Early into my second marriage, my wife, Lynn and I began to open up more about your past sex lives. While having sex, we each felt much braver, found it much easier to blame it on the moment. I learned that my wife liked to read spicy paperback novels in bed. When I came to bed later, she would be primed from reading pornography; she would attack me, wanting to fuck. I tried to pry information from her about specific scenes in the stories that most interested her, but she was too shy to talk specifics. I tried to find books for her to read, with story lines to my liking, but I couldn’t find any, so I began to write a few short stories, trying different subjects. I discovered she most loved stories about women being fucked by other men while the women’s husbands watched.
I wrote a story about the two of us involved with another man. I left the story next to her morning coffee on the way to work. When I got home that night, I, at first, saw no sign of my wife, but finally found her in bed. When I walked into the room, she threw off the covers telling me to take my clothes off. We fucked for hours. During sex she told me she had read the story; I think she must have enjoyed it.
During sex that night, I had asked her what kind of story she wanted me to write next. She said, smiling hugely, “another one like the last would be good.” The next morning, before leaving for work, I wrote her another story, leaving it by her coffee as before.
When I got home from work that night, my wife was dressed to the hilt, makeup, lipstick, hair, all. She had black hose and stiletto heels on. That night, she began to open more, telling me point blank that she loved the story, that it had made her hot. I took it a bit further, asking her if she would ever behave like the women in the stories. She replied, “If he were here with us now, I would fuck him.” After that, things changed for us. I told her straight out that I wanted her to fuck someone; that preferably, I wanted to watch. But whether or not I got to watch, I wanted her to fuck another man.
Over the next few weeks, it was all we could talk about, but only during sex. We never spoke of sex outside the bedroom. Clearly though, this arrangement was something both of us wanted very badly.
Trouble was, we didn’t know anyone we could trust. We never partied, never met people socially, so I wasn’t sure how to make it happen. One night while we were fucking, I told my wife I wanted our fantasy so bad I could taste it. It didn’t matter to me if I were there or not. As long as she got fucked, it didn’t matter to me.
I could see the impact of my words on her face. It seemed as if she had something important to say, but didn’t quite know how to say it. Lynn looked at me, head cocked to one side, “Are you serious, she asked, “or were your words merely brought on by a lustful moment?”
I told her I was totally serious. She was quiet for a minute and then she began to tell me what had happened to her. She said that about a week ago she had taken our daughter to the play ground a block away. That a man had approached her, had acted very friendly.
“How friendly?” I asked. She was certain the man had been flirting, that he would make a play for her if the opportunity arose.
I told Lynn I wanted her to see him again. If the opportunity came up, I wanted her to do whatever she wanted with him. She asked again if I was sure. I told her I was.
The forecast for the next day’s weather was pleasant, she told me. She would take our daughter to the playground, would wait to see if he turned up again.
All during the following day, I could hardly keep my mind on my work. While driving home, I kept imagining another man’s dick piercing her. I walked into the house. Lynn lay on the sofa on a throw blanket we keep over the back of the sofa. She had no clothes on. I looked at her. She looked back and merely nodded.
I caught on immediately. Stripping, I got on my knees in front of the sofa and kissed her. She stuck her tongue in my mouth, the frenzy was immediate.
I reached between her legs; she was soaked. Nearly holding her breath as she awaited my reaction, she said simply,”He fucked me honey.”
I quickly leaned between her legs to inspect her, bringing my face close to her pussy. The heady smell of Lynn’s hot sex, familiar to me, mixed with the heavy masculine scent of another man, of his sweat and his cum, drove me dizzy with desire. Suddenly I had the urge to put my mouth on her, something she and I had never spoken about.
I tasted of her. The funky acrid smell of sex filled my nose. Driven, I sucked at her pussy, swallowed her juices – and his. I knew her pussy was tender, because she kept twitching and pulling away from me when I sucked too vigorously, but it was difficult to resist; I was consumed with lust.
I lifted her legs high, put my now very hard cock at her opening and pushed inside. I fucked her good, with long deep strokes. As I drove myself deep in her, images of another man’s cock inside Lynn, fucking her, filled my brain. I deeply wished I could have seen them fucking. Seeing his long cock lancing into her, hearing their mixed cries of pleasure, would have brought the ultimate pleasure to me. That night we fucked three times. As we did, she described her day to me. By the end of the night I had a complete picture of what had happened.
I woke up the next morning, made coffee and was sitting at the table when Lynn entered. She looked out the window toward the playground out back, then at me. Pointing she said, “That’s him.”