Ride Sharing

Naughty wife exchange, old and young,

My wife downloaded the ride-sharing app Social Connect Carpooling to save some money. 

I knew we needed to tighten the budget belt, so I cut back on the booze, but that was okay, as I performed better in bed. 

So what else can the missus ask you to do as you scrabble to save enough for a posh inner-city apartment deposit? 

It was — maybe a bit ambitious — for a couple — yet to hit thirty.

Currently, we are renting in the boring outer suburbs.

Okay, Katrina made the most significant sacrifice as we went from two cars to one. Then petrol prices spiked, cheap all-day city fringe parking disappeared, and the tollway rate rose again. 

We weren't public transport devotees, so the sweet wifey scrolled through ride-sharing apps while I watched The Game Friday night.

"Simon," she said, waiting till the half-time break, "The Joneses across the road are offering themselves as a carpooling, ride-sharing team on Hitch-Up."

"Geez," I said, "Interesting, you'd think they wouldn't need to, given the cars they drive and that huge house."

"Simon," she said, cutting in, "You don't know anything about their finances. Everyone, even business couples are doing it tough with high interest rates and inflation. Besides, they are polite, and we know where they live."

I had a bit of a complex about them, given we were the Smiths in real life, and they were the Joneses that I envied. They had the big house, the deck, a pool, the best view in the street, a sports car and an SUV, and well, blonde Belinda Jones was hot for a MILF. 

My Kat was great in the bedroom, on the stairs, and in the shower, but I was commandment-breaking whenever I saw my neighbour's wife despite the age gap.

You know: the covet your neighbour's wife one.

"Mmm. You're right," I replied, "At least we wouldn't have to pay a pickup fee, I suppose. So, what's the bottom line?" 

I could perv on Mrs Jones's derriere and chest heaven.

She must really overwork the home gym.

"Well, that's the great thing versus the more formalised carpooling options. You can choose your currency of payment and avoid tax and GST shite. The app suggests barter, goods, services, or whatever suits the provider and passenger."

She pecked my cheek, then added, "Look, at least they're not strangers. What harm can it do? We'll get to know them socially as neighbours."

I wanted a closer scrutiny of Belinda Jones, and Kat gave me the opportunity. 

I agreed to try the app with our neighbours.

My MILF fetish wandered to the back of my mind.

I said, "They seem to entertain a lot."

"Yes," said my Kat, "They are very outgoing."

Katarina then set up our status as social ride sharers using the app, nominated the Joneses, and waited for a reply, hopefully over the weekend.

I came in from mowing the huge backyard Saturday afternoon to see my Kat smirking, laughing, and talking on her phone. 

Very relaxed. 

I thought she was happy; she'd be fired up for kinky fun tonight.

As I approached, she said, "Yeah, great, bye."

"Well, you look smug. What's going on? I asked.

"You wouldn't believe it; I spent the last hour, I'd say, talking to Belinda. Belinda Jones across the street. The Joneses are happy to take us as social ride sharers starting Monday."

I butted in, "What's the payment?"

"Oh, that's the best bit," she smiled at me, "We girls have worked out something agreeable."

"Well?" I said, intrigued.

Women find compatible girlfriends so easily. The pair must have had something in common that they got too quickly. I wondered what it was. Finally, I decided it had to be soft, feminine, romantic, and wishy—nothing to keep a guy's attention.

She added: "It's fine, trust me." 

I did trust her.

And besides, she got up and came to me, kissed my sweaty self, dropped my pants, scampered out of her dress, and we were in the shower together.

 Boy, was it steamy? 

Man, was it intense hot sex under the streaming spray. Hard male pressing into soft feminine flesh, and the best part was when she let me take her arse as she squeezed her face into the shower glass, moaning. 

"Orrgh, that is frickin' good! Orrgh, aah, aah, aah!"

Her hands were sliding down the glass in absolute girly butthole-nailed rapture.

Saturday afternoon was an excellent bum buggery memory in the shower. 

Kat was at her kinky best Saturday night, her red open crotched knickers framing her smooth shaved pussy and her brunette mane in full sway along with her cute fulsome titties. 

God, I got it every way a guy can desire it. 

My cock in her mouth. 

My pecker squeezed between her tits. 

A fantastic bit of doggy sex where she pushed her pussy backwards and forwards off my cock. I didn't have to do a thing except enjoy it. 

Then her legs were wrapped up high around my back, allowing deep penetrative moany, groaning loud sex. 

I got a second chance at cock pummelling her butt after I recovered.

I slept frickin soundly, later than usual on a Sunday morning. 

Just before I turned over to shag Kat again, I was replaying yesterday in my dirty mind and had a boner ready to slay her arse again. 

Her Sunday morning treat. 

I got a shock. 

She wasn't there. 

Oh well, she must be getting me brunch. 

Boy, was I hungry? 

I sauntered naked with my boner to the kitchen. 

No Kat. 

I had a disappointed, no fuck moment.

I checked my phone. 

Kat was at her mum's and would be there all day. She'd catch me tonight. I coped once my wood relaxed. 

Pussy and butt forlorn, I did the male thing and arranged a round of golf with a mate.

Kat was home late. Very late.

I accepted her woman mood when I initiated male lust by touching her boobs, and she backed off, saying she didn't want sex. 

You don't ask; you know between PMT, her fuckin period coming with a rush, a headache real or imagined, her unmistakable tired look, our need to get up early tomorrow for our ride sharing or a sore pussy or butthole, that you randy prick gave her. Give her holes a break. Who knows?

Well, I'd save my ball-bursting load for Monday night. 

I could wait for a good thing. But not too long.

All I got on Monday morning was a peck on the cheek just before we crossed the road, where the Joneses were waiting in their SUV outside their garage. 

I got in the back with Kat. I was sensually overwhelmed by the sweetest perfume coming directly from Belinda Jones, seated in front of me. 

It was the underlying musk that had me aroused. 

A nuance of sexiness. 

The bitch.

Yes, I was happily married and usually got more than my fair share. 

But hell, I hankered, and here was temptation—very close.

Matt Jones swivelled a bit and offered his hand, firm and friendly.

I guesstimated he was about fifty, his missus forty-five?

Then, he reversed out of the driveway and headed down the road, and he would soon loop onto the tollway.

All I can remember is Belinda turning. Her blonde hair was immaculately in place, her frickin skin flawless and her lipstick a sexy invitation to invade her mouth. 

Her hand, slender and elegant, shook mine and lingered through my palm just a tad long, and her tongue played across her lip so gently and wet.

The bitch: she was flirting. 

No. 

Yes. 

Surely not.

I got caught talking about the Friday night game with Matt, and then the rest was random polite social chit-chat. 

Finally, we were dropped off, and they headed for their private parking space with an arrangement for a six-thirty pickup this evening.

Work is work. The day sometimes passed fast and slow, probably with more than the usual number of times a guy thinks about sex. 

Well, there was some Belinda boob in there, and the cute new office girl at the drinking fountain, wow, did she have a peachy butt. 

And even at lunchtime, I pictured Kat's legs spread for me tonight.

As we waited to be picked up, Kat pecked me on the cheek. 

We talked about work because we never did it at home. 

At least we shared that; leave it behind at six in the office.

The Joneses were punctual, and we discussed travel as we returned to the tollway. 

It was Kat and Belinda who turned the conversation towards food and beverages. 

The drinking part at least kept Matt and me involved. 

Then it was done, as women's social business usually is. We were invited to dinner with the Joneses that night. 

I just assumed Katrina wanted to snoop and pry around their charming house. 

Once Matt mentioned boutique beers, I was happy to go straight there.

Besides, I'd have the sneaky pleasure of watching Belinda put something in her mouth. 

I could imagine it was my cock. 

That's not cheating on your wife: only imagining.

Holy hell, their place was immaculate and stylish inside. Places are when they are kid-free, and the owners are deep into middle age.

Belinda opened some chilled wine, and the girls shared it while Matt and I enjoyed an excellent draught brew. 

The dude knew his beers.

The girls were twittering away in the corner on their second glass while Matt and I were seated, catching the replay of Friday's night game on their pay TV service. 

Lucky bastard.

I had a passing thought: What was for dinner? What were we eating? Belinda wasn't doing any prep work. 

Kat wasn't worried, though, by the looks of it.

Then it happened just like it does in a footy game. 

Suddenly, the action amplifies, the play is on, and you can see it unfold as poetry in motion, fluid, and skilful teamwork on display. 

Except it was our two wives. 

Matt and I had the dazed male moment. 

A sexually mature married woman was engaging a hot young woman — my wife — and both were ravenous smoochy sluts.

They pashed way sluttier than male daydreams.

There was my Kat face-fucking Belinda right in front of the big screen replay. 

Matt and I didn't care about the recap.

We had live-action. 

I doubt a frickin cup final could have held our attention against this rapid, ribald and raunchy show unfolding with speed in front of our very eyes.

God, the way two women touch each other. 

They know how to touch. Deft, slinky finger tracing on skin.

They know the heated pauses in stripping each other's garments.

And the floosie flying fling as clothes scatter.

Then, slowly, sexily, sliding — paired — to the floor.

Their hands were expertly exploring breasts, navels, stomachs, fem-fatty pads, buttocks, and pubic mounds. 

I had a boner, and so did Matt. 

I thought of joining in, but it was so hot, so passionate as they fingered each other's shaved slits; it would have been wrong to separate them.

Well, just yet.

They knew the pacing, though. 

Slut sedate seduction. 

They were apart, upstanding, gyrating naked in front of us. 

Kat in front of Matt. 

Belinda facing me. 

It was at that point I realised I was getting the unattainable.

"Orrgh yeah, yes," I went and then groaned loudly like Matty, as in tandem, like slut twins, our wives had unzipped a cock each and were sucking off their neighbour's pecker. 

It was divine.

Belinda's mouth engulfed my cock in a warm, fluid vault. Lips locked on cock. Wet and welcoming. 

Her blue eyes turned up to mine. 

She wanted me to see how she craved cock, loved cock, especially as another woman sucked off her husband.

My excitement level was through the roof because I took pleasure in seeing my Kat suck off another dick for the first time. 

I knew how good she was. 

Matty was learning fast. 

God, the guy was groaning deeply in pleasure. 

"Orrgh, orrghh!"

Well, his cock was throat-deep in my Kat's gob.

Belinda' loosened her blonde hair, and her head and flouncy tresses covered my lower body. My cock was under her locks, getting the head job of its happy life. 

Sucked and slurped. 

Sipped and siphoned. 

Stoked and stroked.

Wild gulping and manic cock guzzling, her head swaying and riding up and down off my pecker. 

"Ugh, ugh," my appreciation.

A comprehensive gob job of swallowing my dick. 

A whorish beautiful cock knob workout to the pre-cum cusp of exploding. Then halted in time—perfect Jezebel judgement on the ball-bursting limits of a male's endurance for the ideal head.

Then these two amazing slatterns were spread on the white leather settee while Matty and I got to eat in and out.

Screw dinner.

We had a pussy feast right under our tongues. 

I saw Belinda's inner secret recesses while Matty got to sample what I knew was great pussy, Kat's tight hole and sensitive clitty. 

Kat was moaning. 

"Mmm, mmm, mmm," I heard my wife.

So was Belinda just after, as my tongue found her cute swollen clit. She arched and pressed both into my tongue and up away from it, making my tongue chase her pink engorged jelly bean to heighten her pleasure. 

"Ooh, yeah, that's the spot, you bad boy! Ooh, yeah, ooh, yeah!"

Finally, I had a finger in her sopping slutty slit. 

Man, was she wet but tight. I couldn't wait to stick my dick in her, but I wanted her writhing and pleading for cock, as a proper slut should. 

It didn't take that long. She was already super wet from having sucked me off.

"Your cock, big boy, I'm ready!" she purred.

 I fingered her arse.

"Ooh, that's good," she wriggled.

Then added, " I can take two fingers. Get to work back there!"

Nearly at the same time, I heard Kat beg for cock too.

She said, " Stuff my pussy!"

They were insatiably filthy, our slut wives. 

Porn class hoes — as they got positioned on both ends of the settee with us guys under them.

The bitches were watching each other take cock, while watching their guy screw another dude's wife. 

Matty and I were delirious with male lust. 

Lech fired loins. 

Pumping like crazy into each other's woman's slit in front of the other guy. Belinda's pussy was stunningly stretchy and clenched tight. Warm and giving frictional heaven. 

I ploughed her. Fast and furious. 

Matt was no different as he debased Kat.

Fuck, it was indecent, lewd and wickedly good watching my wife get her pussy stabbed and speared while I was doing it to a dream blonde MILF.

There was a surfeit of flesh delight. 

We were a married couple complicit in each other's new pleasure experience. 

We were getting off on watching each other get off with someone different. 

I had lived with a slut wife for a few years without realising she was up for everything beyond one partner, with that partner involved.

It was my Kat who insisted Matty take her arse. 

"Jam that beef stick in my patootie," she demanded.

Her request gobsmacked me, even though I was humping the life out of Belinda's excellent wrapping mature coochie flesh, which was treating my cock like a prince. 

However, the blonde slut wife was equal to the task, she didn't hesitate in telling me to shaft her arse, and she wasn't polite.

She said: "Bugger my cinnamon chute and do it well!"

The blonde got up off me. 

I thought to position her butt like Kat over the settee arm, but she joined Kat at the other end of the sofa. 

Side-by-side arse. 

She wanted her guy to watch her arse get taken and let me see my wife get her arse ram-raided by her husband. 

Diva sluts are shameless. 

Matty and I scored — the pair.

Watching another guy gape and spit into your wife's arse is insanely lecherous and lascivious, completely hardcore. 

Another guy prises with intent in your reserved private smutty playground. 

But then you embrace the wicked success of rimming your neighbour's wife's arsehole. 

It's soft, mussy and enticing. 

Your tongue tip explores every slight indent, your tongue sensitive to her starfish's trembly response. 

Then you treat her arse like a slut's arse requires. 

Brazen, direct and scurrilous.

My fingers spread her tightness. I swear the bitch had the skill to get her muscles to wink at me. 

I finger probed her arse, hooking and crooking to stretch the sensitive skin. I spit repeatedly and generously in her rawness. 

I breach her constriction with my hard happy knob. 

God, the stretch felt great. 

Her arse was cock comforting. 

I penetrated deeper. 

A fleshy giving counterpoised by a surrounding denseness.

Absa-fuckin-amazing.

My in-depth foray seems to burst her bum open to dual pleasure. 

She was wincey moaning. 

"Raah, oof, raah, oof."

I was endlessly groaning.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh!"

 Kat, too, was guttural in her happiness at being arse filled by a mature neighbour; while I watched.

"Orrgh, orrgh, orrgh," she cried.

I viewed my cock slide in and out of Belinda's butt, and I caught Matty's entrenched assault on Kat's cute tight arsehole. 

God, my bitch wife enjoyed herself, and so did I.

Sluts accept no surrender when it comes to arse abuse. 

Because that's what it was. 

We buggered the arse given to us because it was another's slut wife's arse. 

We were reduced to primal thrusting: pure cocks riding arse, sharing the complete pleasure of dominating buttholes. 

There was only the finale of the blitz and burst in a bum remaining for all four of us. 

We two guys trashed the harlot under us as they wanted to be arse trashed. Hard and invading. Infiltrated to their limits.

Finally, we creamed them, as a trampette wife has to be creamed—gooey, greasy, and ropey.

Gloppy, gunky, goopy cum pearls oozing out with retracting pleased cocks. 

Two guys, sweat-drenched, male-buggered with the supreme effort of pleasuring a trollop wife, each other's wife.

Wow.

But Kat and Belinda were sluts par excellent, kinky beyond what we two guys could imagine or hoped. 

Still, both of us guys knew more was coming as soon as we were ready because the slut wives, our women, took turns licking clean each other's puckered, puffy buttholes right in front of us two guys. 

There were, in turn, lush, velvety tongues making arseholes shine and burst with renewed sexual radiance. 

They were sluts prepping for more.

The truth is that men love sluts. 

We want sluts. 

The jackpot is a slut wife.

Well, raise that. It's even better when we get to share two.