Hotwife Triathlon

I saw her at the past two competitions. They were just 'sprint' duathlons, where you run two miles, bike ten, and then run two more. I'm in reasonably good shape, but not outstanding, so I've never won a race, but neither have I lost; I place in the top 3 of my age group, though that doesn't count for much because at 23 I'm one of the youngest male competitors.

But her... Oh, man, she was in great shape. I'd estimate her in her late 20's or early 30's, not short but not tall, perhaps 5'6", with a lean body yet with wonderful curves. I always finished the first run portion a few minutes ahead of her, but she would pass me on the bike. My goal was simply to catch her on the last leg of the second run, and finish near her. I have no shame at getting bested by a woman, and in fact, I admire an aggressive woman, but with her, there was some unique competitiveness.

The latest race was the first triathlon of the season, starting with a ½ mile swim, 12-mile bike, and then 3-mile run. I have always performed poorly at swimming; I have no lack of endurance, but I just feel out-of-place in the water, not able to relax and glide. I knew she would be there because we spoke briefly after the last race. She won first in her age/gender group while I took second in mine. She came up and laughed with me about the sprint at the end where she had almost finished before me until the last 100 feet where I gave it all I had and crossed a split-second before her. But this race, she'd have the edge. I had a feeling she was a much better swimmer than I; hell, everyone was. Out of the 300 participants, I'd be lucky to beat 20 out of the water. I knew I could take her on the run, so I figured the only chance I had was to improve my biking.

The shot rang through the mid-morning air, and the masses surged to the water's edge, churning it to a chilly 60-degree froth. I waited about 30 seconds until the 'real' racers were already paddling out toward the far buoy, remembering my first race where I was kicked and bludgeoned by the stronger swimmers as they passed me. I waded out until the water was chest deep, and then dove forward, concentrating on my breathing, legs, and arm strokes. In short order, I rounded the first orange float, turned to the right, headed for the second. Images of her in her skin-tight wetsuit, perfectly outlined, showing off her perfectly rounded ass and her tempting breasts (hard to judge in a wetsuit, but estimated to be about 34 B or C). I kept her image in my mind, trying to mimic what I imagined her smooth strokes would be, and soon found myself at the second buoy. I wasn't even winded. As I turned to finish the final stretch of the swim to the shore, I knew I had a fighting chance. I climbed the sandy bank, looking back briefly as I unzipped the back of my own suit, noting that I beat about 75 people; a new personal record.

I dropped my water-soaked suit on the grass by my bike, threw on my shoes, sunglasses, and silken jersey, finishing with my racing gloves and helmet. I jogged the bike to the 'chute,' stepped on and began peddling, relaxing and 'opening up,' trying to focus on a steady rhythm to keep pace with her, or possibly even gain. I had no idea she already had an 8 minute lead on me. I ride a 24-speed Fuji; a decent racing bike, but by no means top of the line. Even for a 'big guy,' with the seemingly most non-aerodynamic body in the world (broad-shoulders, slim waist, stocky legs), I've always had a knack for the bike. I was passing the others by ones and twos, steadily moving my way up the places, shifting gears up and down to maximize efficiency. Turning left about one mile from the turn-around, I saw her drawing near me. Just before we passed each other, she tilted her head toward me and blew a kiss, so quick and remarkable, the moment passed almost before I realized what she had done. I was about 2 miles behind her; at my current pace, that would mean I'm still trailing by about 6 minutes. I locked my gaze on the road about 50 feet in front of me, leaning forward, staring between my Aero-bars. The road was hypnotic, and soon I was in a quasi-trance, only conscious enough to make the necessary adjustments with the gears and steering; I was shocked to realize I was nearing the last turn before the chute, less than ½ mile from the finish. My focus was again broken as I saw her bounding up the hill, following the running course towards me but staying to the far side. I was in awe at the sight; the muscle of her legs rippling with each step, her breasts plainly clad in a sports bra, but still managing to bounce ever so slightly, her smooth skin glossed over with a sheen of sweat, long dark curly hair pulled back in a pony-tail. It was as if Michelangelo had been resurrected to create another work of art, perfectly sculpted in flesh and blood. And as she passed by, she tilted her head, smiled, and said in a voice barely audible, "You better hurry or I'll win!" I needed no more encouragement.

I coasted into the chute, dismounting even before I stopped, and trotted my bike back to its rack, hooked the handlebars, dropped the helmet and sunglasses into the cradle of the Aero-bars, turned, and started running. I immediately unzipped my jersey to just below my sternum, and settled back into my trance, focusing on breathing, arm-swing, foot placement; two steps for every inhale and two for every exhale. My mind only allowing enough thought to realize she was probably still about 3 to 4 minutes ahead of me; my steps quickened of their own accord. "C' mon!" she hollered, as she came out of the run portion turn-around, heading back to the start, just as I was entering the same turn. I finally caught her at the same point where we crossed previously when I was finishing the bike. Looking at the last football field's distance of the competition, she asked between breaths, "Do you... wanna... race?" I took a deep breath so that my response would be smooth and seem more confident than I felt, "What do I get if I win?" As we started into the chute (the final 100 feet), she began to sprint, turning her head over her shoulder and yelling, "ME!" She already had a 6- or 7-foot lead, but nothing in this or any other world was going to stop me from winning. I was not aware that the triathlon's sponsor cried out, "Ladies and Gentlemen, it looks like we actually have a race here!!!" The only sense that remained of my five was sight; the image of her, from her head, down her shoulders, across her lovely sloped spandex-clad ass, down to her thighs, calves, and shoes, consumed me. My legs pumped like the pistons in my project '68 Mustang, giving every last drop of energy I had to that final stretch of a foot-race.

We crossed the line, jogging the distance of the bike staging-area, slowly coming to a walk. I was breathing so hard that I began to feel dizzy and faint, clasping my hands over my head, continued walking in a large circle, concentrating on controlling my erratic breathing. I looked to my left and saw that she was beside me, hands on her hips, panting. After the burning in my lungs started to ebb, I turned to her and asked, "So... Did I win?" Facing me, still taking measured deep breaths herself, she placed her hands on my waist, stood up on her toes, and kissed me, briefly letting her tongue flirt across my lips before slipping it into my mouth, and slowly withdrawing it.

"Follow me home after the awards if you'd like to claim your prize," she whispered. "Um... I hate to sound like a prude," I replied, "but you're the first girl I've ever kissed before I even knew her name." She answered: "Amelia...Or Amy if we're friends." My reply was quick, "Well, Amy, it's a pleasure to meet you finally. I'm Fletcher... Or, since we're friends, Fletch."

With that, she turned and walked to collect her bike, wetsuit, and other gear. I went through a quick series of stretches, gathered my own gear, and ferried it to the bed of my truck ('94 F-150; back when the trucks were 'tough'!). Relaxing in the warmth of the sun, I continued stretching, drinking absurd quantities of Gatorade, waiting for the ceremony. It came and went, bringing me my very first age/gender group first-place award for a triathlon (I finished about 40th overall), while she again took first for hers. As she received her trophy, she winked at me and then walked toward the back of the crowd. I followed.

The drive was brief, and I found that she lived only about 1 mile from my place, in a suburb of Tacoma. She turned her Jeep into the drive, and I parked along the side of the road. It was a beautiful, yet modest, two-story house, painted off-white with a very light-blue trim and with neatly trimmed hedges. I wrapped my wetsuit with a towel and tossed it, along with the other loose gear, into the cab of my truck. I called out to Amy and asked her what to do with the bike, which she said I could stand in her garage. I wheeled the bike into the garage and followed her through a side-door into the house. Trying to walk the narrow line of witty/erotic /playful, I commented, "I see you keep your bush trimmed." She kept walking, led me to the kitchen, opened the fridge and handed me a long-neck Bud, and said, "No," pausing for effect, "I shave." I chuckled and said: "Well, Amy, I traditionally follow a race with a few bottles of water... Is this how you usually conclude a competition?" She gave me a long look. "No," she said, "I like to have sex."

Keeping her eyes on mine, she downed half of the contents of the bottle, tilted it back, and set it on the countertop. I was always used to a more dainty, innuendo type talk, and was stunned by her bluntness as I slowly let the suds trickle down my throat. With nothing short of pure lust in her eyes, she stepped forward, placed her left arm around my back and her right hand behind my neck, stepped up to her toes while pulling her lips up to my neck, and she kissed me, slowly dragging her tongue against the right side of my neck. She tilted her head to the right, and began to lick across the front of my neck to the left side, and up to my ear, nibbling gently on the earlobe. Whispering, she sighed, "Mmmmm... Salty." I set my beer on the counter, and turned her face to mine, kissing her fully on the lips. She softly cooed as I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her still sticky-sweaty body to mine.

And then I heard the front door open. The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. "Who's that?" I asked. "Mike," she chirped. "Mike?!" I asked. She repeated, "Yes, Mike." I opened my eyes, loosening my grasp of her, looking down into her face. "Who exactly is Mike?"

"I'm Mike," came a deep, yet gentle voice from the other side of the kitchen. "I'm Mike," he said again, extending his hand, "Amy's husband. And you must be Fletcher." He was pretty much average, in every sense of the word. Not too tall and not too short, though maybe an inch or two taller than my 5'8". He had a solid build, though not as broad-shouldered as me. His hair was a sandy brown compared to my freshly shorn scalp. He had no facial hair with very trim sideburns extending less than ½ down his ear, while my face sported a thick dark brown and blond mustache. He wasn't fat, but clearly in his mid-30's, he wasn't exactly thin. He was handsome, in a conservative, upstanding-citizen way, though nothing quite remarkable. With a very puzzled look on my face, I took his hand and said, "Please, call me Fletch. You walked in on me kissing your wife, I don't think formal names are terribly appropriate." With a chuckle, he said: "Okay, then Fletch it is. It's great to finally meet the guy Amy's been talking about. Hey hun," his attention shifted to Amy, "can you pass me a beer?" She complied, and began nursing her own again, smiling smugly.

"Wait a minute," I stammered, "What's going on here? I've never intentionally hit on a guy's wife or even a girlfriend, and I've never kissed another guy's wife before..."

"Ah," Mike smiled, looking at me with a hint of envy, "A swinger-virgin." Motioning to Amy, "But look at her! Can you tell me you're not interested in the prospect?" I looked back at Amy, as she unabashedly stripped off her shirt, leaving her clothed only in her white sports bra, black spandex shorts, and shoes. My nervousness only added to the excitement, which I was already feeling plenty strong as my eyes devoured her beautiful body. "Yeah, I'm definitely interested, but what will you be doing?" Mike answered: "I'll just watch, for now... Depending on how you feel, I might join in. But, Amy's been thinking about you for quite a while, and while she was sucking me off, she'd pretend it was you. She wanted to see what you taste like for real." Amy chimed in: "He's yummy!"

"Fletch, I'm sorry if you're uncomfortable," Mike began again, "and maybe we should've asked you in a little different way... But, Amy was pretty sure it would work, and she'd really like to play with you a bit. We don't want to pressure you or anything, but just want you to know that we're both totally okay if you'd like to mess around a bit." I had thought about such situations before; I don't think any guy hasn't. I figured that as long as the husband knew what was going on, and was supportive of it... Well... It didn't take me long to decide. My grin gave Amy and Mike my consent, and Amy smoothly moved back to me, draining the last of her beer and handing the bottle to Mike. Her eyes were on mine, though she said to Mike, "Here, take this... And give me some time alone." He took her bottle, carrying his, and left the kitchen.

"Now, where were we?" Amy asked, as she first kissed my chin, and then my lips. Between kisses, I asked, "Are you sure you're okay with this?" She mumbled an um-hum as she continued kissing me, her hands pulling my jersey, up and over my head and off my body. She stepped back to examine my torso with her eyes. I don't exactly have a hairy chest, but there is a significant amount of curled hair across my chest and down the center of my stomach. Dropping the shirt to the floor to join her's, she stepped back to me, turning me and pushing me backward so that I walked out of the kitchen.

As we arrived in the living room, she kicked off her shoes and socks, flicking each to the side of the room near the front door. She guided me around, still pushing me backwards until I was in front of a plush blue-gray couch. I worked my shoes and socks off and pushed them to the edge of the sofa as her hands glided down my sides and caught the edge of my shorts as well as my briefs, pulling both down to my feet. As she was already crouched, she began kissing up my legs, holding the backs of my legs in each hand, kissing the front and inner sides, working her way up in a deliciously slow manner. "Mmm... you're so yummy!" she said as she punctuated each kiss with a brief flick of her tongue. As her lips neared where my legs join, she took great care in not providing too much direct stimulation, kissing up and around my cock, pausing only long enough to lick my dangling sac. She continued to rise, trailing kisses up my stomach and my sides, french-kissing my navel as she rose. Her right hand cupped my balls and slid to the base of my shaft, but she didn't wrap her fingers around me; she just held her hand there. She took each of my nipples in her mouth, sucking vigorously while swirling her tongue around the tip. By the time she reached my collar-bone, I was terribly aroused. She extended her tongue and traced the tip of it up the center of my neck, flicking it off my chin. She closed her eyes and smiled, giggling softly, as she finally wrapped her fingers around my shaft and began to pull at it slightly. Content that I was adequately prepared, she stepped back to observe the effects of her work.

I'll be honest; my cock is nothing to write home about. On a good day, it's just shy of 7 inches long and 2 inches wide. The dimensions of my uncircumcised member have never been the most critical aspect of my sexual encounters; I have been cursed with amazing stamina. My *hope* was to find someday a sexual vixen that was willing and eager enough to keep up. And little did I know that I finally found one in Amy.

Her gaze swept up and down my naked body, as she shimmied her spandex down her legs and then pulled her bra over her head. Not very romantic, but then again, she wasn't interested in romance at the moment. "Come here," she commanded, and instinctively, I went to her. The carpeting in the front room was thick and soft, almost like cool moss under our feet. "I want to taste your cock," she said, as she nuzzled and licked at my chest again. "Only on one condition," I replied. "Which is?" she asked. "I get to return the favor," I said. I love a great pussy. The taste, the scent; few things in this world are more erotic than going down on a beautiful woman.

Pulling at my shoulders, she laid down, pulling me on top of her, and we continued to kiss, allowing our hands to explore each other's bodies. We rolled so that we were both on our sides. I kissed down her neck to her breasts, kneading her right breast while my mouth worked on her left and my hand snaked down between her legs. She began to moan, her own hand pulling at my cock in time with my fingers caressing her lovely pussy lips. With a sudden growl, Amy pushed me to my back, breaking my contact with her beautiful body, and she began to kiss me, rolling her body on top of mine, rubbing her pussy against my stomach and pelvis as she kissed back down my body. I grabbed her right thigh with my left hand and tried to pull her to the side. She got the message and began rotating her body as she kissed down mine. By the time she had kissed down to my cock, she had crossed her right leg over my head, straddling my face. She leaned down and started to take me in her mouth, holding the shaft with her right hand while her left massaged the inside of my thighs and fondled my balls.

I pulled her pussy to me, extending my tongue to taste her. She was clean before the race, and the exertion left her body covered with a clean, purifying sweat. There was no unpleasant odor or taste, but rather a powerful and erotic sense of WOMAN! I played a sort of game with our oral affections; I tried to match her actions. The more vigorously she attended my cock, the more vigorously I devoured her pussy. She would trace her tongue around my head; I would trace the tip of my tongue around her slit. She would slowly stroke my cock with her hand; I would slowly take broad licks across her pussy from front to back. She would take my cock in her mouth; I would plunge my tongue into her dripping hole. It didn't take her too long to realize how I was determining my actions, and soon, she was directing how I ate her pussy by how she gobbled my cock.

I was so absorbed in what I was doing, as well as what was being done to me, that I didn't even notice Mike in the room until he appeared by Amy's side. He knelt down beside her, pulling her hair off to the side so that he could watch my cock go in and out of his beautiful wife's mouth. She mumbled a hello to him from around my cock. Lifting her head back, she turned her head to look at Mike, still stroking my cock with her petite hands. "Kiss me, baby," she panted at him.

As he did, she began pushing herself back against me, while increasing the grip and speed she was working on my prick, at first slowly grinding herself against me and sliding her hand up and down, gradually increasing until her hips were bucking and her hand was a blur. She continued kissing Mike as her moans turned into a squeal, and her hips took up a frantic pace. She broke the kiss and returned her mouth to my cock, still moaning, begging me to cum for her and to make her cum. I just focused on my attempts to lick all of her pussy, inside and out, collecting up every last drop of her juice as her body continued to writhe against me. She began to loudly tell me, Mike, and the rest of the living world that she was cumming.

After her spasms subsided, she took a few last long licks and strokes of my cock before climbing off and turning to face me. She kept her hand on my cock as she looked at my face, glistening with her juices, her success at pleasuring me clearly evident by the smile on my face. "Did you cum?" she asked. "Not yet, but I will if you want me to," I replied. Her reply came quick and music to my ears: "I want you to cum for me, Fletch. I want you to cum in my pussy."

I have nothing against people and how they choose to swing, but I've always been very adamant about protection. "I'd love to have my cock in your pussy, Amy, but only if we play safe." Mike, being the ever-attentive husband, quickly got up and soon returned with a handful of condoms. Opening one, he handed it to her, which she swiftly rolled down my length. Facing me, she climbed on top, leaning her face down to mine, she kissed me, tasting herself on my lips and tongue. She reached behind her and grabbed my cock, rubbing my tip up and down her slit, paying particular attention to her clit. Kissing across my cheek down to my ear, still rubbing my dick against her opening, she whispered to me, "My pussy will make you cum."

With that, she kissed me on the lips again and sat backward. I can't say how long she rode me. And I've always had trouble believing those stories about how a girl's pussy could 'milk' a guy's cock. But, I can say that her pussy felt great; I literally felt her contracting against me, as though it were a hand squeezing me. Although I still felt the intense pleasure of a few orgasms (and I could tell by her flushed chest, pussy spasms, and, big hint, the deep-throated growling moans, that Amy had several of her own) I never came. After several position swaps, her trying to get me to cum, I was on my back again with her riding me once more.

I looked around the room and finally saw Mike, sitting back in a comfortable chair, buck-assed naked, stroking himself to the hedonistic sight before him. His Johnson was maybe an inch longer, but a little thinner than mine. "You want some of this action?" I asked him. "You wouldn't mind?" he asked. "Naw, not at all. She's your wife!" I replied. Mike needed no more encouragement as he walked over and stood near me, close enough for Amy to lean her head over and take his cock into her mouth. The sight of seeing her suck her husband's prick was such a turn-on, seeing it so up close, that I knew I was about to be pushed over the edge finally. I placed my hands on her hips and started pulling her down onto me as I bucked my pelvis up. She began cumming immediately, and her moans, spasms, and me still watching her suck off her husband was too much. I pulled her down and tried to hold her still so that I could relax and enjoy the sensations. She tried to lift off a few times, but finally settled down, and just began a slow rocking of her hips forward and back, seemingly squeezing my cum from my cock.

I asked Amy to stay there so that I could finish watching her give head to Mike. She smiled and happily obliged. Mike's erection had a much more 'normal' life-span, and soon he succumbed to the ministrations of his wife, spraying a full load of cum down her throat. As Mike had his orgasm, Amy tilted her head and saw me watching her. She smiled at me as his cum spurted into her mouth. I've got nothing against a woman who chooses not to swallow, but she really seemed to enjoy it, and she swallowed every drop, squeezing his cock and sucking on it, trying to get any remnants.

After he was done, Mike returned to his chair. Amy looked down at me, still smiling, and mouthed a thank-you to me. I took her hands in my own, pulled her chest down against mine, and held her against me. She realized that I had retained my erection, and began to slowly shift back and forth, not really fucking me, but just savoring the afterglow of her second workout of the day. We were kissing each other's necks and cheeks when our lips met. Though I consider myself quite straight, the kiss just seemed natural, even though Mike recently came in her mouth. I didn't really taste any residue, so it didn't really bother me at all. It's just that kissing after a great round of sex felt right.

I stuck around long enough to take a shower and chit-chat with the two of them a bit. We never made plans to meet up again, but we all decided that if things ever worked out that way, that we felt comfortable enough to try it again, and maybe go a little further. I never got to take them up on it because I came down on orders for deployment. But, I'm eagerly awaiting my return to the states. And, contrary to popular belief, it just goes to show you: as long as there are swingers, there will always be a need for single males.

Note: I know some of you think I'm just trying to impress people by talking about stamina. I know this may seem rather absurd, but please believe me; this is more of a curse than a benefit. It takes me forever to cum, and even when I do, I don't go soft. Unless you've experienced it, you cannot imagine how frustrating it is to have literally hours of sex and not have the satisfaction of cumming. Imagine my various ex's, and how they felt, knowing that they gave me a great session of marathon-sex, but were unable to get me to ejaculate. I orgasm plenty, and I came my fair share of times, but with every lover I've had, there have been more than a handful of instances where I never came at all.