Who Says Signing a Prenup Can't Be Sexy?

"Dolly, I've got grown children, I've been fortunate to be successful and I've accumulated some assets that I need to protect for my children's sake, and that's why I'm hiring Marium, Schtupum and Forgetum to draft a prenuptial agreement.  You stand to have a substantial inheritance as well, some day, and that would be protected, too."


This wasn't unexpected from my fiancé.  He was old enough to be my father. 


In fact, my father had told me the same thing about a prenup. 


Not surprising since my father, like Martin, had also been fortunate to be very successful.  Some of their success had been together, as investors in some of the same successful ventures.  


Okay, my father was how I'd met Martin in the first place -- he was daddy's business partner, was separated from his wife when he met me, And the first time he saw me in a bikini was on the yacht when daddy invited about two dozen on-board for a 4th of July party on the water.  Martin watched me walk to the back of the ship in nothing but my teeny bikini and get in the water, then he dove right in to join me.  That he was still dressed was my first clue that he liked what he saw.  Shame about those Italian shoes he ruined.  Yes, he didn't even stop to take his shoes off.  Such desire gets a girl's attention.


"Daddy, I'm going to show Martin the wheelhouse and the office behind it.  The office door locks, right?"


My father rolled his eyes.  I was twenty-four, Martin was 53. "Go ahead, yes, it locks." my father said.  "We're serving dinner in just a little while, though, don't take too long with the tour, Martin" my father added, directing his comment to his investment partner who I was about to fuck.  "Oh don't worry," Martin replied, never taking his eyes off my ass, "I don't think I'll last long.  Er, I mean I don't think we'll be very long."


Martin had it right the first time.  Forty-five of the hottest seconds I'd ever had up to that point in my life.  He proposed after thirty of those seconds, mid-thrust.


I played hard to get, told him I never get engaged at sea.  That he'd have to fuck me on land before I could decide.


So we got engaged on July 5th.


And then the prenuptial agreement topic was introduced.


For sheer sport, I tried to fuck Martin out of it.  I mean, if a woman wants to know the power of her sexual wiles, she has to test it out.  I already knew through the sexual pleasure I give my lovers, I could get: 1) diamonds, 2) cars, 3) men asking me to marry them, and 4) proposals that the man would acknowledge and remember once he'd cum.  You'd think the married ones would fall into category 3 only, and not 4, but surprisingly, I'd had married hook-ups propose and then want to discuss the arrangements afterwards.  


After I worked up a good sweat and gotten some excellent cardio making love with Martin in many different positions that are described at certain websites with letters (BBBJTICIMNQNS, CG, RCG, K9, etc.), Martin still said that we needed the prenup.  He added, however, "and since you just now nearly fucked me to death, sweety, I assume that you'll need more than I can provide and you'll be fucking around on the side, so just in case it gets to be more than our liberal minded impending marriage can handle, lets have a prenup in place."


I kissed him deeply, said, "sure," and then kissed him again, my fingers stroking his tool and my tongue dancing with his.  "Um, speaking of on the side, you wouldn't by chance ever want to hear about any of that from me, now, would you?"


What I held in my hand throbbed.


"Just make sure you let me know what time to expect you home.  I don't want to have to worry about something happening to you if the answer is you were simply having a weekend long affair.  Not to mention that tells me if I've got time to find something else to do."

He winked.  Forget the nearly thirty year aged difference, Martin and I were sooooo on the same page when it counted.  So I worked him with my mouth while he fondled my nipples and then he blew his lusty load on my tits.  I scooped his thick treasure juice with my fingers and slowly licked them clean for him.  "Send Wilbur the papers."  Wilbur was daddy's general counsel, he'd know a domestic relations lawyer to review the prenup.


A couple weeks later we were to meet to sign the papers.  Wilbur found a good lawyer, who'd been on television and traveled all over the country speaking on divorce law, so I knew I had one of the best.  Martin had Sam Schtupum, who had written a book on prenups.  So my future inheritance and Martin's kids' inheritances were all safe.  


And I sincerely wanted Martin's son Rick to be protected. Rick knew that, too, especially since I'd made sure he wore a condom when I'd led him away from the engagement party at Martin's country club and fucked Rick in an office that was usually empty in the evenings.  Note to sons whose fathers are marrying women the same age as you -- just because we're marrying dad doesn't mean you don't have a chance.  Rick was prepared for me to laugh it off as a joke, but that condom he was carrying proved he was hoping I'd say yes.  Rick was a fun guy to fuck, still is as a matter of fact. Martin and I just don't discuss the details of those encounters.


So back to the prenup.  Sorry, the 4th of July here, that's what makes me think of the fun that Martin lets me have, you know, its the anniversary of when we met.


Like I said, Martin's estate was safe.  Rick's inheritance was safe.  My inheritance was safe.


What wasn't safe?  Sam Schtupum.


When I went to Sam's office, on a Saturday morning as a courtesy to both our schedules, to sign, it was just us and the two paralegals who had to witness our signatures.  Now, there were lots and lots of pages, and I had to initial each page, next to where Martin had initialed the day before.  So I signed the signature page first, they signed and witnesses, and we let them go get on with their Saturday mornings.  Then I'd initial all the pages. My lawyer told me we didn't need to pay him to watch me sign, that he'd known Sam for years and there was nothing to be worried about. So once the paralegals left, it was just me and Sam.  His eyes were all over me, and I loved the feeling.


I was dressed casually, a tank top showing a lot of cleavage and tanned upper back with a short skirt, and he was in a polo and khakis. When I'd arrived, I hugged him.  I felt his fingers touch my skin.  The fingers lingered.  I didn't want to feel him take those hands back.  We made small talk as I initialed.  And there were duplicate originals, one for me, one for Martin.  So it took a while.  And I made small talk back. I stood and stretched, rubbed the back of my neck.  Looked at him with my big blue eyes, pulled my long blonde hair off to one side, and said, "would you mind?"  This usually works.  And I saw a khaki tent begin to rise as he walked toward me.  As he rubbed, he said, "now, I'm Martin's lawyer, so I can't give you any advice, Dolly."  I replied, "so, if you're not my lawyer, that whole legal ethics about a lawyer shouldn't be fucking his client doesn't apply to us, right?"


I felt the khaki tent poke me from behind when I said that.  I leaned back into it.  Reached up, grabbed his right wrist, brought it to my breast.  "Now you've got two things to rub.  There's more, if you like."  He did as I invited.  His lips then replaced his left hand on my neck. I closed my eyes and sighed.  His left hand drifted down, took my left hand, and we clasped our fingers together.  I bit my bottom lip, wimpered as he squeezed my nipple. "Strip me, Sam, I loved how your fingers felt on my skin before, touch me, take me ...."


Sam started to slide his hand up my smooth, toned thigh, and I practically gushed, that's how close to cumming I was just from his touch.  Did he have great hands, or was I just so turned on at the idea of my fiancé's prenup lawyer fucking me?  Did it really matter?  His breath in my ear, his fingers reaching the lace edge of my barely there anyway thong, he could already feel the seeping excitement from my body, and a quick nudge pushed the thin strip of fabric to the side and I parted my legs to open my smooth, hot, wet, engaged pussy to his invading fingers.  My head dropped forward and I gave a husky whisper, "Sam, yes, oh God yes, Sam, there, touch me there, everywhere.....yesssss...."   My hand reached behind me, clasped the hard pole pointing forward at my soon to be exposed sex from his trousers.  Big around?  Big enough.  I felt the heat of his meat through the fabric. I stroked him and felt his hips flinch.  He was probably as close as I was already, too.  This was going to happen, right then.


I spun on my heels, my tongue into his mouth, his fingers, two, then soon three, catching up and venturing back into me, twiddling until my physical response was as he liked, then repeating his fingertip rotations and swipes over tender, higher sensitized sexual nerve endings.  I bucked my hips, he did the same.  His mouth took over control of the kiss, sucking on my tongue, moaning into my mouth. He thrust his fingers deeper, harder, and it felt like I'd been shocked, my knees buckled. "You better fuck as good as you finger," I mumbled into his mouth, then sucked back at his tongue.  He was undoing my skirt and my hands wasted no time in getting his trousers ready to drop.  I think we both pulled the tank top over my head, and he pulled off his shirt while I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra.  His eyes grew wide as he saw my dark areolae and hard nipples on my tan-line free D-cup breasts. "Dolly, your fucking body..." was all he got out before he dropped his boxers and was suddenly naked, kneeling at my knees as I leaned back against the conference room table to brace myself and he pulled my soaked thong down my legs, his nose quickly replacing the lace right where my juices met the world outside my body.  He tossed the thong toward the pile of his clothes, not mine.  I might have heard him say, "trophy", or maybe that was my ego talking.   Regardless, I spread my legs and his lips, his tongue, moved in where his fingers had been.  He mumbled, "so hot, so good" directly into my body's opening, as if there was a microphone in there.  I heard him, I felt him. His hands gripped my ass cheeks, peeling me open, holding my body as he preferred it to be positioned while he consumed me.


I'm sure he couldn't have been licking and nibbling as long as my memory tells me he did, but it was so pleasurable.  He pushed me, figuratively though not literally, over the edge and my legs were weak and I cried out, not caring if anyone heard, though in my mind I was comforted that we were alone.  Or so I was hoping, I also thought. My fingers in his hair, me trying to hump his face, and I clenched my teeth and in an angry voice hissed, "Give me that fucking cock to suck".  Subtlety was not anywhere to be found that day.


He turned, now his ass to the table, and pushed my shoulders down.  I slathered my tongue all over his dick, my soon to be wed mouth all over a cock that was not my fiancé's.  "Slut, good cock loving slut, aren't you Dolly.  Sucking my cock, going to swallow my seed, aren't you?"


"Mmmmm, hmmm, ummph, mmmm, ummph, uh huh...." was the part of my mouth full of cock mumble that I could understand--and the so-called words were being formed by my brain.  No telling what Sam heard, or understood, though I don't think he cared.  I gagged, increasing the amount of saliva flow which was now spilling off his cock back onto my chin, my tits, and now his ass was literally in my hands. "he thrust his cock into my throat, and I took as much as I could but he gagged me, and I tried to keep pleasing his member as long as I could keep Sam in my mouth. "Don't move..." he said, and I wondered what was next, too excited to be scared.


Sam stepped away, making my pussy feel empty, my mouth with nothing to suck on,, and slid open a drawer on what looked like an antique wooded chest on the sideboard near the conference room table.  His fingers removed a condom.  Did he always keep one in the office, or had he made special arrangements in anticipation of fucking his client's bride to be?  And which answer excited me more?


He returned to me, his hard, circumcised cock suited up, hard, and ready to penetrate my body, make me his sexual possession, at least for that day.  I placed my hands on his shoulders for support, and he manipulated my legs and hips, opening his access, throwing one of my legs up and around his torso, and then in one long, faster than expected plunge, he filled me like I needed to be filled at that moment.  I bit into the front of his shoulder, and his teeth went to my neck.  Had vampire fangs punctured me and drained my life force, I'd have gone into the world of the undead as a satisfied slut.  Sam's slut, his eternal fuck thing.  But he was still mortal, and we were not supernatural, just sexed up sluts fucking in a law office just before I married a man old enough to be my father.  Routine day in Dolly's life, come to think of it.


He lifted my ass to the table, I wrapped the other leg around him, his adjusted the bend of his knees to get his powerful, latex coated sex tool at the right height, and Sam worked me good, so, so good. Our bodies were sweaty, his scent masculine, powerful, and my lips searched for his, until again our mouths met.  His tongue in me, his cock in me, and a moment later his wandering finger filling my ass to the first knuckle after he swooshed it in the leaking natural lubricating fluids that were flowing from me, I was fully occupied by his conquering forces.  My body soared with the next eruption of orgasmic pleasure seconds later, and the contractions of my body around his cock, squeezing him, hanging on, not wanting to allow a backstroke out of me pushed him over the same edge.  He gasped and stiffened as he filled his condom with his seed, snugly inside my unfaithful body.  We clung to each other to catch our breath, still gnawing at each other, my hands on his muscles, his hands feeling mine, holding me tight, like he didn't want to let me go.


Of course we know that he did eventually let me go, several slow, impassioned kisses and deflating cock thrusts later, to the point where he slid from me, my juices following him but thankfully his condom, intact, contained his thick, slick, victory fluid.  We dressed, but were a mess.  I got home, Martin's home, the home Martin invited me to share with him knowing that I was unable to be pure and faithful to him, and I know he smelled what had happened when I walked up to him, my makeup smeared, hair wet and stuck to my forehead, clothes a mess and my thong having been claimed.  I kissed him, and his eyes grew wide as he tasted another man in my mouth. I showered silently.  Until Martin joined me, also without words, and we fucked like we had never, to that point, fucked before.   We married the following Saturday.  We named our son "Martin Samuel" thirty nine weeks later, having calculated that he'd been conceived in the shower, inspired by how well Sam the prenup lawyer had fucked me before sending me home to Martin, his client.


I still feel bliss when I look at the beautiful serving pieces that Sam gave us in our wedding pattern.  Little Marty, as well call him, is a joy.  And his much older brother Rick fucks me when Martin isn't available to.  Sam and I have been at parties, meetings, social gatherings, and are both content to keep our amazing memory as our only time together in the flesh, though we once did phone sex while I rode Martin.  And sometimes Martin and I enjoy watching the security camera footage of Sam fucking me that he presented us on a flash drive as a present after little Marty was born.




Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure!



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