There is something erotic about horse racing. Not the horses of course, but the dressed-up fillies trackside. On the Australian racing calendar, there is, of course, no bigger event than the Melbourne Cup. Cup day is a national event, with most race tracks in Australia hosting a race day. My wife, Sophie, always goes to Cup Day races in the regional city where we live. I had to work – it’s not a national holiday, unfortunately – but I came home at morning tea to see her before she left. She was wearing a short, snug-fitting black dress with white inserts and lace over the shoulder. Her large breasts jutted proudly, with the semi-plunging neckline providing a tantalising hint of cleavage. It was classy rather than slutty. Black and white high heels, an elaborate fascinator and a fashion handbag completed the outfit. The North Queensland heat meant there was no need for stockings. Her shapely lightly tanned legs looked better without stockings anyway. Makeup, perfume and her chunky silver anklet and she was ready to go. At 45, she looked 35. A statuesque, blonde milf in her sexual prime, ready to be pursued. Sophie looked stunning and I knew she was certain to attract attention, even though there would be hundreds of other dolled-up ladies at the track. She had been picked up at the races before, so I was hopeful she would get lucky – not just in the betting. “Have fun, babe. Call or text when you want me to come and get you,” I said. “Thanks, Hun,” she said and gave me a peck on the cheek. As I went back to work I drove past the track and lines of people were already streaming in. It was going to be huge. I left work at about 4.30pm and drove back past the track. There were still plenty of people inside, but lots were making their way from the course to the two pubs nearby. Drunk and dishevelled guys and girls staggering along – the walk of shame! I went home and waited. At 5.45pm my phone rang. “It’s me. Can you come and get me? I’m at the Irish pub.” Her voice was loud and I could hear the bawdy sound of the other revellers in the background. “Sure, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” The pub is only a few streets from where we live (gotta love living in a small regional city). “Can we drop someone else home too?” “Sure, see you soon. Be out the front,” I said and went to the car. Before I left I put a box on the passenger side front seat. As I pulled into the parking lot I could see her standing with a man. He looked to be late 30s fit with dark hair and an olive complexion. Sophie had a drunken glow about her but still looked stunning. They walked over to the car. “Hey Hun,” she said. “This is Tony. I said we can give him a lift home.” We shook hands. “Jump in. You might both have to go in the back though,” I said, motioning to the box in the front seat. They got in. “Did you have a good time today?” I asked as I drove out of the car park, glancing in the rear-view mirror. Sophie’s dress had ridden up exposing almost exposing her knickers. “Awesome day. Tony bought me drinks all afternoon,” said Sophie, playfully slapping his thigh. “I got a trifecta in one of the early races. It paid $900, so I was pretty happy,” he said. “You lucky bugger. I appreciate you looking after her.” “No probs. Winners are grinners as they say,” he said. Sophie turned more sideways and put her right arm along the back of the seat. “Especially when you win on and off the track,” she said and lifted her right leg and draped it over Tony’s. Her dress had moved up over her hips and her sheer lace knickers – already damp with arousal– were fully exposed. Tony looked a tad uncomfortable. It was a “not sure how the husband is going to react” kind of look. “Babe, it’s only fair you repay him,” I said, as I battled to keep my eyes on the road and on the action in the back seat. “Looks like the day is going to have a happy ending for you, Tony.” Sophie reached across and grabbed his right hand and placed it on her thigh. “I’m all yours,” she murmured huskily. As I went through a round-a-bout, I could hear lips smacking and Soph moaning. She had both arms around him and they were kissing passionately. I could see their tongues entwined, caressing, searching... Tony’s right hand moved upwards, pushed her knickers aside and his fingers plunged into her sopping snatch. She moaned loudly as his fingers found her clit. “Is this it?” I asked as I stopped at the address he’d given. “Yeah,” this is it. He looked disappointed. “Soph will walk you in. And it’s OK, you can fuck her,” I said, smiling. “You can fuck me bareback,” said Sophie, her tongue gently flicking his ear. “David will stay here.” “Half an hour, Hun,” I said as they got out of the car. I watched them go up the steps and into the house. Sophie gave me a little wave before the front door closed. Dusk was falling and a few moments later I saw a light go on. Now came the agony and the ecstasy. The wait. I undid my belt and fly and released my throbbing member. There was no one around so I felt safe. The temptation to get out and sneak onto the veranda was strong. Vivid scenes flashed through my head. The passionate kissing, the writhing bodies, the sweaty, breathless embrace, the spread legs , the moment of penetration, the frantic fucking... and the climax. I could see Tony’s body tensing, and hear the groan of pleasure as he slammed home, shooting his seed into my wife’s promiscuous pussy. And the afterglow, the tender kissing as his member softened... I was careful not to go over the edge. With just a few strokes at a time I was able to stay on the edge of orgasm. My hands were shaking with anticipation. At almost exactly 30 minutes, the front door opened and Sophie came out, carrying her shoes in one hand, bra and knickers in the other. She slid into the back seat and leaned forward. “I’m all done, Babe,” she said as I leaned back and kissed her. Her dress was unzipped at the back and the front billowed out. I ran a hand down her body and cupped her tits. Her skin had a light sheen of sweat. I licked her cleavage and could taste the salt. “I’ve got something for you,” she said and leaned back, hoisting one leg up on the back seat. “I’ve been a naughty slut-wife,” she purred, “and I’m leaking cum.” I ran my fingers over her snatch, feeling the wet mess. I drove to a quiet spot and got into the backseat with her. Her dress was completely off. There she was in front of me: my totally naked wife who had just been fucked by another man. I kissed her lips tenderly and then kissed my way down her body. The odour was rich and intoxicating, a mix of sweat, alcohol, her perfume and his cologne. "Come on baby, clean your slut wife's cum-filled pussy," she said as guided my head down between her spread legs. I inhaled the pungent, musky smell of her arousal and his semen. She was leaking cum and was very wet. My tongue found her pussy lips and I licked greedily, savouring the delicate, salty aftermath of their love-making. Then I guided my throbbing cock into her and enjoyed the velvety feel that only sloppy seconds can give. Her pussy skilfully milked my cock, and I kissed her deeply as sublime orgasm wracked my body and my sperm spurted into her well-fucked cunt. “Thank-you, beautiful. That was so good,” I whispered gently in her ear. “I do love my hot wife.” Then we straightened ourselves up and went home, our kids none the wiser to the Great Melbourne Cup Race Day Adventure.