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Snow Birding

"Thanks, Pam," I replied, running a hand over my bare scalp. "The wife wanted to see how I'd look without the hair."

We fell into step beside each other, our flip-flops slapping against the pavement as we made our way to the nearby coffee shop. Pam and I were more acquaintances than friends, often bumping into each other here after our workouts and sharing small talk about yoga or gym stuff. She was around my age, give or take a few years, with a slim, fit physique that spoke of her dedication to yoga three or four times a week. I knew she and her husband were snowbirds from Canada, escaping the harshest part winter.

As we entered the coffee shop, the aroma of roasting beans enveloped us. We placed our orders-a black coffee for me, a latte for her. Typically this is what we'd part company, but today Pam slid onto the couch in the corner, patting the cushion beside her. I sank down, sensing some nervousness in her voice and we engaged in our usual light conversation.

Pam took a sip of her latte, leaving a foam mustache on her upper lip, which she quickly licked away. "So, what's the story behind Val P Couple?" she asked, a playful grin spreading across her face.

"No wonder she is a little off today," I said to myself, knowing she was referring to our profile name on this site. "Well, it was the first email address Bea and I created after we got married. We lived in Valparaiso, Florida. The locals call it Val-P." I decided to tease her a bit, rather than revealing the full truth. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, and she leaned in a little closer, her elbow brushing against mine. I turned the question back to her, "Why do you ask?"

Pam's cheeks flushed slightly, and she looked down at her lap, suddenly appearing shy. "My husband read a story you wrote about spin class and a girl with a tattoo," (titled "My turn") she admitted, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Since you include your profile name in your stories, he figured out you lived here...you're the only male spin instructor after all. Suspicion confirmed, I guess!"

She paused, her confidence wavering. "Oh, we're on the site too-'Canadiangeese' if you want to check it out later."

I pulled out my phone, eager to look up their profile, but Pam's hand shot out, her fingers wrapping around my wrist. "Wait, don't do it now!" she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice low. Nipples hardening through her blouse betrayed her growing thrill with what she had started.

But it was too late. I had already opened the profile and was staring at some enticing photos of the woman sitting next to me. Her face was obscured in the images, but I recognized her instantly-the slim figure, fit physique, the slight curve of her hips. The pictures displayed her in various phases of undress around her home and flashes in some familiar semi-public spots. Scrolling further, I discovered two Private Galleries were also already open-someone had planned ahead. One featured faces, while the other showcased very graphic images of her enjoying a young black man, someone Bea and I had invited over a couple of times. He was notably bareback, stretching her shaved, baby smooth pussy lips to their limit.

Pam squirmed in her seat, hand shading her eyes, mortified as I flicked my eyes between the pictures and her. "I'm usually not around when these photos come out, she confessed, her voice an embarrassed whisper. Noticing my gaze, she self-consciously crossed her legs.

I leaned in closer, my voice low and sarcastic. "Well, if you didn't want me to look, why did you bring it up?" I shot back. "Are you two looking to get together before you leave?"

Pam's blush deepened, and she struggled to regain her composure. "Well, sort of. We've known about your profile for a few weeks now, and while we're making love, he teases me about you. He gave me permission. Just the two of us? Assuming your wife ok with a hall pass."

My heart raced, and I felt a surge of excitement. "Do you mean right now?" I asked, my voice husky.

Pam's eyes darted toward the door, then to her half-empty latte as and she stumbled over her words. "I didn't mean right now. But before we leave for the season." She paused, swallowed hard, then leaned forward, " Unless you want to?" The last words squeaked out, high and tight. " Now... I mean."

"Sure," I replied, my hand sliding up her thigh. She didn't pull away, but looked around to see who might have seen us touch so inappropriately. "Do you want to get a hotel for the afternoon then?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Why?" I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion. "We can go to my house. Bea is at work till after five."

Pam paused, her eyes searching mine. "Okay," she said finally. "Do you have wine?"

I chuckled, glancing at my watch. " I'm sure we do, but it's only 11 am."

"I know," she admitted, her fingers twisting in her lap. "But this is going a little faster than I planned. I need to calm down."

I stood up, extending my hand to help her up from the couch. We were both acutely aware of the familiar faces in the shop, so we exchanged casual "goodbyes" as we slipped out separately to our vehicles. I reached her car first, waiting for her to settle in before leaning in, my hand grazing her breast as we kissed, her lips parted to accept my tongue. Breathless she murmured, "I'll follow you."

Fifteen minutes later, I turned into my garage, and Pam parked in the driveway, hopping out nervously, glancing around as if afraid our neighbors would catch on. As soon as the garage door creaked halfway down, I pulled her against me, gripping her ass, feeling her toned body melt into mine. The ride over had calmed her, and I could see the confidence return to her eyes.

"How about that wine?" I asked, teasingly.

Pam grinned, her hands resting on my chest. "You know what? I don't think I need it. Let's just get inside; it's chilly out here."

Once inside, we were instantly wrapped in each other's arms again, kissing passionately, fumbling to shed our clothes like eager teenagers. Pam kicked off her sandals and flopped onto the sofa, so I could tug off her yoga pants, revealing a black thong against her flawless white skin. She was definitely Canadian-no tan lines to be found.

With a swift motion, she pulled her sports bra over her head, the fabric catching briefly on her earring before I helped ease it free. Her breasts sprang free; pert, with stiff pink nipples that seemed to beckon. Her skin bore the silvery marks of age and motherhood, yet she was in incredible shape for any woman. Kneeling in front of her, I peeled off her thong. Unlike her profile pictures, she sported a patch of dark fur flecked with gray above her smoothly waxed vagina.

As my tongue slid across her lips, I heard her soft moan. She tasted salty from her earlier exertion in yoga, yet sweet, just as I'd imagined an elegant woman would. The more I licked, the more her labia swelled with arousal. She had clearly been with many men and knew exactly how to guide my mouth to please her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she quivered with pleasure, reaching a soft orgasm.

"Why are YOU still dressed?" she asked, sitting up and yanking my gym shorts down to my ankles, to eagerly swallow my cock. She pulled back just long enough for me to strip completely, matching her nakedness. This hotwife certainly knew how to work her mouth, pulling off when she sensed my impending climax.

"Okay, the couch is for kids. Let's hit your bedroom." As I led her to the boudoir, she snatched her phone. She hopped onto the bed, legs spread wide, her beautiful snatch on display. Tossing the phone to me, she grinned, "Take a picture you'd want to see," and began rubbing herself with a sassy smile as I snapped photos of her pink folds.

Suddenly, the phone rang in my hand. I glanced at the caller ID: "Bill."

"Your hubby, I presume?"

"Ha ha! Put it on speaker."

I did, answering, "Hi Bill!"

Without missing a beat, he asked, "Is my wife behaving?"

"Absolutely," she chimed in in a raised voice. "He took the pictures you wanted, and now...he's going to fuck me." She laughed, motioning for me to hand her the phone and come closer.

Pam rolled onto her stomach, lifting her hips from the mattress. Propped on her elbows, she positioned the phone beneath her face. "Can you see me, Bill?" The screen flickered as she initiated a video call. Peaking over her shoulder, eyes half-closed, she reached back to spread herself open with two fingers. The mattress creaked as I moved behind her, and she gasped sharply when I entered her. "Oh god," she moaned, loud enough for the phone to catch every syllable. "He's so deep." Her fingers clutched at the screen as we rocked together, the headboard tapping rhythmically against the wall. When I flipped her onto her back, she adjusted the view, ensuring Bill saw and heard every breathless "yes" and "harder" that escaped her lips. We finished our afternoon with one final 'money shot' dripping onto her taint.