondie knew I disliked being called Dicky so she reserved its occasional use for purposes of emphasis such as anger, sarcasm, or as in the extant moment, mocking disparagement of her cuckold husband for the entertainment of this band of vatos. Going along with it, I sucked her two fingers briefly before she abruptly jerked her hand away, placing it on Che's shoulder as he maneuvered between her upraised legs, fulfilling Blondie's recent gangbang fantasy of getting, as she'd put it, un très nouvelle bite dans ma chatte (a brand new cock in my pussy) as soon as the first youth had come in her and climbed off. She was now playing choo-choo for the first time but with an admittedly short train thus far.

Ernesto, or Che, as his vatos called him, was only a year older than his primo, young Paco, but physically he was considerably larger, both taller and of greater heft. Apparently he was better endowed as well: Blondie let out a loud groan as he entered her, gasping huskily,

"Baise-moi mon chéri (Fuck me, honey)! Oh ouais, baise-moi, Che! (Oh yeah, fuck me, Che)! Donnez à Blondie une autre grosse bite mexicaine, bébé (Give Blondie another big Mexican dick, baby)! S'il te plait, baise-moi fort, chérie (Please, fuck me hard, honey)!"

Again I sat in my elevated director's chair and translated my wife's French fuck talk, both for her current partner and their entranced audience. Not actually speaking the language, my usefulness was limited to those expressions I'd heard her use frequently in the past. I mildly suggested that she might use English since she was the only French speaker at this party but that was met immediately with dual rebukes:

Blondie murmured good-naturedly, "Oh, va te faire foutre (Oh, go fuck yourself), d'accord?"

Ronnie blurted out, "No, man, leave her alone—I love it when she speaks that Frenchie stuff in that sexy voice—it just sounds so much hotter than English, ¿ya sabes? (you know)?"

My vindicated vixen looked up at me past her lover's shoulder and spat out triumphantly,

"Tu vois, connard (You see, asshole)?"

Relinquishing my balcony view, I moved around the end of the couch, stepping down into the sunken living area and reclaimed my Eames chair. While not as intimately near the action, this side-on view was much better: Ma jeune femme (my young wife) had her black-nyloned legs raised and bent at the knees, her slender ankles crossed behind the boy's buttocks, her black high heels pressing him into her. From here I could see the young man's respectably-sized cock going in and out of her with each of his vigorous thrusts. Her ongoing pleadings and encouragements, in both French and English, were interrupted by brief bouts of fevered kissing.

Knowing all too well the carnal pleasure he was experiencing, I envied young Che his present position, remembering the exquisite sensations I had experienced with her right there in that same place the evening before from that sweet, succulent mouth and that wonderfully tight pussy, her petite machine à traire poilue (her hairy little milking machine) as she whimsically called it. I smiled at the remembrance of Blondie being concerned about giving me my turn a day early so I wouldn't have to wait in line tonight. God, how I loved this sweet, dissolute, but so considerate little whore!

Ronnie and Paco occupied the shorter wing of the segmented sofa, watching the mating pair from behind, the older vato sipping a Tecate and slowly stroking his impressive erection, patiently waiting his turn with the beautiful blonde. I noted with a silent chuckle that the wide-eyed young Paco was already semi-hard again, smiling at the thought that my horny honey would be pleased to know she'd be accommodating that young cock at least once more. Her train was already growing longer before she'd even gotten to the third car.

The impassioned grunts, groans, moans coming from the couch began to intensify after several minutes, indicating that the hairy little milking machine was likely having its usual effects. Sure enough, within a few seconds, young Che began bucking and slamming his cock into my wife's upturned bottom, emitting a low, moaning, "Ohhhhhhh, fuck yeahhhhhhh!!!" With her mouth at his ear, she urged him to let it go, to let her have it all, that she needed his hot seed in her belly.
Glancing at my watch I confirmed that I had just witnessed my bayou bad girl's hairy little milking machine perform its function flawlessly on two teenaged boys in less than an hour with a twenty year old sitting right here eagerly awaiting his turn for that petite machine à traire poilue to siphon out his surging seminal fluids. I realized my concerns regarding her ability to handle as many young men as she believed she could, had been unfounded, as demonstrated by the ease with she'd dispatched these first two kids. My little Cajun cutie was right, she was a better judge of her own sexual capabilities than her husband.

As Che backed off her and stood up, Ronnie rose from where he'd been watching, a huge erection in hand. Seeing his eagerness, Blondie, gave him an apologetic grin and pleaded,

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry but I absolutely have to pee first, okay? I've been drinkin' all night an' I'm just about to pop havin' these boys poundin' me like that."

She stood, demurely holding a folded terry cloth towel to her messy groin and gave Ronnie a peck on the lips with a promise of a rapid return. Just as she stepped up from the sunken living area to the hall/entryway, the doorbell rang, an alarming sound at this hour and under the circumstances. My first thought was an angry neighbor or cops answering a noise complaint as I snatched up the ashtrays with their partially-smoked joints and headed for the kitchen disposal, turning up the ceiling fans on the way. Altering her course for the hall bathroom, Blondie moved to the door, placing her eye to the peephole, where she squealed delightedly,

"It's Ray! Somebody let him in! I gotta go pee an' I mean I gotta do it right now so somebody get that door an' get that pretty boy in here, right now!"

Wondering just who they hell "Ray" might be, I set the emptied ashtrays down and went to the front door where a quick peek showed Ray to be Rey, or Reynaldo, a bandido-mustachioed vato from the earlier party as well as a member of last week's original table. My drug-fuzzed brain then registered what Blondie had told me about inviting him and his having to decline in order to pick up his fiancée from work.

As his merry, robed compadres gathered behind me to welcome their amigo, I pulled the door open and invited him in, instructing them to take him to the kitchen and get him set up with whatever he wanted. When I stepped into the hall bathroom, Blondie, hunched over on the toilet, looked up at me with faux contrition and giggled naughtily,

"Now don't start on me, Rick. I did tell you I asked that cutie; I just didn't tell you I gave him our address an' told him to come over later if he could get away from his girlfriend, okay?"

When I just stood there, looking down silently, she said, a bit smugly, "An if you're worried about me bein' able to handle him, too, don't—look, I've already got two of 'em off an' I feel like I'm just gettin' this party started, cher."

She grinned, "An' Yvette knew what she was talkin' about: Bein' the only naked woman in a room fulla horny boys is a lot of fun, a whole lotta fun, you know?"

"Okay, you were right about being a better judge of how many you could accommodate," I conceded, "But I'm still concerned about things getting out of control, understand?"

Standing, she began cleaning herself with a wet washcloth. Pausing to examine the cloth, she sniggered, "Better get out a clean towel to go under me on the couch—I've still got come runnin' outta me an' we pretty well soaked that other towel."

A loud burst of youthful male laughter erupted and Blondie said, "Better get out there an' quiet 'em down. Tell 'em I'll be out in a minute, cher."

She gave me a look of concern, saying, "An' quit your worryin' about me—I'm gonna be just fine, d'accord?"

Saying, "Yeah, you just be careful, girl, and you tell me immediately if you need to stop for any reason whatever," I stepped out, closing the door and took the fresh towel in to the couch. Che and Paco had the long wing again, Rey was on the short one and Ronnie was in my Eames chair. I grabbed a pair of folding wood and canvas director's chairs from the hall closet and set them up on the far side of the coffee table explaining that we were going to need one wing of the sofa when the party resumed.

Taking a hit from the joint they were passing around, I winked at Paco, the former virgin, saying,

"Well, how does it feel to be a man, Paco, to finally get laid?"

To boisterous jeers from the others, he just gave me a sheepish grin and said, "Unbelievable, jefe, totally unbelievable!"

Che, the more thoughtful of the vatos in my assessment, said, "We were just talkin' about how none of us lost our cherries to a girl anywhere close to as pretty as your wife, jefe."

Ronnie pointed at Paco and teased, "Yeah, primo, you owe me big for bringin' you tonight."

Rey, the only one still in street clothes, said, "Yeah, jefe, you are a lucky man. You definitely got a gorgeous ol' lady," prompting Ronnie to razz him,

"Hey, 'mano, you just got here an' don't know nuthin' yet—an' till you get a piece of that coño apretado (tight pussy) you don't know how lucky the man really is, ¿ya sabes? (you know)?"

Choosing that moment to make her re-entry, Blondie paused at the step-down into the living area, saying playfully, "I know what that means—coño—you boys must be talkin' about me," causing all five male heads to swivel in unison, locking onto the blonde in black lingerie posing erotically for them to admire. She had clad herself in an ultra-sheer, ankle-length negligee that hid nothing while incredibly enhancing the overall visual impact of her alabaster body, rendering it an exotic, shadowy gray beneath.

This was Rey's first look at my wife in her sexy underwear and the awed young bandito, let out a soft, Mexican Grito, "Aaaayyyyeeee," in wide-eyed appreciation, causing the others to throw him smug, superior smiles, even the recently deflowered young Paco.

Perched there atop her platform heels, her lovely face radiating a post-coital glow, Blondie, knowing she had their rapt attention, struck a different sexy pose and throatily purred,

"Well now, it's Ronnie's turn, an' my husband tells me Ronnie an' I put on a real hot, sexy show for him last week, so how would you boys like us to put one on for you?"

That loaded question was met with cheers, clapping, gritos and face-splitting grins, including from Ronnie, who stood, opening his arms wide and taking her into them when she stepped, smiling lustfully, into the room. The thought occurred that my young femme's exhibitionist streak was growing wider and wider—she'd just invited four men to watch her fuck the fifth—and I didn't even know the half of what we were about to witness.

Standing there with her hands inside his robe and resting on his naked hips, Blondie said to me,

"Honey, move that coffee table an' this chair back from the couch a little ways, will you?"

With the help of Rey, I quickly moved the furniture back wondering what she had in mind. I'd assumed she was just going to fuck Ronnie on the couch like she had his primos. She didn't keep us wondering long, however; pulling her next partner with her, she backed into a sitting position on the coffee table, spreading her legs wide and tugging Ronnie in closer to stand between them. Raising her arms, she put her hands back inside his robe at chest level, pushed it open and back on his shoulders where he shrugged out of it, letting it drop to the floor. His buff young body was impressive as he stood there, his semi-erect cock right in front of Blondie's waiting face.

Tossing me an impish glance, she took it up in both hands, slowly stroking as she appeared to examine the large purple glans, then tweezered away a stray pubic hair between the glistening red nails of her thumb and forefinger. With another sideways flick of her eyes, as if checking to ensure her husband was attentive, she wrapped those luscious red lips around the head of his cock and began a slow, head-twisting, corkscrewing, motion that brought cheers and clapping from her enthralled audience.

In the low light of the smoky, lamplit, living room, this tantalizing tableau of my beautiful, twenty-six-year-old, blonde wife sitting there in her sexy black lingerie, giving a blowjob to a Latino boy barely a year out of his teens while his three, even younger, compadres sat watching, was as erotic as any scene from any porn movie I'd ever viewed, before or since. And unlike the beautiful blonde porn stars from our cache of favorite flicks, most of whom were faking their enthusiasm, I knew my salacious spouse was having a very good time providing these boys and her husband with such X-rated entertainment.

Like Yvette had told her, getting gangbanged is fun.

It was a spirited blowjob, no doubt inspired by the fact that she was performing for an audience, a very attentive audience calling out support such as, "Yeah, suck that dick, baby," while exchanging sly, youthful winks and smirking grins. Smiling inwardly, I was thinking how very fortunate these young vatos were to have been drinking at El Rincón when we walked in a week ago looking for a man for her to fuck, and how their obvious, boyish lust for the sexy blonde white lady had triggered a decadent desire in her that had led us directly to tonight.

The hot oral display continued for several minutes until Blondie paused, looked up at Ronnie and cautioned him, "Don't come in my mouth, baby, cause I want it in my pussy, d'accord?"

Glancing again at me, she explained, "I want 'em all to get off in ma chatte the first time around, one after the other," she leered, "Just the way I've been imaginin' it, all four of 'em, one after the other d'accord?"

Still slowly stroking that big dick, she looked up at Ronnie with a sultry smile and purred,

"You 'bout ready to stick this beautiful thing in me, honey?"

He groaned playfully, "Get your gorgeous ass on that couch, pretty lady, an' I'll show you."

Gesturing to Rey, he ordered, "Move your ass, 'mano, we needin' that spot."

As Rey stood, looking about for somewhere to sit, I grabbed the clean, folded, terrycloth bath towel and stepped in to put it where Blondie's butt would be, telling Rey as I did to take my Eames chair. I then moved back up to the raised landing with the director's chair. Once again, from this elevated perch, I would be looking down on the action as another young Hispanic male made love to my sexy spouse with his friends watching. However, this time I would be getting the rear, length-wise view as I discovered when Blondie lay back facing me, again cocking her right platform heel up on the back cushion while bracing her left in the carpet.

She smiled up at me, wiggling her fingers in a teasing little, "Well here we go again" wave as Ronnie was positioning himself between her nyloned legs. Reaching down between their bodies with both hands she guided his thick prick to the pink portals that were providing these young men so much pleasure. It went in with ease, liberally lubricated by the recent emissions of her two previous partners, and both my wife and her current lover moaned with the electric pleasure of their bodies now being plugged together. Her feet immediately came off the back of the couch and the floor, with her platform heels locking behind his broad bronzed back as her young bull began forcefully pumping into her. Craning her head to look up at me past his shoulder, she gasped,

"Rick, get these damned shoes off me, okay? They're too damned heavy to hold up like this."

Knowing full well that one of my main fetishes was watching her fuck while wearing high heels, apparently a fetish widely held, as most porn stars kept their heels on throughout performances, something I had long ago pointed out to her when I had begun coaching her to be a hotwife: Men are turned on by heels, hose, garterbelts and sexy makeup, especially lipstick. Now, seeing the resultant disappointment in my face, she said,

"Okay, okay, don't pout—bring me my black pom poms, cher—they're a lot lighter, non?"

Blondie's pom poms were marabou feathered, satin mules with 5-inch heels, which she had in three colors: black, white and pink. Like she said they are very lightweight and thus perfect for present purposes. Retrieving them from her closet, I returned to the living room, where, standing beside the sofa like some prurient Prince Charming, I placed the sexy slippers on the small, size 6-Narrow, nyloned feet held aloft by this sensual Cinderella, who, unlike the heroine of fairy tale fame, was getting her cute little Cajun butt fucked off while her footwear was fitted.

Just as he'd done a week ago, Ronaldo ferociously pounded that tight pussy, and just as she'd done a week ago, my little slut was loving it, her black satin heels crossed and locked behind his back, pulling that big, brown Mexican cock into her upturned bottom, crying out joyously.

"Oh! Oh! Oh ouais, baise-moi, mon chéri! (oh yeah, fuck me, my darlin')! Donnez à la petite blonde cette grosse bite mexicaine, bébé (Give little Blondie that big Mexican cock, baby)! oui, oui baise-moi plus fort, chéri, baise-moi fort comme ça (yes, yes fuck me harder, honey, fuck me hard like that)!"

From my balcony seat, I served as interpreter, keeping the mesmerized young men informed of Blondie's gasping, moaning endearments and enticements to their apparent leader, so selected I supposed, by virtue of his seniority, being all of 20-years-old, but also likely attributable to his rugged, muscular body and strong jaw giving the impression of a man not to mess with. They loved the French, exchanging a smug, knowing look when my translations revealed the pretty white lady's apparent affinity for Mexican cock.

A difference was apparent in the way Blondie responded to Ronnie and the way she had Paco and Che: the kissing was more intense and more frequent, almost constant except for when she was gasping out her dirty French. Just as he'd done last week, Ronnie wasn't just fucking my wife, he was making love to her; and just like last week, she was responding in like manner, her mouth glued to his as she clung to him tightly, her bottom upturned to receive his pounding penetration of her small body.

So it was that when his heightened moaning indicated impending ejaculation, her lush lips were crushed against his, remaining so as he discharged his searing leche (semen) into her welcoming womb. Their mouths remained sealed together until his final, feeble thrust, with Blondie's usual passionate vocalizations limited to moans, groans and gasps. Even then their kissing continued, but now morphing into a tender, affectionate exchange, until Ronnie finally raised himself up on those brawny arms and grinned down at her. Still short of breath, Blondie smiled up at him warmly, her heavy-lidded eyes almost closed and purred throatily,

"Oh, baby, that was so good, so very, very good, just wonderful, si absolument merveilleux (so absolutely wonderful)."

But her tenderness was fleeting as she looked over to the Eames chair where Rey sat watching, his erection in hand. Smiling invitingly at him, she murmured, "You ready for your turn, sugar?"

The bandido-mustached vato nearly leaped from the chair as Ronnie backed off her, moving out of his way. I found myself looking down on my freshly-fucked wife, lying there below with her third load of Latino semen seeping from her thoroughly messy pussy as she crooked a finger at Rey and cooed bewitchingly,

"C'mon, cutie, get yourself over here an' let me take care of that for you, d'accord?"

Turning her face to look lazily up at me, Blondie grinned and winked, caressing her dripping pussy with her left land, her ring hand, her diamonds sparkling in the lamplight. As Rey moved to the side of the sofa, she puckered her now lipstick-less lips at me in a taunting air kiss, held up that hand with her rings facing me and four fingers splayed, and mouthed a mocking,

"Number four."

Within seconds I was watching my voluptuous Dixie vixen accept the fourth young man of the evening inside her body. Rey, while not as heavily endowed as Ronnie, was an accomplished, adventurous lover who, in the course of the next half hour not only got Blondie to sit on his lap and ride him but also to kneel on the couch with her forearms on the back cushions while he took her from behind. Knowing that Blondie was not particularly fond of that position, considering it unromantic and dehumanizing, I leaned forward from my perch and snarked,

"I thought you didn't care for the doggystyle position, my dear."

That earned me a deliciously wicked retort, "Oh, moi, j'aime la levrette (Oh, I love doggystyle), cher," pausing for a meaningful beat, "Tant que je le fais avec des toutous errants (As long as I do it with stray puppies)."

I grinned and said, "Touché, my dear."

Moments later her bandido flipped her on her back for his finale, fucking her furiously as she encouraged him in her naughty French,

"Oui, oui, oui! Oh oui, donne-le moi, bébé (Yes, yes, yes! Oh yes, give it to me, baby)!" keeping it going until, with a soft groan, Rey began coming in her and her pleas louder and more frantic.

"Oui, oui, oui! Oh oui, donne-le moi, bébé, remplis-moi (Yes, yes! yes! Oh yes, give it to me, baby, fill me up)!" Remplis ma chatte de ton sperme (Fill my pussy with your cum)!"

"Oui! Oui! Oui! Oh putain oui, donne-le moi, bébé, remplis-moi vous mauvais garçon vous (Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh fuck yes, give it to me, baby, fill me up, you bad boy you)!"

My translations for her attentive audience kept them smirking, smiling and grinning like the bunch of teenagers they mostly were. As soon as he'd backed off her, Blondie twisted around, got her feet under and stood, a bit wobbly holding the towel between her legs as she said,

"Don't anyone get between me an' the bathroom—I'm 'bout to pee my pants!" then grinning foolishly as she remembered she was naked in a room with five mostly naked men. As we all grinned at her, she called out, "You know what I mean vous connards (you assholes)," then as she rushed past me, giggled, "Choo-choo, baby, choo-choo," as she disappeared down the hallway.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

We didn't awaken until almost two Saturday afternoon, tired and hungover. The "little engine that could" had continued energetically and enthusiastically to pull that train until almost dawn, when she finally got too sore to take any more. The vatos had gotten Blondie on our king bed and were coming at her from all directions in a bit of a sexual free-for-all for a couple of hours. She had been an eager participant until I saw her wince in pain when one of them entered her and called an immediate halt to any further fun.

Her soreness limited our usual post-party celebration to prurient discussion only and that was fairly quickly curtailed by Blondie's physical discomfort. We did agree that it had been very exciting, more so for her, of course, but that it was physically risky for her, perhaps dangerously so. We spent the remainder of the day in bed, smoking weed, drinking Bloody Mary's and munching on called-in pizza while watching television with intervals of conversation regarding the previous night.
This particular type of sexual adventure was not to be repeated for a considerable time due to multiple factors: Blondie's enduring soreness being the short-term reason and my getting transferred back to Old Dixie being a longer term cause. It was to be a few years before Blondie took on four strangers again, but during that interval she had several sexual escapades with pairs of partners and on a couple of occasions, even three men, but most frequently it was just a single lucky fellow. She did finally break her old record and when she did, it was an even more exciting adventure.

But then that's another story...



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