Innocent mistake.

Hubby is tall, and well-built, with a wavy graying blonde mop of hair on his head, so he literally stands out in a crowd. He gets a lot of attention from men and women, of all ages, because of his size and he’s very attractive to boot. I’m a lucky girl.

But sometimes I take for granted that I can easily find him in a crowd.

He agreed to accompany me an art exhibit by a renowned local artist at our museum. Rather than follow me around, we split up to explore the exhibit at our own pace.

Occasionally, I would scan the room and quickly locate Hubby, his mane floating a head above the rest.

The exhibit flowed through several connected rooms, so sometimes he was nowhere to be seen.

Fixated on the art in front of me, I hadn’t noticed that Hubby was standing next to me appreciating the same painting. His sudden appearance surprised me, oh, there you are, but just a quickly, my gaze returned to the painting.

I lose my sense of time when I’m appreciating something that I love. The painting depicted young lovers in the heat of passion. And it was inspiring lusty thoughts of my own.

It felt like I was floating into the painting, becoming a voyeur, sneaking an illicit view of the entwined lovers. I couldn’t look away, my gaze becoming ever more focused and intense.

Despite being in a somewhat crowded public space, I was emboldened to demonstrate my affection with a quick clandestine squeeze. I was confident that no one would notice, and if someone did, it would be rightly to the painting before us, and think nothing more of it.

My hand slipped into his far back pocket and began caressing his firm buttock. Reciprocating my affection, he closed the gap between us, pressing his body into mine.

I was wearing a backless sundress, loosely cross tied.

A tentative hand embraced my far hip, pulling us tighter together, while its thumb explored the boundary of my waistband. Instinctively, I melted into the contours of his frame, nuzzling his pec.

My thoughts returned to the lovers. The painting came to life as I imagined them, exploring each other’s bodies, becoming more aroused with each new touch.

Fingers tracing ever closer to their most sensitive and private parts. I felt a spark of heat between my legs, my nipples tightening, announcing the growing desire within my own body.

An index finger joined the thumb, both dipping under my dress’ waistband. I snuggled in, lightly pecking a kiss of his shirted pec.

During the heat of humid Southern summers, my goto outfit is an airy sundress, sans brassiere and panties, both for style and comfort. Nothing ruins a look like a bra strap or panty lines.

My kiss was interpreted as intended, as permission.

Shocked by his boldness, in a museum of all places, wink wink, his entire hand slipped under my waistband, gliding across my hip and pantieless ass cheek, cupping it completely in his big mitt.

His clenching fingers tugged at my pussy lips, pulling them apart slightly, releasing the vapor of my inner heat.

My hand, still buried in his pocket, squeezed his cheek affirmatively, urging him on.

His thick middle finger began probing my folds for the source of my wetness.

A stabbing finger moved ever closer to my opening.

My heart began to race and my breathing shallowed in anticipation of his methodical drill bit striking oil; a gusher was inevitable.
I bit my lower lip to silence any moan.

Releasing his grasp of my ass cheek, his hand slid inward to my crease, bringing all of his fingers into play.

Two fingers found my swollen clit from behind and below, massaging it vigorously, causing me to bend at the waist as convulsions overcame my buckling knees.

Claiming a beachhead, his uncontested advance continued, from between my legs, from front to back, he plowed the slickening furrow between my puffy lips, easily locating my dripping hole along its path.

First his middle finger, then the index finger joining in, doubling their thickness, begin sliding into me together, breaking my seal. I gasped.

I felt as if all eyes in the museum were upon us. There was no way getting finger-banged could go unnoticed.

My eyes still locked onto the lovers in the painting. In my mind’s eye, I had joined them in a menage a trois, heightening my arousal, as two real fingers disappeared into my soaking pussy, and a thumb pressure tested my asshole.

Resistance would be futile and I conceded it, my own juices, slippery and viscous, greased the skids, giving the stout thumb an easy glide path past my clenched sphincter.

His digits pincered inside me, his fingers and thumb pressing together, separated only by my thin inner walls.

Securely implanted, he roughly and rapidly thrusted into both orifices simultaneously, bringing me to my toes in an attempt to escape his onslaught.

My imagination became my refuge as my lovers became the sources of my pleasure. The museum and its patrons floated away into the graying edges of my focus on my envisioned menage a trois.

It was if I stepped into a parallel universe, beyond the judgment of reality.

A third finger joined the first two.

The rising orgasm building between my thighs was my only tether to my whereabouts. The fullness of my nether region demanded satisfaction and my attention to achieve it.

I willed myself back into my own body, and focused on the cadence of his thrusts, wringing out every bit of pleasure from my sensory overload.

That lit my fuse. And my release was burning down to an explosive finish.

I dropped onto my heels, my body weight driving his impaling digits to their deepest in my stretched and inflamed openings.

This whole scene, the lovers and my exhibitionism at a public exhibit, was culminating into the most amazingly satisfying, toe-curling, orgasms ever.

Unable to control myself, and desperate to grind my aching clit into his pelvis, I rolled into his chest to embrace him, and be enveloped my him, and he lifted me off my feet, seated atop his fingers, to bring my mouth to his for a kiss.

Focused on my own pleasure first, I ground into his pelvis like a cowgirl riding a wild horse, and my clit triggered a cascading convulsive released that seemed to go on and on.

My pussy clenched his fingers like a fallen mountain climber clings to a safety rope.

I felt like I was about to pass out.

Glassy eyed and buzzing with contentment, I looked up to meet his eyes for the first time since we bumped into one another at the painting.

My Hubby, tall and handsome, and easy to find, had a doppelganger, and he just doppeled me.