The past six weeks seemed to pass in a blur.
Time usually flies during the months when Isla and I aren’t teaching, but this summer the weeks blew by seemingly faster than usual. All the sex we had might have been a factor.
It was odd to think that only six weeks ago, Isla and I sat at our breakfast table and learned of the contest, “Pussy of the Year.” Looking back, I still can’t believe that she mused over what it entailed and seriously declared, “I want to do it.”
That morning, we learned exactly what the Pussy of the Year is: a hotwife, bareback, cum-drenched, pussy-fucking contest. Contestants, with their partners by their sides, compete by engaging in penetrative vaginal intercourse with random men, without condoms, under the watchful eyes of judges and an audience for a duration of exactly thirty minutes.
The ‘no condom’ factor would normally catapult this into ‘hell fucking no!’ territory, but it was mitigated by rigorously controlled health screening requirements for all contestants, their companions, and every last registered suitor.
Five judges would assign scores based on (1) visible lust, (2) stamina, (3) sexual creativity, and (4) positive overall performance. Ten points were allotted for each category, for a total of forty possible points for each woman. Partners could earn two additional ‘bonus points’ based on their engagement and ability to stoke the crowd, so in actuality each couple could earn a maximum of forty-two points.
I couldn’t believe beyond my wildest dreams that she wanted to enter the contest, but Isla assured me that it was something she wanted to do for her sake, and not solely for my hotwife voyeur kink. I couldn’t have been more pleased. Nothing turns me on more than the sight of her pussy devouring other men’s cocks.
In all our lives, we’ve never phoned anything in, so over the past six weeks we’ve done everything we could to best prepare, such as:
· We converted our spare bedroom to a sex den that served as a training arena.
· I plastered the walls of our arena with images of the erect cocks of men registered to enter the contest, which were available thanks to the registration website.
· Isla purchased sex toys galore and practiced with them plentifully, making sure she could handle sizeable length and girth for extended durations.
· I made a few extra clever purchases to address the “sexual creativity” aspect of the scoring.
· We watched tons of porn, figuring out what body angles are optimal to view vaginal penetration in various sex positions.
· We methodically analyzed recordings of ourselves fucking to see how her specific body angles, guided by our porn analysis, worked for viewers to see her vagina’s lips gripping a penis.
· Isla became a master of spontaneous, raw, nasty dirty talk.
· I became a wizard at body painting, as no clothing was allowed in the contest.
We left no stone unturned in our preparation.
We also reached out to a contest moderator. The rules stated that any contestant or companion could request a suitor to terminate at any time, so it was my prerogative to allot each suitor a maximum of 5 minutes with my wife. This would ensure that she let a good number of cocks inside her, should a suitor have incredible stamina, or for whatever reason was unable to come to orgasm.
The moderator confirmed that if a suitor’s time elapsed without his climax, he’d be allowed to remain and ejaculate on her body by stroking himself while the next suitor engaged her in penetrative intercourse.
It was also made very clear that all penetration in the event would be vaginal. Anal penetration was not permitted, and would be grounds for disqualification. Anal play was allowed, but not penetration.
Pussy of the Year’s all about cunt fucking, and we did our homework.
*****
When the contest was just three days away, we returned from our final Brazilian waxing. I took it all off. Isla kept a pretty and perfect triangle of ebony hair on her pubis, but her pussy lips and all the rest of the flesh down there were all smooth, milk-chocolate skin. On the way out of the salon, we both received a text saying, “Registration for your upcoming event is now closed. You are designated as Contestant Number 7. Twelve contestants will be competing, and we look forward to seeing you soon.”
Fuck. Things just got real.
After a few hours of allowing soothing lotions to work their magic, we had our last practice session before the contest. Isla wisely wanted a respite before the show, and I aimed to build up a nice stash of thick cum to blast out of my dick.
In our training arena, homemade porn was churning on the television. Isla chose one of our particularly good sessions from last week when her dirty talk was at a zenith, and our body angles were nearly perfect. Footage of my slick, shining dick sliding into and out of her beautifully sopping-wet pussy dominated the television.
I lightly tied Isla’s hands to the bedposts, with her on her back, supported by a raised pillow so she could focus on the porn. She could get out of the knots in a moment’s notice if she wanted to.
After a spate of using a clitoral sucker to get her ready, I started plowing her pussy with our array of cock-shaped dildos, quickly graduating to the largest. We nicknamed him, “Mr. Malcolm.” She was a champ, fucking the long, thick, jet-black beast with joy and visible lust. Before we knew it, the thirty-minute timer buzzed.
I untied her, and she went to her hands and knees, facing a wall strewn with images of the erect cocks of potential suitors that I printed from the registration website. I slipped my thick and hard cum rod into her pussy from behind and fucked her savagely, while from below she planted a powerful clit sucker over her pearl.
It didn’t take long before her device worked its magic and sent her to a screaming orgasm. Her pussy’s spasms milked my dick perfectly, and I unloaded deep into her vault. When I pulled my dripping penis out of her, I said to her, “Well, the next cock that goes in there won’t be mine, and there’ll be a crowd of horny-ass motherfuckers watching it slip in. You nervous?”
Isla looked me in the eyes and said with a sudden air of vulnerability, “Yeah. I am. I gotta say that I’m nervous, but really excited, too. And it’s not about this being a contest. I don’t care about that, but I’ve never fucked more than two men at a time, and I’ve never done anything sexual in front of others.”
She looked blankly towards the window and said soberly, “Fuck! This really is new. These men are total strangers, and it’s in front of a crowd of who-knows how many!”
Her gaze fell, and she went silent for a moment before looking me in the eye again and saying tenderly, “I’m glad you’re the kind of husband that’s okay with this, but I’m even more glad that you’ll be there for me. I’m not sure if I could do it without you. I just hope I can find my kink in the moment and enjoy it. When I think about doing it, it turns me on to no end, but who knows how I’ll feel when it’s all bearing down on me? But with you there, by my side, I feel like I can do anything.”
I stroked her cheek, and we kissed tenderly before collapsing on the bed to hold each other. She was as ready as she could be, and I was positively gnawing at the bit.
****
The day before the contest, we awoke at 8 am so I could apply her body paints. With all the practice, I could paint her up beautifully in fifteen minutes, and they were supposed to last three days, but needed about an hour to dry. By 10 am, we had our lattes and a healthy breakfast, and our bags were loaded into the car. Isla gave a loving goodbye to our sweet, fluffy little dog. The pet sitter would arrive at noon.
As we pulled out of our driveway, it crossed my mind that when we returned, Isla’s body count would be significantly higher. She still had no chance of eclipsing mine, but she’d narrow the gap.
Our drive to the designated Hilton Hotel was five minutes shy of two hours, and we were instructed to report to Conference Room D at noon. In the parking lot, we took a few minutes to breathe deeply in silence before trudging to the hotel’s conference room wing at ten minutes past noon. Given the upscale nature of the location, it was totally discreet, which was a relief.
Standing and smiling outside of Conference Room D was a nice, slightly nerdy-looking but very attractive young man wearing a suit that looked freshly purchased from Men’s Warehouse. He politely greeted us and asked, “Hello! My name’s Greg. Your names…as registered?”
I told him, “Aisha and Tyler.” He checked his list, nodded in the affirmative, and cordially ushered us into the room. He gestured to a space bound by curtains and said, “There’s the testing space. Go in, do your thing, and afterward please take a seat in the main room. You’re the third couple to arrive. When everyone’s done and assembled, we’ll get the day rolling.”
Inside the curtained area, a middle-aged woman verified our names against a passcode that was sent to us when we signed up. We signed a few consent forms, and both gave a finger-prick blood sample and an oral swab. That was it!
The nice lady pointed to the exit and said, “If you’ll please take your seats, Greg will tell you what comes next, after all testing’s done.” Thankfully, the room was stocked with drinks and snacks.
Two other couples were already seated. We all smirked at each other, knowing why we were there.
One couple was white, looked to be in their mid to late forties, and were honestly pretty run-of-the-mill. The woman was brown-haired with a tinge of grey, wore no makeup, and looked somewhat plain. But she had a sparkle in her eye and snappy demeanor that let everyone know that she was the boss. The man with her was slightly overweight and looked like he was used to being bossed around. Easily crushed adversaries, I thought…though it crossed my mind that she might fuck like a champ, given that sparkle. Best not make assumptions.
The other couple shocked us. They were an impeccably dressed black couple that looked like they were in their prime. The woman was downright beautiful and athletically fit, with flawless dark, ebony skin and stunning features. The man with her was an African vision of Adonis, with well-manicured dreads that sported a minute hint of grey and gave him an air of experience and power.
As we took our seats, Isla, who was now to go by the name Aisha, eyed them up, as they both did with her. I traded glances with them both, and we all smiled and nodded before we sat down. Aisha couldn’t help but frequently glance in their direction. I did my best not to be so obvious, but failed, noting how they kept looking at us while whispering to each other.
I whispered to Aisha, “Well, I guess we’re not slouches, after all. Fuck, they’re hot!” Aisha, with an air of glee, whispered into my ear, “Baby, we still both got it. Check her out! She’s lookin’ you up and down!” I casually looked their way. My sweet girl told the truth. African Adonis was fixed on Aisha’s fine form, but his lovely lady was looking right at me and biting her lip. She was fucking hot as fuck, and I got hard right then and there.
I hate to admit it, but I also turned beet red, and the ebony queen noticed, chuckled, and whispered something to her man. He smiled broadly and smacked her lightly on the thigh before saying, just loudly enough for us to hear, “Down, girl!”
Over the next thirty minutes, nine other couples arrived, for a total of twelve promised women entering the contest. Of the nine new couples, four of them looked…well, let’s just say they were people we’d not exactly seek out for additional intimate experiences. Kudos to them, however, for showing up and being willing to do this. That alone is worth something in my book.
But we were elated to see that five other couples weren’t hard on the eyes, and some were downright beautiful. ‘The Five’ consisted of:
1. A mixed-race couple. The lady was a voluptuous dark-skinned black woman who looked ageless, but I would guess she was in her mid to late thirties. She had shining, long, jet-black, curly hair that flanked her pretty face and fell just below her perky but massive breasts. She was hanging on the arm of a handsome, white, hunky, greying man who obviously went to the gym.
2. An all-white couple with a buxom and tall, beach-toned blonde woman who looked like a slightly aging pornstar. She was pretty, but her beauty had an artificial quality. I was unsure if it was her heavy makeup or surgical enhancement, or both. Her companion looked like a frat bro ten years out of college. They were nice enough to look at, but not our type.
3. A Latino couple, where the lady was two shades lighter than my darker-brown Aisha. She was certainly pretty, and a bit younger than my wife, but truth be told, Isla had her beat in both the prettiness and hotness category. Her man, a Latino dude, seemed bored, maybe even angry. Not promising for future connections, unfortunately, and all thanks to him.
4. An Asian couple that was the picture of perfection. They were beaming and beautiful. The lovely lady was lithe and delicate, and her man was rugged, handsome, and keen-eyed. A foursome with these fine folks would be bliss…just what the doctor ordered.
5. A pair of white women. The contestant was a curvy, pretty, brown-haired, natural-seeming woman who looked like she loved cats. It was strangely sexy. Her sexy, auburn-haired companion was another woman who obviously loved her, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that she may have loved cats more. I couldn’t hold back my feelings for them both. I found myself yearning to be inside each of these lovely ladies. With their cats in the room. What? Oh well, what the fuck. Dick wants what dick wants, and they were both fucking hot. And I love cats.
When the testing was complete, and all twelve contestants were assembled, Greg called us to attention and looked at his tablet, formally reading, “Welcome contestants and companions! In thirty minutes, you’ll be escorted upstairs to your rooms. We have the entire fifth floor reserved.”
“We kindly ask that you remain in your rooms tonight. A staff member will monitor the hallways, so please remember the rule stipulating no outside interactions, or at least until all the test results are confirmed. Your health and safety are paramount, and any violation will result in immediate disqualification and dismissal without refund.”
“If you absolutely need to leave, a hallway monitor will assign you a chaperone. But the rooms should be to your liking, and there are plentiful local options for food delivery, in addition to the hotel’s facilities.”
He concluded his reading by first pointing to a table containing labeled envelopes, “Here are your key cards. You’ll have thirty minutes to get to know each other, if you wish, before being escorted to the fifth floor. We’ll need this space for testing the ninety-six registered suitors. They’re staying in a nearby location. We have similar security protocols in place there, so please be assured that everyone you engage with in the contest will be safe. Try to get some sleep. There’s work to be done tomorrow!”
Greg stopped talking and took a seat next to a burly man who had been there the whole time. We surmised he was security. Aisha and I made our way to the table through the crowd and found our envelope containing a key card for room 523, and began looking around at the competition.
Stay tuned as we meet our competitors face-to-face and prepare to dive into places that lucky few have been!
