Moira had me hooked from our first date. She was a vision—curves that demanded worship, fiery red hair cascading down her back, green eyes glinting with mischief that promised chaos I couldn’t resist. We’d met through friends, and after dinner and too many drinks, we ended up parked on a quiet backroad in my beat-up sedan, windows fogging from our heated breaths. Her hands slid under my shirt, nails grazing my chest; my fingers dug into her hips through her tight dress. The air was thick with her perfume and our hunger, my cock straining against my jeans.
Moira didn’t speak—just eased into the passenger seat, leaning over the console with a predator’s grace. Her red hair brushed my thigh as she unzipped me, freeing my throbbing cock with a tug that made me hiss. I groaned, head hitting the headrest, as her warm breath teased the tip, her eyes locking onto mine with a wicked spark. No words, no teasing—she parted her full lips and took me in.
Her mouth was hot, wet, pulling me into a slick heat that blurred my senses. Her tongue swirled around the head, slow and deliberate, savoring the precum beading there. She started soft, lips gliding down my shaft, taking me deeper until her throat tightened around me, her tongue tracing every vein. One hand gripped the base, stroking firmly, while the other cupped my balls, fingers rolling them with just enough pressure to make me tense. Her red hair swayed with each bob, spit dripping, catching the dashboard’s faint glow. Her lips, stretched wide and glistening, working me on our first date, nearly broke me.
“Fuck, Moira,” I groaned, gripping the steering wheel, hips twitching to meet her. Her hum vibrated through me, and the pressure built, my balls tightening. “I’m gonna cum,” I panted, voice rough. “Moira, I’m close.”
She eased back, lips brushing my cock, breath scorching. “Don’t even think about cumming in my mouth, Kev,” she warned, voice sharp but playful, eyes daring me.
Desperation clawed at me. “Please, Moira,” I begged, voice cracking. “I need to cum in your mouth. I can’t get it on my clothes or the car—it’ll be a mess.”
She paused, hand stroking slowly, keeping me on edge. Her smile was pure trouble. “Alright,” she purred, “but you’ll owe me.”
She dove back in, sucking harder, tongue moving faster, her mouth a relentless pull. Her fingers teased my balls, and I lost it, roaring as I came, pulsing into her mouth, wave after wave. She didn’t pull away, didn’t swallow—her cheeks puffed slightly, holding my cum, eyes locked on mine.
Gasping, I saw her glance around the car. “Don’t spit,” I rasped. “It’ll mess up the seats.”
Her eyes flashed, and she leaned over, grabbing my face with both hands. Her lips crashed into mine, tongue plunging in, and the taste hit—salty, thick, intense. My cum, warm from her mouth, flooded my senses, a visceral shock unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It was raw, alien, a hot, musky wave that coated my tongue, mingling with her spit, her breath, her essence. My heart pounded, mind reeling—this wasn’t just a kiss; it was Moira claiming me, forcing me to confront my own release in a way that felt forbidden, intimate, almost sacred. Her lips were fierce, unyielding, her tits pressing against my chest through her dress, nails biting my jaw, grounding me in the moment. I froze, overwhelmed, the taste both repulsive and magnetic, pulling me deeper into her world. My cock twitched, still half-hard, betraying the strange thrill coursing through me—shame, arousal, and awe at her audacity. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this—her feeding me my cum, turning a fleeting release into something profound, binding us in a way I couldn’t name.
She pulled back, licking her lips, eyes gleaming with triumph. “You liked that, didn’t you?” she teased. “I can tell.”
I couldn’t respond, the taste lingering, unfamiliar but stirring, my mind still grappling with the intensity. Her gaze, like she’d claimed my soul, set my pulse racing. That night showed me Moira was a force, shattering boundaries, pulling me into her chaos.
---
Weeks later, we were back in my car, same secluded spot. I was inside her, her skirt hiked up, panties pushed aside, legs straddling me in the driver’s seat. Her pussy gripped me, wet and tight, as she rode me, tits bouncing under her top, red hair wild. “Cum in me, Kev,” she moaned, nails digging into my shoulders. “Fill me up.”
I groaned, thrusting up, and came hard, flooding her, her walls pulsing around me. She collapsed against me, panting, sweat slicking our skin. But as she shifted, she glanced at my seats—my pride, kept pristine.
“No way I’m leaking on these,” she said, voice firm but teasing. She yanked the passenger seat lever, dropping it flat, and crawled up my body, her curves brushing against me. Straddling my face, her pussy hovered, swollen, glistening, my cum dripping from her slit in a thick, white trickle. She looked down, eyes locking on mine, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’ve tasted your cum before, Kev,” she said, voice low and taunting, referencing that first night’s kiss that had rocked me. “Now clean me up. Don’t let a drop hit your precious seats.”
My heart pounded, her words pulling me back to that first date—the shocking, salty flood of my cum in her kiss, a moment that had hit me before I could process it, leaving me no choice as it overwhelmed me. Now, her pussy inches from my face, dripping with the same cum I’d tasted before, mixed with her juices, I had a moment to consider. That first time, she’d given me no warning, no chance to decide; the taste was in my mouth before I realized what was happening. This was different—a willful decision. The memory of that kiss, its raw intensity, clashed with the sight of her swollen slit, the musky scent of her arousal and my cum filling my senses. I hesitated, pulse racing, torn between the shock of that first taste and the pull of her command, her body, her power. My obsession with my seats tipped the scale, but so did something deeper—a desire to please her, to dive into her world. I chose it. I grabbed her hips, pulling her down, and buried my tongue in her folds, tasting the rich, earthy blend of her sweetness and my saltiness. The flavor was familiar yet new, thicker, warmer, coating my lips as I licked her clean. Her moans filled the car, hands tangling in my hair as she ground against me, thighs trembling, cumming hard as my tongue plunged deeper, driven by her reminder and my conscious choice to embrace it.
“God, yes,” she gasped, sliding down to kiss me, her flavor on my lips. “My dirty boy.”
That became our ritual, not just in the car but whenever I came inside her—in her bed, tangled in sheets, or on her parents’ sofa during a risky late-night visit, her giggles muffled as she demanded I clean her to keep their furniture spotless. Each time, I’d dive in, tongue savoring the mix of her sweetness and my cum, the act intimate, binding us in our shared secret.
---
We married a year later, and our sex life grew wilder. The idea of other men crept in, whispered during heated moments. Moira would ride me, her pussy tight around my cock, and murmur, “What if this was someone else’s cock? Would you still eat me out?” It shocked me, but it ignited something. I’d thrust harder, imagining another man’s cum in her, my tongue claiming it. She saw my hunger and leaned into it.
A year ago, she made it real at a bar, her dress hugging her curves, red hair catching the light. She flirted with Jake—tall, dark, with a cocky grin that screamed confidence. My heart raced, cock stirring as I watched. She leaned in, breath hot. “I want to fuck him, Kev. And I want you to watch.”
We talked for weeks, setting boundaries. The first night with Jake was electric, a plunge into uncharted territory. We invited him over, the air thick with tension. Moira wore a black lace dress, her curves barely contained, red hair wild, green eyes promising chaos. Jake’s gaze devoured her as we sipped whiskey in the living room, her hand on his thigh, fingers inching higher. My stomach churned with jealousy and arousal, a tangled mess. She shot me a look, that familiar glint, and led him to our bedroom.
I followed, pulse pounding, and sank into a chair by the bed, my cock straining. Moira pushed Jake onto the mattress, her movements predatory, and knelt between his legs. She unzipped him, pulling out his cock—thick, veined, bigger than mine, already leaking. The sight dragged me back to our first date, her lips on me in the car, that shocking cum kiss that rewired me. Now she licked Jake’s tip, slow and deliberate, eyes flicking to me with a taunting smirk. My breath caught, the memory sharp—her red hair swaying, spit dripping, the way she made me beg.
She sucked Jake deep, lips stretching, spit trailing as she bobbed, taking him to her throat with a wet, gagging sound. Jake groaned, hands gripping her hair, guiding her as her tongue swirled, cheeks hollowing. The sloppy sounds echoed that first night, her mouth on me, controlling every moment. I stroked myself through my jeans, the parallel searing—her sucking me then, him now, her power over us both. She purred, “Like that, Jake?” her voice cutting, glancing at me, daring me to break.
But I knew her. As Jake’s hips bucked, breathing ragged, she pulled back, just like she did with me. “Not in my mouth,” she said sharply, words mirroring our first date. My cock twitched as I realized—she wasn’t letting him cum there. She wanted his load in her pussy, for me to clean up. The thought hit like a spark, anticipation burning, echoing that first cum kiss and her reminder in the car. She’d planned this, knowing I’d be tasting him in her.
Moira stood, peeling off her dress, revealing her naked body—full tits, hard nipples, curves begging to be touched. She straddled Jake, her pussy hovering over his cock, dripping with arousal. She lowered herself slowly, her breath catching as she took him in, inch by inch, adjusting to his length and girth. Her pussy stretched visibly, lips parting around his thick shaft, her body trembling slightly as she eased down, savoring the fullness. “Fuck,” she whispered, eyes half-closed, hands braced on his chest, her red hair spilling over her shoulders. She paused halfway, exhaling shakily, letting her body acclimate to his size, her slick folds gripping him tightly. Then, with a soft moan, she slid further, taking him deeper, her hips rocking gently to find her rhythm. Once adjusted, she moved deliberately, sliding up slowly, almost letting his cock slip out, the tip barely kissing her entrance, before sinking back down, taking his entire length in one smooth, deep plunge. Her moan was raw, echoing through the room, her pussy swallowing him completely, juices glistening on his shaft as she ground against him.
Her tits bounced as she rode him, slow then faster, ass slapping his thighs, her cries raw. Jake gripped her hips, tearing the dress further to suck her nipples, making her gasp, head thrown back, red hair spilling like fire. “Fuck, yes,” she moaned, grinding against him, her pussy loud with wet sounds, the rhythm intensifying as she found her pace.
I jerked off in the corner, hand slick, the memory of her first blowjob vivid—her lips, her tongue, that shocking cum kiss. Now she was riding Jake, a vision of lust, and I was hooked, jealous, aching for what came next. Jake flipped her onto her back, spreading her legs wide, her pussy glistening. He pounded into her, cock slamming deep, her screams filling the room, nails clawing his back. “Harder,” she demanded, and he fucked her like a beast, bed creaking, her tits bouncing wildly. Her pussy stretched around him, juices coating his cock, and I remembered cleaning her in the car, bed, and her parents’ sofa, knowing I’d soon taste Jake’s load.
Jake’s thrusts faltered, and Moira’s eyes locked on mine, a silent command. She was letting him cum in her pussy, for me to clean, just as I’d suspected. He came with a grunt, hips slamming into her, flooding her with cum, thick and white, spilling out around his cock, dripping down her thighs. Moira beckoned, voice low. “Come here, baby.”
I stumbled to the bed, knees weak, cock aching. She spread her legs, Jake’s cum oozing from her fucked pussy, a creamy mess mixing with her juices, pooling on the sheets. The sight echoed those moments when she straddled my face. I knelt between her legs, the musky scent of sex and cum hitting me like a drug. My tongue dove in, lapping up Jake’s bitter, salty load, tangled with her sweet musk. It was intense—shame and desire colliding, his cum heavier than mine, coating my lips, sliding down my throat. I licked her clean, tongue plunging deep, her moans desperate as she ground against me, cumming again, thighs trembling.
Moira wasn’t done. As I pulled back, panting, she slid off the bed, kneeling before me. Her eyes locked on mine, no words, just that predatory glint from our first date. She unzipped my jeans, freeing my throbbing cock, and took me into her mouth. The heat of her lips, the swirl of her tongue, mirrored that first night—slow, deliberate, sucking me deep, her hands working my balls. Jake watched, but I was lost in her, the memory of that first cum kiss flooding back, its shocking intensity. My cock twitched, pressure building fast, her mouth relentless. I groaned, cumming hard, pulsing into her mouth, and she held it, just like before, her cheeks puffing slightly, eyes never leaving mine.
Without a word, she rose, grabbed my face, and kissed me, her tongue pushing in. The taste of my cum, warm and salty, flooded my mouth, mingling with the lingering taste of Jake’s load and her pussy. It was a silent, fierce act, echoing that first date’s seismic moment—nothing I’d ever experienced before, a raw, intimate shock that bound us. Her kiss was intense, tits pressing against me, nails digging in. I groaned into her mouth, the cycle complete—her feeding me my cum, just as she’d done with Jake’s in her pussy, both acts tying back to that first night’s revelation.
Jake smirked, but I didn’t care. This was ours—my tongue reclaiming her, her feeding me my own load, binding us in a way he’d never understand. Her hands pulled my hair, voice breaking as she whispered, “You love this.” I did, the taste searing into me, the act tying back to that first night.
Cleaning her after another man became our ritual, my tongue claiming her fucked pussy. Each time, the taste varied—sometimes thick, sometimes sharp—but it was always hers, always ours.
---
Now, it’s our life. Moira’s a hotwife, and I’m her devoted husband, utterly addicted to the taste of cum—hers, mine, and every guy she brings home. It’s a need that consumes me, growing with every date, every load she carries back. Tonight, she’s with Ryan, a regular who fucks her senseless. I’m in our bedroom, naked, cock leaking as her heels click through the door. She appears, red hair tangled, dress barely holding her curves, a smug grin.
“Miss me?” she teases, climbing onto the bed, legs spread wide. Her pussy is red, swollen, dripping with Ryan’s cum, thick globs pooling on her thighs. My mouth waters, the addiction flaring, a desperate hunger for the taste that owns me.
“Always,” I growl, diving between her thighs, inhaling the musky scent of sex. My tongue plunges into her, lapping up the hot, salty mess, Ryan’s cum coating my lips. It’s thick, bitter, perfect, feeding my obsession. She moans, fingers pulling my hair, grinding against me as I suck every drop, my cock throbbing against the mattress.
As I finish, licking her clean, her thighs still trembling from her orgasm, Moira doesn’t pause. She pushes me onto my back, her eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief, and straddles me. Her pussy, still slick from Ryan’s cum and my tongue, hovers over my aching cock. She sinks onto me, her warmth enveloping me, her walls gripping tight as she starts to ride, slow and deliberate, her tits bouncing under the torn dress. The sensation is overwhelming, her pussy slick and hot, my cock pulsing with need. Her hands brace on my chest, nails digging in, red hair falling around us like a curtain. “You love this, don’t you?” she purrs, voice dripping with control, hips rolling to drive me wild.
I groan, thrusting up to meet her, the pressure building fast, my balls tightening. Her rhythm quickens, her moans mixing with mine, the bed creaking under us. Just as I feel the edge approaching, my body tensing, ready to explode, she leans down, lips brushing my ear, her voice a sultry whisper. “I’m away next week, Kev. Work trip. Won’t be able to see Ryan.” She pauses, her hips grinding harder, pushing me closer to release. “He was disappointed, so I told him your mouth’s available. You’ve tasted so much of his cum already, haven’t you?”
The words hit like a shockwave, my mind reeling as my cock throbs inside her. The image of Ryan, his cock, his cum in my mouth, crashes through me, pulling me back to that first cum kiss, the car cleaning, the taste of Jake—each moment building to this. Before I can process, my orgasm rips through me, a guttural groan escaping as I cum hard, flooding her pussy, my hips bucking uncontrollably. Moira smirks, riding me through it, her eyes triumphant. “That’s a yes, then,” she says, voice teasing but firm. “I’ll let Ryan know you agree.”
I’m panting, head spinning, the taste of Ryan’s cum still lingering on my tongue, now mixed with the high of my own release. I’m not sure if her words sent me over the edge or if I was already there, the line blurred by her power, her control. The thought of sucking Ryan, of Moira orchestrating it, is daunting, thrilling, a new boundary she’s pushing. Maybe she’s right—again—about what I want, what I need. Her ability to read me, to pull me deeper into her world, leaves me questioning, my cock still twitching inside her, my addiction to her, to this, undeniable.
“You’re mine,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss me, her lips tasting of her pussy and Ryan’s cum. I groan into her mouth, lost in her, the cycle binding us tighter. I’m her husband, her lover, her cum-hungry cleaner, and I’d beg for it every time.
