Vegas trip with my wife

The Vegas heat wasn’t just in the desert air; it was pulsing under my skin the moment we decided to ditch the routine. My wife, Maria, esa diosa de 40 años que todavía hace que me parque el carro solo para verla caminar, was the center of it all. I’m Jhonatan, 45, and let’s be real, after 15 years of marriage, you gotta find ways to keep the gasoline burning, pana. This trip to Vegas was our escape valve, our chance to be something more than just parents and employees for a few days.

I’d convinced her to buy some new bikinis for the trip, and man, the one she chose for the pool party at our hotel on the strip was a declaration of war on my self-control. It was tiny, a deep emerald green that made her tan skin glow. At 5 feet tall and with those curvas that God himself must have sculpted, she was a bomb. And those 36DD tetas, pana… they were practically begging to be freed from that little triangle top. You could almost see the outline of her nipples, two dark promises pressing against the wet fabric. She had a little dress over it, but I knew the firework show that was hiding underneath.

We walked into that pool party and the energy hit us like a wall. Music pumping, people laughing, the smell of chlorine and expensive perfume mixing in the air. I saw the looks, pana. I saw the way men’s eyes, young and old, tracked her as we moved through the crowd to find a spot. She pretended not to notice, but I felt the little squeeze she gave my hand, a silent confession that the attention was turning her on as much as it was turning me on. We dropped our stuff and she, with a theatrical slowness that made my mouth go dry, let the dress fall to the floor. The emerald bikini was even more devastating under the blazing sun. A few guys whistled low, and one dude, bold as hell, muttered, “Damn, lucky man,” as we passed by to get drinks at the bar. Her cheeks flushed, but she was smiling, her hips swaying just a little more.

We got our margaritas and found a spot in the water, near a group of five younger guys, all muscles and loud laughs, celebrating a birthday. They were playing catch with one of those inflatable balls, and it didn’t take a genius to see their game. They kept “accidentally” throwing the ball near us, a perfect excuse to get closer. Maria played along, laughing, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and nervous excitement. They started throwing the ball high, forcing her to jump to catch it, and every time she leaped, those magnificent tetas bounced in a way that was almost hypnotic. The guys were loving it, and honestly, so was I. Seeing my wife, this incredible MILF, being the object of so much raw desire was the biggest aphrodisiac I’d ever felt.

That’s when I got an idea, a risky, impulsive, and utterly delicious idea. “Voy al baño, mi amor,” I told her, kissing her temple, tasting the salt and sunscreen on her skin. I didn’t go far. I hid around a corner, peeking, wanting to see her in her element without me. And there she was, talking to two of the guys from the group. One was a tall, blond dude, the other had dark hair and a tattoo snaking up his arm. They were smiling, leaning in, and I saw the blond one put a hand on her bare arm, a casual, playful touch. She didn’t pull away. She laughed, throwing her head back, and the sight sent a jolt straight to my cock. This was it. This was the spark we needed.

I walked back, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Everything good?” I asked, sliding an arm around Maria’s waist. She looked up at me, her eyes a little wide, but I could feel the heat coming off her body. “Yeah, pana, these guys are cool,” the blond one, Mark, said. The dark-haired one, Chris, just nodded, his eyes fixed on Maria.

I took a deep breath, the words feeling both dangerous and inevitable. “So, listen,” I said, my voice dropping, my Venezuelan charm switching to full power. “You guys want to continue the party in our room? We got a nice view, better drinks.” Maria’s head snapped towards me, her eyes wide with pure shock. We had talked about this, in the dark, whispered fantasies after sex, but we had never, ever come close to doing it. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Mark shook his head. “Ah, man, I got this thing booked, but thanks.” But Chris, the one with the intense eyes, didn’t hesitate. “I’m down,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face.

I looked at my wife, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I pressed the room key into her damp hand. “Take him up, mi amor. Show him the way. I’ll get us some more margaritas.” I gave her a look that said, Trust me. This is for us. She held my gaze for a long second, then a slow, wicked smile touched her lips. She nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Okay,” she whispered.

I took my sweet time at the bar, letting the anticipation build for a good 20 minutes. My mind was racing with images of what could be happening in that room. When I finally walked in, the scene was better than anything I could have imagined. The music from the pool party was still playing softly from a speaker. Maria was standing in the middle of the room, still in her bikini, and Chris was sitting on the edge of the bed, his face covered in smears of her red lipstick. The tension in the air was so thick you could taste it. He had a massive hard-on tenting his swim trunks, and I felt my own cock strain against my pants. We all knew exactly where this was headed, no words needed.

“Time for a wardrobe change, cariño,” I said, my voice husky. “Show him the options.” Maria, her confidence now fully ignited, walked to her suitcase and pulled out a few pieces of lingerie. Chris pointed to a short, fire-engine red chemise dress, so short it would barely cover her ass. “That one,” he said, his voice rough.

She slipped into the bathroom and came out a minute later, and Dios mío. The red dress clung to every curve, the deep neckline showcasing the glorious swell of her breasts. She started moving to the music, a slow, sensual sway of her hips, and Chris and I moved as one, getting up to stand on either side of her. Our hands were all over her, sliding over the slick fabric, cupping her tetas, squeezing her ass. We sat back down on the bed, side by side, and as if on cue, we both pulled out our cocks, hard and aching.

Maria dropped to her knees between us, a goddess on a mission. She looked from my dick to his and back, a hungry smile on her face. Then she went to work. She took me into her mouth first, her warm, wet tongue swirling around the head, making me groan. Then she switched to Chris, taking him deep, gagging slightly before finding a rhythm. She was a fucking artist, pana, switching between us, one hand stroking me while her mouth devoured him, then swapping. The sounds were obscene and beautiful: wet sucking, our low groans, her soft moans. Saliva glistened on our shafts, and the room smelled of sex, tequila, and her perfume.

And then, a knock at the door. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Maria pulled away, a string of spit connecting her lips to Chris’s cock. She looked at me, and I saw the wild excitement in her eyes. “It’s Mark,” Chris said, grinning. “I texted him the room number.”

I went to the door and opened it. Mark stood there, looking a little unsure until he saw the scene inside: Maria on her knees, both of us with our dicks out. Any hesitation vanished from his face. The moment he stepped in, Maria was on him. She pulled his shorts down, pushed him onto the bed next to Chris, and bent over, taking his cock into her mouth without a second’s pause.

That’s when we all went completely nuts, pana. It was a blur of tangled limbs, sweaty skin, and raw, unfiltered lust. We were like animals, taking turns with all her holes. Sometimes it was two of us in her mouth, her head bobbing frantically between our thrusting cocks. Other times, we had her on her hands and knees, one guy fucking her tight, wet pussy from behind while another fed her his dick. I remember looking down at one point, seeing my cock and Chris’s sliding into her cuca at the same time, stretching her, her moans turning into guttural screams of pleasure. The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, of her choked cries, of our grunts and curses in English and Spanish. “Dame más, pana!” I growled, pounding into her from behind while she sucked off Mark. We made a fucking mess of that room, with cum and sweat and the smell of sex everywhere, but it was the most alive I’d felt in years. It was worth every single risk.