All Names She Loves Being Called Once The Bedroom Door Closes. 🔥❤️

Session - 5… @me

Jaipur couple reblog to let us know that you are from jaipur….

Ready to hit the bed with a new friend..... he loved her very hard z d that's what got us more intrested in him

Why Do I Want to Be Cuckolded?

Why a man would want his wife to sleep with another man.

Because I am proud of her and want others to validate that

Because I enjoy knowing that other men find my wife attractive

Because she has interest in improving her body and appearance as she dresses for other men, feeling sexy and desired

Because I want to bring out the sexy and confident woman in hiding

Because it’s all about her pleasure

Because I enjoy viewing her as the free independent spirit that she truly is

Because I like not having to be in charge all the time, to give up control, to be in a sense dominated and still be loved and accepted by the one that we love the most. All without the guilt or judgment that would normally come with it.

Because it brings out her naughty side

Because I want her to experience as much variety and pleasure as possible 

Because she has a much higher sex drive than I do and it fills her sexual needs

Because I want my wife to have the most fun and the most powerful orgasms she can have

Because I get off watching her kiss another man

Because I want to see a larger cock in her

Because watching the love of my life being passionately fucked by another man is the most beautiful and erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

The way her whole being responds to his touch and thrusts, the look of complete surrender in her eyes is the most gorgeous thing I have ever witnessed.

She comes back a new woman; I must fuck her again to call her mine and reclaim her

Because it makes the sex better between the two of us

I am not sure why

As you can see, there are a myriad of reasons why someone would want their wife to sleep with another man. 

I decree

Obedient cucks get to watch!

We are proceeding to Goa for a few days.... would love to hear from friends there who are into sharing and group fun activities.... will love to dance at the clubs there with like minded friends..... couples or singles both. Looking for a fun filled and a wet holiday there.

Let us know who can assist her for our lovely holiday...

Wow

EPISODE 01: THE NIGHTLIFE

The girl in Indigo’s arms was in a somnolent daze.

“Drink,” Hasdrubal said.

Indigo hesitated, but the girl was so warm: flush with arousal, her bare neck turned in explicit invitation. Every taunting heartbeat eroded Indigo’s resolve. Hasdrubal repeated his command, and this time Indigo obeyed.

* * * * *

Many nights earlier...

“I’m going out,” Ink shouted through the bathroom door, lipstick in hand. She’d picked up the nickname “Ink” in high school. Her real name was Indigo, picked by her mother in honor of the Indigo Girls. Ink had mixed feelings about both: the band and the name. “Coming with?”

Her roommate didn’t answer. Instead, Felicity squeezed into the cramped bathroom with Ink. Like the rest of their apartment, the single bathroom was tiny. Even with both of them pitching in, student loans only went so far, especially so close to campus. It was a little past eight at night, but Felicity’s hair was sleep tousled. She ran a hand through the tangled mess, yawning shamelessly, and said, “We’re like night and day,” nodding to the girls in the mirror.

“More like before and after,” Ink said, and Felicity chuckled once in agreement. Friends since high school, they could pass for sisters. Ink was a little taller, but both had black hair, worn long, and both had light eyes: Ink’s blue to Felicity’s hazel. At that moment, however, the puffy-eyed girl in Mickey Mouse pajamas looked like the morning after version of her vamped-up counterpart in her slinky black dress. “So, want to come?”

Felicity shook her head. “Can’t. Research paper. The suburbanization of mental health in urban environments.”

“I knew a girl once who said she was going to party every night when we got to the city,” Ink said. “Any idea what happened to her?”

Felicity snorted. “She died when her adviser started saying stuff like ‘academic probation.’ Now, quit hogging the bathroom.”

Before Ink could muster a protest, Felicity ushered her out into the hallway and closed the door, though before Ink got to the front door, Felicity poked her head out to call after her. “No bringing anyone home, okay? I really need to focus.”

Ink made no promises.

The Abyss was only five blocks from their apartment, three if she cut across the park, which she usually did. The nightclub had been a Catholic church in a previous life, but aside from the architecture and stained-glass windows, the trappings of faith had been abandoned in favor of a new pantheon of leather, latex, and chrome. Strobe lights and fog machines transformed the nave into a dancefloor populated by flash-frozen silhouettes.

The dancefloor was Ink’s destination, had been every weekend since she and Felicity discovered the place a few days into their first semester. Felicity made a game of mocking the place with silly names like “The Crow Club” or “New Goth City,” but for Ink, the The Abyss had a gravity unto itself, drawing her back again and again.

For the first eighteen years of her life, Ink lived with her mother in a small town that didn’t have much use for a girl hooked on Siouxsie Sioux, Robert Smith, Nick Cave, or the other pale ghosts she’d discovered in her mother’s CD collection. Ink had done her time: gotten good grades, gone to church, worn denim and flannel. That was over now. She and Felicity had escaped. College had gotten them to the city, but everything else the ghosts on those old CDs promised, Ink found in The Abyss.

The doormen never checked her ID anymore.

Moving lights and strobes illuminated the edges, leaving the heart of the dancefloor in relative darkness. The deeper Ink went, the less she could see, and tighter the press of bodies became. Ink didn’t care who she touched or who touched her, so long as there was contact and a rhythm. Anonymity was part of the allure: eighteen years of pretending stripped away beat by beat, until there was only the right there, right then, and she was just one more silhouette in the congregation of The Abyss.

Hands settled on her hips, drawing her back against someone, and Ink leaned into the other dancer, feeling their contours. His contours. A solid chest, agile hips that knew how to move. When she felt him harden, she focused on that, grinding as his hand began to wander, exploring the flat of her stomach. Her hands, weaving intricate patterns overhead, slipped backwards to run fingers through his hair. It was long, and she liked that. When his hands grazed her breasts, Ink rewarded his boldness by raking his scalp with her fingernails.

For the duration of a song, Ink and her unseen partner moved together in time with the music, each swaying motion charged with the tension between desire, daring, and the unknown. She and her stranger were both snake and the snake charmer, exchanging roles motion by motion, but then the song transitioned, and Ink pulled away. Maybe they’d find each other in the dark again, but the night was young, too early for entanglements, and Ink just wanted to dance.

She didn’t get far. Her abandoned partner grabbed her by the arm, pulling her around to face him. “You’re hurting me,” she shouted over the music as she tried in vain to wrench her arm free.

The stranger flashed her a Cheshire smile, the rest of his features flickering in and out with the flash of strobe lights. Dark hair, like hers. Eyes lost in the dark, just shadowy pools. “Who do you think you are?” he asked, his voice inexplicably clear despite the pounding bass.

“Let me go,” Ink demanded.

He didn’t. “You don’t just walk away from me.”

The stranger drew close, as if to kiss her, and Ink kneed him in the crotch as hard as she could. A jolt of pain shot up through her leg. It felt like she’d slammed her kneecap into a brick wall. The stranger didn’t go down, but he did let go, staggering a few steps back, getting tangled up in other dancers. Ink wasted no time, adrenaline drowning out the flaring protest from her knee. Over her shoulder, she could see the man searching for her. Their eyes met, and his cruel, Cheshire smile returned. He was enjoying this. For a moment, Ink stood frozen, transfixed amid a shifting tide of dancers oblivious to her peril; then the crowd closed between them, the spell was broken, and Ink ran.

The ladies’ room was uncharacteristically quiet when Ink ducked into it. Several stalls were closed, but the typically crowded sinks and mirrors were unattended. Ink leaned against a counter and examined her knee. A knot of discoloration was already forming there. It would be a nasty bruise by morning. This asshole wasn’t the first guy to get pushy on the dance floor, but something about him, about his smile, about the way he seemed to enjoy stalking her, he made her skin crawl. Why hadn’t he gone down? What the hell had she hit if not what she was aiming for? A woman’s throaty moan interrupted her train of thought.

“F...fuu...ck,” the unseen voice panted from within a closed stall. The stall door bucked, as someone pushed against it. Ink stifled an incredulous laugh and glanced towards the exit. She wasn’t about to go back out there. Not yet, anyway. She’d give it another ten or fifteen minutes in the hope that the creep would lose interest. Then she’d make a break for the front doors. “Oh, god... Oh, god, oh!” the moans continued. Beneath the stall door, Ink could see a pair of women’s legs, both sheathed in sheer nylon. She wasn’t into girls, that was Felicity’s thing, but the sounds coming from behind that door were making her pulse quicken. “Fuck... fuck.. fu.... I’m... cu,” the voice trailed off into the unintelligible language of climax.

A moment later, the door opened. Ink turned to face the mirrors, pretending to wash her hands as the pair of women emerged. Curious, she glanced up at their reflections as they passed. The first she recognized as one of the club’s shot girls. Brittany? Bethany, maybe? Ink couldn’t remember her name, but judging by the girl’s flush breathlessness, Ink pegged her as the voice.

The other woman was stunning. She wore a short, silver dress with a deeply plunging neckline. Straight blonde, shoulder-length hair framed pouty lips and powder pale, blue eyes... eyes that met Ink’s in the mirror. Blushing, Ink returned her gaze to the sink.

Seemingly oblivious, the shot girl stumbled her way back out into the club, the music briefly blaring as the bathroom door opened and then swung itself closed. The blonde in the silver dress took a place beside Ink at the counter. “Lovely weather we’re having. Wouldn’t you say?” she asked, casually, as she rinsed her hands.

Ink barked a laugh. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m Lavinia,” the woman said, reaching out and running a single finger down Ink’s arm. The touch drew Ink’s gaze back toward the reflection of those pale eyes. “I’ve seen you on the dance floor.” Lavinia’s finger glided back up Ink’s arm before drifting from Ink’s shoulder to crook beneath her chin. The woman’s eyes, her electric touch, her honeyed voice, even the perfection of her porcelain complexion, it was all... captivating. Ink’s pulse was racing. “Would you like to come dance with me?”

“What about that other girl?”

“The shot girl?” Lavinia asked, bemused. “I don’t even know her name. What’s yours?”

“Ink.”

“Ink,” Lavinia repeated, as if trying the word on for size. “That’s unusual. I like it. Come,” she said, taking Ink’s hand and turning for the door. The man with the Cheshire smile, the ache in her knee, the shot girl: these things were forgotten. There was only Lavinia. As the woman walked ahead of her, Ink marveled at her exposed back, the curve of her shoulder blades, the way her golden hair hung against them, her flawless skin. As if sensing her gaze, Lavinia glanced back over her shoulder, smiling knowingly.

Ink hardly noticed the bustle and noise of the crowd. Lavinia snaked seamlessly through the shifting tide of people, Ink clinging to her hand like a lifeline. They passed beneath the ring of flashing lights and plunged into the darkness together. There, in the midst of other twisting shadows, Ink’s guide turned on her.

Lavinia moved like quicksilver. She was fluid heat. Ink considered herself a good dancer, but Lavinia danced like a hungry succubus. Now and then, other dancers encroached, attempting to join or separate them. Each was denied. The driving music transitioned into a grinding drone and Lavinia entwined herself with ink, her thigh pressing between Ink’s. Ink’s nails raked down Lavinia’s naked back as her partner moved against her, teasing her with pressure and glancing touches. In the heat of the exchange, Lavinia took a fistful of Ink’s hair and pulled back, tipping Ink’s head upwards, exposing her neck. Her other hand snaked down between their bodies, finding its way under the hem of Ink’s skirt. Deft fingers caressed her as Lavinia pressed her mouth to Ink’s neck.

Ink’s moan of pleasure was lost amid the music. Ecstasy like nothing Ink had ever known drowned out everything else: the music, the people. Everything. Orgasmic heat spread like a flash fire across Ink’s skin. The pleasure seemed to go on and on. Ink was left dizzy and gasping, her head sinking to Lavinia’s shoulder. For a few moments, Lavinia danced slowly with Ink, gently caressing her hair and back until Ink’s knees began to buckle. As if anticipating this, Lavinia led her off of the dance floor and into a corner booth.

“Are you alright?” Lavinia asked as she settled Ink onto seat.

The concern in her voice drew Ink back from the recesses of her dizzy afterglow. “Yeah,” Ink said, smiling like a drunkard. It was half true. She was still breathless, but a strange sense of sweeping lethargy had swept over her. Her head was spinning.

“Wait here,” Lavinia said, “I’m going to get you a bottle of water. Okay?”

Ink nodded, sinking back into the cushioned seat, only half watching as Lavinia disappeared into the crowd. Ink was dripping with sweat and her hands were trembling. Slowly, her mind began to reconstruct in reverse the sequence of events that had led her here. The climax, the dance, the shot girl... Fingers dug painfully into the flesh of her arm. Startled but sluggish, Ink looked up into dark, malicious eyes and a Cheshire smile...

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Thats some sleep after a Good mfm session....