My kind of Turkish Delight (fm:slut wife, 5194 words)

Last month my husband and I visited Istanbul.    It was a business trip
for him and he was away most mornings at meetings.  I didn't mind
having the morning to myself as it meant I could have a lie in and a
slow, leisurely breakfast.

In the afternoons we would take in some of the sights of Istanbul.  One
day we went to the covered market  - a huge, sprawling site with
hundreds of shops and stalls.  We were vaguely interested in getting a
Turkish rug; if nothing else it was a great opportunity to chat and
barter with the shop owners.

My husband spotted an interesting looking carpet shop, so we wandered
inside.  It was run by two men, obviously brothers, and the older
looking one, a tall, handsome man probably in his late twenties
welcomed us to his shop in quite good English.  I noticed that he gave
me a keen look all over and his cool appraisal and faint knowing smile
made me wonder whether my thin summer dress didn't do enough to hide
the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra.  Anyway I had him down as
slightly vain and a bit arrogant, though I had to wryly admit that his
good looks and charm did at least give him an excuse.

After he had shown us several items in the shop he explained that they
had an upstairs store where they had more stock and he would be happy
to show us some of them.  We agreed and he guided us to the back of the
shop and up a narrow wooden staircase.

The upstairs stockroom was long and slightly gloomy.  Rugs and carpets
were everywhere; some were stood on their ends, others were piled one
on top of another on the floor.  We wondered round looking at items,
and all the time I was aware of the shop owners cool gaze following my
movements, though my husband didn't seem to notice anything.

"Look at this Kim," my husband called across to me.  I went over and was
about to comment on the striking colour of the rug when I realised that
what had attracted his attention was the design.  It was inlaid with
dancing girls and in each corner was the figure of an older man making
love to one of the girls.

"Ah yes," said the shop owner coming up behind us. "This is an older
design, which they are not allowed to make nowadays.  It shows the
sultan with his concubines - sex slaves," he explained, with a glance
at me.  My husband made a few saucy remarks and we carried on looking.
I went behind some tall rolls and down a rather narrow stretch between
yet more carpets.

"Excuse me madam," said the shop owner and went to pass behind me.  I
pulled myself in to let him squeeze behind me.  Shielded from the view
of my husband he grabbed hold of my hips and pulled me back against
him.  I could feel the rigid arrogance of his erect prick pressed hard
against my bum...then he released me and carried on as if nothing had
happened.

I stood for a moment, out of sight to both my husband and the shop
owner, and recovered my composure.  I didn't know what to do, but
thankfully Paul came over and asked me if I was ready to move on.

"There's nothing here I fancy," he whispered in my ear.

The shop owner expressed his regret that we couldn't find anything
suitable.  As charming as ever he held the shop door open for us.

"Come again sir," he called after us.  "Come again madam, I will be
happy to serve you."

Cheeky bastard I thought.  Well I wasn't ready to be served by that
particular Turkish bull.  But I had to admit that, after the initial
alarm had died down, I was left with an undeniable thrill, and I could
feel a definite moist arousal between my legs.  Firstly I was flattered
that a young man in his twenties could find me, a married women in her
thirties, attractive.  Then there was the undeniable fact that it was
something very different, a real change in the routine.

I should explain that I was a virgin when I met my husband and I've
always been faithful to him, so sexually I'm not very experienced and I
had certainly never come across such a direct proposition before.

I did toy with the idea of telling my husband.  I had a suspicion that
he would actually find it a turn on, because he loves to talk about
sexual fantasies.  On more than one occasion he's asked me whether I
regret the fact that he is the only man I've ever slept with, but I've
told him the simple truth that I don't.

Anyway I didn't tell him and the following morning I found myself
breakfasting alone again.  Back in my room I looked at the brilliant
morning sunshine, changed into a light cotton dress with thin shoulder
straps, lacy white panties and went out and hailed a taxi.

Five minutes later I found myself back at the main entrance to the
market.  I paid the cab driver and headed into the teeming alleyways. 
As a lone Western woman I attracted a few stares, and several remarks,
but I ignored them.  After a bit of wondering around I was approaching
that carpet shop again.  I walked towards it with my heart beating
unusually fast for a woman interested in buying a rug.

To my disappointment I saw the owner was busy in conversation with a
couple of elderly tourists so I carried on past the shop.  Round the
corner I decided it was a sign that I wasn't destined to call there, so
I kept on walking.  But after a couple of minutes I chided myself that
I was a chicken hearted fool and I shouldn't be afraid of going back to
that shop and making it clear to the owner that I hadn't been
intimidated by him.

I casually breezed in through the door and was met with an effusive
smile from the owner.

"Madam, I am delighted you have returned.  If you want to look at the
rugs you were inspecting yesterday then please continue upstairs to the
stockroom.  I must finish with these kind Danish people, then I will
attend to you."

I headed past the elderly Danes who gave me a watery smile and went up
the stairs and into the stockroom.

In the morning sunlight it looked quite different.  Some parts were
brightly lit by the slanting rays, the rest was in deep shadow.  I made
a token display of inspecting some of the rugs, but really I was
listening to the sounds of the shop below.

In a very short time I heard the slam of the shop door and then
footsteps on the stairs.   With my heart beating rather fast I turned
to face the door, quickly rehearsing the put down I'd thought up.

The owner stepped into the room, shutting the door firmly and quietly
behind him.  Then with a smooth push he slid a bolt home, locking the
door from the inside.

"So madam," he said.  "You have returned to be my concubine."

I was completely lost for words.  My pre-rehearsed phrases had
evaporated and as he moved towards me I was overcome by a sense of
panic.  I began to say that I had to go, but he put a finger to my lips
and shushed me.

Taking both my arms by the elbow he raised them so they were above my
head, then he lifted my dress off and casually tossed it to one side. 
Next he knelt in front of me and slowly and very gently peeled my
panties down.  With them out of the way he nuzzled into my pubic hair,
seeming to love the smell of me, before delivering a light kiss to my
pubic mound.

Then he led me to a pile of soft sheepskin rugs in one corner.  He
gestured for me to lie down.  Things had gone much further, much faster
than I imagined and I felt completely out of my depth and weakly did as
I was told.

Standing over me he pulled his shirt off to reveal the broad firm chest
of a fit young man.  Then he took his trousers off, kicked his sandals
to one side and pulled his shorts down.  A large erect prick sprang
into view.  I'm not one of those women who is hung up on size, but you
do look don't you and there was no question he was well endowed.

He lay down next to me and taking my face in his hands he began to kiss
me gently.  Then his mouth went down and began to suck greedily on one
of my nipples.

"In Turkey it is normal for a concubine to begin by pleasuring her
master with her mouth," he said.

"With my mouth," I repeated blankly, not cottoning on.  So to make it
clear he slid his fingers into my hair and pushed my head down until my
mouth was touching his prick end.  I like to think I'm as good as the
next woman at oral sex, but to be faced with only my second ever prick
at such close quarters was very intimidating.  Still I did my best and
after a few initial slurps to get the head of his prick lubricated I
tried taking him deep into my mouth.  But it was clear that he was a
size, if not two sizes, bigger than my husband and I was literally
gagging on him.

So I moved astride him and just hoped that I was lubricated enough.  I
rubbed his prick head against my cunt lips in an attempt to get more
lubricant on him, then slowly, gingerly I began to lower myself onto
his impressive Turkish column.  He grunted his approval as he began to
penetrate me and I gasped as I stretched to accommodate him.  Slowly,
steadily his prick disappeared inside me, until finally with an
incredible plugged up feeling I realised that I had taken him all.

I began to move up and down on him, but it soon became tiring for me and
I think he realised that.  So he rolled me onto my back and began to
shaft me with slow, deep strokes.  The sensations were incredible and I
locked my legs round him and urged him to go faster.

I must admit that you can have all the gentleness you like, I prefer a
good hard fuck and he didn't disappoint.  He pounded into me, pushing
me down amongst the rugs, and as I felt the unmistakeable waves of a
major orgasm approaching I pushed back against him and told him not to
stop and to keep fucking me.

As my orgasm racked through me, he locked his arms and thrust deep into
me, and I felt his prick jerk and jerk as he shot his sperm into my
married cunt.

We lay there gasping for a while, and then he gently eased himself off
me.  He disappeared round the corner and I looked round in the gloom
for my clothes.  Now that we had done it, all I wanted to do was get
dressed and go.

I heard him coming back or so I thought, but instead I found his brother
standing over me.  Anxiously I rummaged round for my clothes, but they
were nowhere to be seen, so I did the next best thing and put one arm
across my breasts and covered my pussy with the other.

In the few seconds it had taken me to do that, he had stripped out of
his clothes faster than you could say abracadabra.

"Madam" he said.  "You are in Turkey now - the man is master," and with
that he took firm hold of my wrists and pulled my hands away so that my
tits and bush were displayed.

"Please madam" he said, and placed one hand on each knee and pushed my
legs apart.  Then he mounted me.  His hand went down and he positioned
his prick against my pussy.  I gasped as his erect prick found its way
between my pussy lips.  I gasped again as he pushed deeper, then he
thrust powerfully and I cried out as the full length of his hot, hard
cock penetrated my cunt.

He shafted me for a while then got me to turn over resting on my elbows
and knees.  He fucked me hard from behind and rubbed my clit until
another orgasm pulsed through me.  As I cried out he made one final
thrust into me.

First thing that morning you could have put a sign on me saying one
careful owner, now, as another load of sperm was fired into me, the
sign read three careful owners.

I lay and rested for a while, and then I got up and found my dress and
knickers.  Leaving his brother laid on the rugs I headed downstairs. 
The owner greeted me with a particularly welcoming smile.

"Madam is a warm and generous woman."

As I went past him he slid one arm round my waist from behind.

"Please call again you are a most welcome guest and your husband must
come also".  I should add that all the time he was saying this one hand
was fondling my left breast and the other was exploring my rump. 
Fortunately we were in the small office by the stairs, so no one on the
street could see.

"My husband!" I exclaimed.

"Of course," he said.  "I am sure he would love to watch and see what a
sensual woman you are."

I tried to wriggle free, but instead of letting me go, he rucked up the
back of my dress, stuck his hand inside my knickers and began to give
my bum a good feel.  Obviously turned on he reached forward and slid
two fingers into my cunt, which was very wet and squelchy.

Then he pushed me face down across the desk and began to pull my
knickers down.  I wriggled and struggled and shouted at him to stop,
but in response he slapped my bottom and told me to lie still and keep
quiet.

He fed his prick into me and began to fuck me again.  It's a good job
no-one came into the shop or they would have been greeted by the
rhythmic creaking of the desk and my gasping and groaning as the owner
slid his big, fat prick in and out of my quim.

Then he shouted something in Turkish.

"I'm sorry", he said.  "Madam does not speak Turkish.  Let me translate
- I asked my brother to bring some oil for the ladies bottom".

I hadn't a clue what he was going to do, but I didn't like the sound of
it.  His brother duly appeared with a small bottle of olive oil, and
the owner took that and poured it down the crack of my arse.  Then he
began to work it into my asshole and I realised that he meant to fuck
me up the arse.

"No, please don't," I gasped.  "No one has ever done that to me."

"Ah excellent," he said.  "A bottom virgin."

His prick was really too big for my back passage, but he did manage to
penetrate me, before shooting his load up my arse. Slowly, sorely I
straightened myself up and felt his sperm trickling from my
non-virginal asshole.

I walked back to the main road with a very sticky feeling between my
legs and sperm running down my thighs.  Sat in the taxi I discretely
dabbed at my thighs and mopped some of it up.

Back at the hotel I showered, changed, flopped on the bed and promptly
fell asleep for half an hour.  Paul was late back, so there was no
afternoon excursion.  Instead we went to a city centre restaurant and
enjoyed an intimate meal.

I was still pretty hyped up after my experiences in the morning, and
towards the end of the meal I slipped my shoe off and used my toes to
discreetly massage Paul's lap.  He looked questioningly at me and I
made it clear that I was up for some fun if he wanted to head back to
our room.  He willingly took the hint and we were soon back at the
hotel.

In no time at all I stripped him naked, pushed him back on the bed and
went down on him.  He was soon rock hard, so I climbed on top of him
and slipped his prick into my pussy.  Rocking up and down on top of him
I casually asked him what he would say if I told him that earlier today
two young Turks had enjoyed the cunt he was now fucking.

He shot bolt upright.  "What!!!"

I pushed him back down.

"I said what would you say if I told you that earlier today two young
Turks had enjoyed the cunt you're now fucking.  Would you be mad?
Disappointed? Or excited?"

"Jesus Christ!" he said, and I felt his prick jerk inside me as he shot
his sperm into me.  It was all the answer I needed; I had nailed his
secret fantasy firmly on the head.

Having come once he usually takes a while to get hard again, but this
time he was stiff again very quickly.  He pushed me down, got on top of
me and thrust his prick back into me.

"Do you think I'm a slut?" I asked.

"Yes I do," he nodded.  "A gorgeous, loveable, fuckable slut.  Now tell
me more about your sexual adventures."

So I told him what had happened behind his back yesterday and how I had
gone back this morning and got more than I bargained for.  He told me
to slow down and tell him all the details.  He asked whether they had
made me orgasm, whether I had allowed them to come inside me, what
their cocks felt like compared to his and so on.

I asked him how he felt about it, and he said it was the most exciting
thing that had happened in our relationship.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"Have you never guessed that my private fantasy is to watch someone else
fuck you?"

"I didn't realise that it was quite so blatant, but I had guessed that
the idea of me taking a lover turned you on.  To be honest I wondered
whether it was just so you would have an excuse to take a mistress."

"Oh no," he reassured me. " It's not that.  Don't ask me to explain it,
but the thought of watching someone else fuck you is a big turn on."

"You mean if you'd been there this morning you would have quite happily
watched them fuck me."

"Yes I think I would," Paul admitted.

"Well if you'd stayed to the end you would have seen one extra thing," I
admitted.

"Go on," he said.

"Well right at the end the big guy pushed me over his desk and fucked me
up the arse."

"Wow," said Paul.  "You always told me that was a no, no."

"I told him that," I ruefully admitted. "But he's not a good listener.
Anyway he was too big for me and it hurt, so I'm not doing that again
in a hurry"

We fucked and talked some more, and I tried to get my brain round the
fact that my husband wanted to watch someone else screwing me.  I
thought that men were supposed to be jealous and possessive, but he
explained that wife watching (as it's apparently called) is a very
common male fantasy.

The next afternoon we did a standard tourist tour of some of the older,
historic mosques.  It was OK, but after all the sexual shenanigans it
was a bit of an anticlimax (if you'll pardon the pun).

The following day, Wednesday, was our last full day, as we flew out on
Thursday morning.  Paul had a meeting in the morning and wasn't sure
what time he'd be back, but in the event he returned just before
lunchtime.  We had a light lunch on the hotel terrace, and then chatted
about what to do next.

"What do you want to do?" Paul asked.

"I don't mind.  You've been working, you choose."

Paul looked at me and raised an eyebrow.  I asked him what that meant,
and he laughed and asked whether I fancied a trip to the market.

"What you mean is that you do," I said.

"Well to be honest I can't really remember what that guy looks like.
I'd like to see him again.  I'm not expecting you to do anything; it's
just a viewing trip.  I want to have a good look at the guy who fucked
my wife."

"Alright," I said.  "But strictly on the understanding that I'm not
going to do anything."

So half an hour later we were back at the entrance to the market.  We
wandered down the alleys heading for that shop.  When we got there the
older brother was stood in the doorway, surveying the sparse trade. 
When he saw us he waved us across, but I told my husband I was staying
over here.

"You go chat to him if you want, but I've nothing to say.  I'm staying
here."

So Paul went across and the owner greeted him with a hearty handshake
and then a hug as though he was a long lost relative.  They stood there
chatting away, and I felt a bit peeved because to look at them you
would have thought they were old friends.

Eventually Paul came back to me.

"He sends his regards to the most beautiful woman in Istanbul."

"Bullshit," I said.

"Agreed," said Paul.  "Though he does seem to be genuinely impressed
with you.  His brother can't send his regards because it's his day off.
Anyway he's invited us in for a Turkish coffee."

"Just a coffee?" I asked a trifle sarcastically.

"Actually no," laughed Paul.  "He says I can watch while he pleasures
you again."

"No way," I retorted sharply.  "I'm not having him banging away at my
arse again."

"Well I've cleared that with him already.  I've told him that your arse
is strictly out of bounds."

"Paul," I said.  "I told you earlier I wasn't doing anything."

"Oh come on Kim," he countered.  "I know it's asking a lot of you, but
think about it, we're on the plane tomorrow and will never see this guy
again.  I would really like to watch someone fuck you and this is the
ideal opportunity."

He pleaded some more and eventually, telling him that he owed me big
time, I agreed to go across.

When I crossed the road the owner (Paul told me his name was Kemel)
looked like all his Christmas's and birthdays had been rolled into one.


"Madam is most welcome again.  Please go through.  My brother is away,
so I will have to lock the shop."

We went through to the back and as we passed the small office I saw Paul
take a sharp look at the desk where two days earlier I had panted and
groaned as Kemel fucked me.  Then we went up the stairs and back into
that storeroom.

We had a couple of minutes wait until Kemel appeared with a tray of
coffees.  He pulled some rugs into the middle of the floor and gestured
for us to sit.  Coffee was served and Kemel chatted freely.  It turned
out he had gone to college in London for two years, hence his excellent
English.

Whilst we chatted I was very aware that all this discussion about
London, rainy weather and English beer was really just small talk, and
very soon I was going to be expected to let a virtual stranger fuck me
while my husband watched.  I felt very nervous and was beginning to
wish that I hadn't agreed to this.

It was Kemel who set the ball rolling.

"Sir you will need to be seated comfortably.  Let me get you a chair."
He disappeared, but soon came back with a faded, but comfortable
looking leather chair.  He put it to one side of the floor space and
gestured for Paul to take his place.

Then he led me by the hand into the middle of the floor.

"Sir," he said to Paul.  "I thank you for the knowledge and the pleasure
of your beautiful woman."  Smarmy git, but no thanks to me I noticed.

He went and stood behind me and I stood there, waiting and wondering
what he was going to do.  He left me standing there for a minute, just
for effect I think, then his hands slid round and cupped my breasts.

Once again I wasn't wearing a bra and Kemel squeezed and kneaded my
breasts.  My dress buttoned down to the waist and Kemel soon unbuttoned
it and pulled it open so that my breasts were on display.  Feeling very
self-conscious I turned to kiss Kemel, so that at least I wasn't quite
so aware of my husband watching me.  But Kemel pushed me back round, so
that I was again facing Paul.  Then he began to stroke my pussy through
the material of my dress and I could feel myself responding and
becoming aroused.

Slowly and rather theatrically he hitched up the hem of my dress until
my lacy pink panties were visible.  Then his hand went between my
thighs and now he was stroking my pussy through my knickers.

His hands went into the waistband of my knickers and slid them down
until they were just above my knees.  Now my pussy was on display and
again I tried to turn away to hide my embarrassment, but Kemel wouldn't
allow it.

His right hand dived between my thighs and he pushed my legs apart and
began to probe at my cunt.  God I felt such a slut stood there with my
legs wide apart, my knickers round my knees and Kemel finger fucking me
with wet, squelchy noises, while my husband sat just a few feet away,
rubbing the prominent bulge in his trousers.

I am actually a rather shy girl and this was way, way beyond my normal
experience.  I was mortified.  It was deeply embarrassing being
displayed in this way, but the odd thing was that I couldn't deny the
fact that it was also a huge turn on.  There was no question but that
my love juices were really flowing - my cunt was absolutely wet
through!

Kemel took one of his fingers and slid it into my mouth.

"What can madam taste?" he asked.

"My cunt," I replied, arching my back and rubbing my ass against his
prick.

"And what would madam like in her cunt?"

"Your cock," I replied.

"Pardon madam, you speak so quietly I could not hear that."

"I said I want your prick inside my cunt.  I want you to fuck my cunt."

And I did want to feel it.  I wanted his big, fat cock to slide between
my cunt lips and spread me like it had done before.  Reaching up I
pulled my dress off, then pulled my panties off and threw them to one
side.  I chose the softest rug and went down on all fours presenting my
arse and cunt to Kemel.

He was soon in position behind me and began to push his prick against my
cunt lips.

"Oh yes, that's it," I gasped.  "Put him inside me."

"God that's great," said Paul encouraging me.  "Keep talking."

I pushed back against Kemel and urged him to fuck me. I got pretty
carried away.

"Go on," I said.  "Put your prick inside my cunt.  Fuck me.  That's it.
No, harder, harder.  Go on fuck me, fill my cunt with your spunk."

All that dirty talk took us both over the edge.  Kemel groaned deeply
and made a last thrust into me and I cried out and arched my back.

Kemel rolled off me and to my surprise Paul scrabbled frantically to
take his place.  He pulled his trousers down and rammed his prick into
me.

"Sorry," he warned me. "I'm going to come".  Half a dozen thrusts and
then he added his spunk to the load already in my cunt.

We lay gasping for a while and then slowly got dressed.  Kemel went out
and returned with some cold drinks for us.

Sat there relaxing a thought suddenly struck me.

"Kemel," I said.  "What made you grab hold of me on that first day?  Do
you grab hold of all the women who come in here?"

He smiled.

"Of course not - only the young and pretty ones!  No, it started two
years ago when an American tourist lady came in here on her own.  She
walked round looking at the carpets, but I had some feeling about her. 
A feeling that something might be possible.  I decided I had to try. 
If I was wrong what was the worst that could happen - she could slap my
face.  So in my most charming manner I offered her the service of my
body.  One minute later I was fucking her in the storeroom.  Since then
there have been a few women, but not many, you have to pick carefully."


"So why pick me?" I asked.

"Two things," he said.  "Beauty and sensuality.  You may not think you
have this, but you do.  You are aware of yourself as a woman, and you
have a beautiful face and a beautiful body."

"You mean I look available?" I said.

"No!" he exclaimed.  "Sensuality and availability are two different
things.  You have class.  Women who are available have no class."

That reply helped to convince me that I hadn't acted like a slut, and
certainly my husband didn't seem bothered.  He said that watching Kemel
thrusting into me had been every bit as exciting as he thought it might
be.

Still the next morning on the plane flicking half-heartedly through one
of the magazines I was able to think about it a bit more clearly.

Kemel's reply was obviously designed to flatter me and I had fallen for
it.  But being honest about it, the obvious conclusion is that when he
saw me that first afternoon he had correctly identified me as a bored
housewife in need of a good screw.

Oh what the hell!  I would never see Kemel again, so who cares what he
thinks.  My husband is happy and I have the satisfaction of being able
to count myself as an experienced woman.

Would I take another lover again?  I might, but not behind my husbands
back.  I had heard rumours about goings-on taking place after some of
the social events on our estate.  Apparently my friends Jayne and
Denise and their husbands were involved, so perhaps I ought to drop a
hint that Paul and I are up for a bit of fun.