“Fuck me! Harder! Harder!”
I hissed the words hoarsely into Peter’s ear as he hammered himself deep into my body faster and faster and the wet slapping noises from between my open thighs grew louder and louder.
“Oh yes! Oh yes!” he gasped, thrusting hard and rhythmically, driving his long, slim, familiar cock over and over again into what was, after having had three kids, my rather capacious vagina. “Go on Penny… Go on… you know… what to say.”
After over twenty years of marriage, I did indeed know how to bring my husband to a rapid climax.
“Shut up Pete! Just try… and use… that pathetic little cock…”
I hissed angrily, playing my role as realistically as I could, our bodies colliding with increasing violence.
“Is it… really… so pathetic?” he pleaded, still thrusting hard into me.
“It’s tiny… fucking tiny… compared with… with HIS huge cock.”
The thrusting grew faster and more frantic. After a few more strokes I could feel the head of his cock swelling inside me. My husband was building up to a climax and wouldn’t have long to wait.
“Don’t stop… Mister Tinycock…” I hissed harshly.
“Oh Penny I’m… I’m…”
“Don’t talk; fuck me!” I growled coarsely. “Fuck me harder! Try… to make me cum… like HE makes me cum… if you can!”
The words were those I knew Pete loved; the kind of words that would bring my husband quickly to orgasm – the only kind of words he wanted to hear in bed these days.
“Oh God, Penny… I’m… I’m…”
His thrusts became faster and deeper as his long, thin cock repeatedly battered my cervix but, as usual, I could feel little sign of my own climax approaching.
It was Sunday night and we were naked, in our bedroom, in our big double bed, enjoying our usual end-of-weekend lovemaking session before having an early night in readiness for the coming, busy week.
Both I and my attractive, athletic husband of nearly twenty-five years still worked hard at the physical side of our marriage. Even now we were both over fifty and with the kids away at work or at University, looking good, keeping fit and regular sex still featured high in both our priority lists.
I firmly believed it was one of the main reasons why our marriage had lasted so well and remained so strong. Both of us had always had powerful sex drives but despite the many opportunities to ‘stray’ that had presented themselves over the last twenty-five years – and I have to confess, a few near-misses on my part – I had remained faithful to my husband throughout.
I had to assume that Peter had been similarly tempted but had never seen anything to suggest he had yielded to that temptation either.
Indeed at a time when most of my girlfriends were enduring the approach or even the full-on arrival of the menopause and many – perhaps most – had lost interest in sex altogether, I was still intermittently menstrual and my own sex drive had for some unknown reason seldom been stronger.
At that moment only my husband knew this.
At that moment.
Sadly these days the number of copulations with my husband that resulted in mutual climax (or indeed a climax of any kind for me) had seldom been lower and as I lay beneath him that night, legs spread wide, waiting for his throbbing cock to pump my rather over-sized vagina full of semen, I hadn’t come close to orgasm for many months.
That night was beginning to look like no exception. Fortunately, after many years’ practice I had become good at faking it.
“Oh yes! Fuck me Pete! Make me cum! Make me cum like he does!”
“How… did… he… make… you… cum?”
My husband grunted in time with his quickening thrusts, his face only inches above mine.
“With… his… huge… huge… cock…”
I tightened my pelvic floor around his erection in the hope of gaining more sensation within my highly aroused but highly unsatisfied vagina. I was partly successful – finally the ridges on the upper part of his shaft began to excite my under-stimulated clitoris.
“Where… did… he… stick… his… huge… cock?”
Pete’s eyes were wide now, his body shuddering, his climax very close.
“In my… wet… sloppy…cunt…”
I tilted my pelvis forward in an attempt to rub my clit still harder against his shaft, feeling the powerful effect my words were having on my husband’s already-tense body.
“In what… Penny?”
“In… my… CUNT…!” I growled harshly into his ear. “In my CUNT!”
“Oh fuck! I’m going… to cummm soon…!”
Small drops of sweat fell from his forehead onto my cheek as his familiar, slightly-lined but still-handsome face began to contort and twist and his climax began to take control of his body. I clenched down as hard as I could with my pelvic floor, trying desperately to close my once-tight vagina around his shaft as his thrusts grew faster and faster and his body hammered into mine.
I spread my thighs as far as I could too, opening myself wide, seeking every last millimetre of his cock inside me, hoping that the extra depth of penetration would compensate for the lack of girth and that his pubic hair, if pressed hard enough against mine, would stimulate my clitoris enough to give me a desperately needed orgasm.
It didn’t work for me but it drove Pete to even greater heights of pleasure.
“Oh that’s good! So GOOD!”
His ejaculation was imminent and would be a big one this time.
“Was he… much bigger… than me…?”
The rhythm of his thrusting began to break and become wilder and more random.
“Bigger… and better… He… was… amazing…when… he… fucked… my cunt!”
“Tell me… Penny…! Tell me… how he fucked you!”
“Hard! He fucked me hard! His cock… is SO much bigger… bigger than your… pathetic little prick!”
I hissed cruelly, playing my part as enthusiastically as I could.
“Oh God! Pennyyyyy! I’m cumminggggg!”
I tightened myself one last time around his swelling shaft as hard as my pelvic floor would allow, desperately seeking that extra bit of friction that might bring me a last minute rush towards orgasm.
“He’s twice… the lover… you are…! His cock… makes me cum… SO much… better than you can!”
My voice sounded hard and angry in the low-lit bedroom but as usual my husband gave every sign of delight.
“Oh… Christ Pennyyyyy!”
Pete’s thrusts lost all remaining rhythm as his orgasm enveloped him.
“Cum then!” I grunted, my harsh words falling over each other. “Cum in me! Fuck me like HE fucked me! Fill me with your seed like HE did!”
“Oh God, yeeeeeSSSSS!”
And with that, the man who had been my husband for over twenty five years began to ejaculate inside my body, his face twisted and contorted, his back hunched in spasm, his hips grinding into mine so hard it hurt. I could feel his cock pulsating within me, spurting that most precious of fluids against my cervix.
A warm, contented, female glow encircled me as once again my role as a woman was affirmed. It was a glow I knew well and loved passionately; a glow that could almost make up for the disappointment of failing to reach orgasm once again.
“Can you feel… his cum… still inside me?”
I asked, maintaining the fantasy once my husband’s body had slowed to a pulsating halt. Pete’s weight was on my hips, crushing them into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside me, the way he knew I loved.
“Yes, yes, yes, Pennyyyy!”
“Can you feel… his cum… still in my cunt?”
I stared up into his still youthful though grey-framed face as he panted. Peter’s hot breath was on my face as his cock pumped the last few drops of semen into my vagina. It was the part I loved so much – the only way I believed lovemaking should ever end. To me, the act of insemination was and had always been the most magical and desirable moment of any mating.
“YESSS!” I hissed, my chest tight with rich but unsatisfied lust.
I dug my fingernails into his clenched buttocks, drawing his body tightly into and against mine, tipping my hips again in a last minute attempt to grind the top of his pulsing shaft against my clitoris.
“Cummm in meeee! Give me every last drop! Knock me up! Make a baby in me like I want HIM to!”
I felt the throbbing in my husband’s erection subside. I closed my eyes and pictured his semen spurting into my body, spattering the entrance to my womb as it had done so many times before.
The warm earthy, female glow within me grew stronger, the sensation going some way towards compensating for my lack of orgasm.
Pete smiled, panted a little then chuckled. He gazed slightly dazedly into my eyes, his cock still hard, reaching deep within my body, binding us close together.
“Oh Penny that was amazing… One of the very best… Best ever… Oh my God!”
There was no point telling him that once again I hadn’t reached orgasm. Peter would know it himself; I hadn’t even tried to fake it this time.
His climax over, my husband gently lowered his hot body onto mine until his muscular chest crushed my tiny boobs, his weight temporarily forcing my thighs even further apart and pressing me hard into the bed sheets.
I wrapped my long, still-slim legs around his upper thighs, pulling his body into mine as I felt his spent erection slowly soften within me.
Even after all these years and despite my lack of climax, it was a sensation I adored. It was almost as if feeling a man’s once-aggressive, virile erection subsiding within me somehow represented the triumph of my soft femininity over his hard, masculine penetration; as if in the long run my weak impregnated feminine body was stronger than any man’s temporary sexual power over me.
Maybe I should have stuck with psychology at University, I smiled to myself ironically.
Pete’s cock slipped messily from my vagina; I felt a small trickle of wetness follow his flaccid member out of my body, over my buttocks and onto the bed.
That strange but increasingly familiar feeling of emptiness passed through me again.
“Wow, Penny,” he smiled down at me, still panting. His face was flushed pink, his voice wobbly but he was obviously pleased. “That was your best yet!”
He rolled off and lay heavily alongside me on the rumpled, messy sheet.
“That was just amazing! YOU were amazing!” he added.
I smiled back, looking across at my beaming, handsome husband, trying hard to conceal my disappointment.
“Who were you thinking of this time?” he asked, apparently unaware of the deceit.
“No-one in particular,” I lied.
My reply was unconvincing, even to me. Pete laughed.
“I know that tone of voice,” he said kissing me on the shoulder. “That means it wasn’t a celebrity this time. That means it was someone real. You were pretending to be fucked by someone we know well; a friend perhaps?”
He was right but I wasn’t going to tell him so. There was a long pause before he tentatively added the question.
“Was it Neil?” I said nothing, my face poker-straight.
‘Guess your wife’s fantasy lover’ – it was a familiar post-coital game and as usual, I didn’t respond but also as usual, Peter tried to trick me into giving away my secret.
“It was Tony wasn’t it? That’s who it was!”
I said nothing but stared at the ceiling, thinking slightly worrying thoughts as my husband recovered his breath.
At the age of fifty-one and with two grown-up children, I knew it was normal for couples in long, monogamous relationships to have to work hard to keep things fresh and exciting in bed. Certainly all the women’s magazines I had read since I was a teenager had told me this, but I hadn’t expected things with my husband to go so far so quickly in what was an increasingly alarming direction.
Fit, tanned, five feet nine inches tall and with a slim, athletic figure, Peter was still a very attractive man. Three years older than me but the same height to the inch, he worked out at the gym regularly, as did I, and took care over his appearance. Both successful in the medical field, Pete and I had a wonderful life – three confident grown-up children, a large house at the edge of a sought-after village, frequent foreign holidays and of course a good circle of friends.
Since giving birth to the kids, I had tried hard to look after my figure – so many of our friends had ‘let themselves go’ after childbirth – and had been to some extent successful. I was tall for a woman and even at my age was still slim with long legs and dark, shoulder-length hair. My boobs were, and had always been, tiny even when breast-feeding and of course there were a few more lines on my face and my tummy than I would have preferred but in all, we were a successful, attractive couple.
Our sex life had always been active and energetic but after the kids had been born had started to wane a little. Ten years ago it had been given a kick start by Pete’s vasectomy which freed me from the worry of long term use of the pill and removed the need for the hated condoms we would otherwise have had to use. For a year or so our sex life had soared but after that, things had begun to wane once again until we both realised another boost was needed.
It was nearly five years since we had discovered the joys of phone sex when I had been abroad on one of my frequent trips for work, but only a year at most since the idea of introducing fantasies about having other partners had entered our sex life. Beginning on the phone, then increasingly in bed together, we had started to take turns setting fantasy scenes where it was first tolerated, then acceptable and finally almost compulsory to bring new partners into the mix.
At first it had been exciting, liberating and for months our sex life had been given another massive boost in terms of frequency and intensity as if we were a young couple once again, but over time several things had happened almost unnoticed.
The first was that Pete had gradually started to keep his own fantasies to himself and encouraged me to indulge mine more and more until eventually I realised that for a full three months all of our sex life had revolved around scenarios where I had been having sex with other men.
When I mentioned this, Pete told me he was quite happy; my fantasies coincided completely with his.
The second and more insidious concern was inside my head; the gradual recognition that, in order to maintain the fantastic levels of arousal and climax that our fantasy games had first brought about, I was having to go to greater and greater extremes in my scenarios.
What had started with merely imagining kissing Brad Pitt or George Clooney while my husband watched had quickly progressed in my mind having to full sex with them, then other celebrities, then men I knew in real life, starting with men I knew from work then progressing to the position we had reached now; fantasising about having wild sex with our closest friends.
The fantasy sex in my mind had become more extreme too, even beyond the expurgated versions I which were all I dared tell Pete during our sessions. I had now reached the disturbing point that very evening when to get anywhere close to real arousal I had had to imagine the husband of my closest friend fucking me to within an inch of my life before actually making me pregnant in front of his wife and my husband.
Not surprisingly I hadn’t shared all of this particular fantasy with Pete but my mind was still abuzz with the vivid images and there was an unsatisfied glow within my belly, a situation made worse by my continued inability to reach orgasm.
The final and perhaps most serious concern was that for the past few months, very obliquely at first but then more and more overtly, Peter had started hinting that I might – one day and at my own pace – want to turn my fantasies into reality and actually sleep with other men in real life as well as in our games.
At first I had thought he was simply trying to intensify our fantasy sex. Then I had been convinced I had misunderstood what he had suggested but over time it had gradually dawned on me that not only was he actually serious about me having sex with another man, it also was something he was keen to watch me do.
No stranger to erotic literature myself, I knew that this was not an uncommon male fantasy but it wasn’t something I would ever have suspected my successful, attractive, athletic husband of harbouring.
And yet here he was, straight after making love in our bed, trying to persuade me again…
“He’s always had a bit of a thing about you…” Peter’s voice brought me back from me reverie.
“Tony! He’s wanted to get into your knickers ever since the Medical Ball when the kids were little.”
“Don’t be silly…” I retorted, trying to conceal the truth of his assertion and remembering how close Tony had actually come to achieving his goal on at least two occasions in the past. I shivered as I remembered that July evening ten years ago when his fingers had first touched my body.
“He’s flirty with all the girls.” I protested aloud in an attempt to distract my thoughts.
Pete rolled onto his side facing me, his fingers toying with my sensitive, still firm nipples then stroking my belly on their way down to the dark triangle below. His fingertips tangled themselves in my knotted, sparse pubic hair before tracing the outline of my swollen, sensitive, still-unsatisfied lips. Instinctively I pressed my knees together as if to restrict his access, then changed my mind and let my thighs part slightly. I felt his fingers brush over my swollen clit.
There was a long pause before he carried on, his voice quiet and reassuring.
“It would be OK, you know,” he whispered, his fingers gently parting my outer lips.
“What would be OK?” I asked disingenuously, knowing full well what he meant but enjoying his delicate finger work below.
“If you found someone… someone you might actually want to fuck for real!”
I didn’t reply. Instead I just closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on his hands and my body’s increasing response. His fingertips were working their expert way into my slit, stroking my still-aroused body up and down.
“As long as you told me all about it; maybe even let me help out.”
I still didn’t respond. Pete’s fingers found my clit. I felt its hood being raised and a single stroke underneath its tiny shaft. I shuddered with pleasure.
“Mmmm! Dont stop!” I murmured.
But Pete waited, his fingers still, then repeated:
“I said it would be OK if you wanted to fuck another man…” he began again.
“I heard what you said, Pete!” I snapped, interrupting him abruptly, the erotic magic now well and truly broken. “Don’t let’s go over it all again. Can’t we just enjoy the fantasy? Please! You’re getting weird now!”
There was yet another long pause.
“You didn’t cum tonight though, did you?” he asked, confidently, resuming his stroking between my thighs.
“I enjoyed it, Pete. Really I did…” I protested, trying to relax again and enjoy the sensation building between my thighs again.
“When did I last make you cum?” he asked, his stroking growing more confident and considerably more pleasurable. “A month ago? Three months ago? You’re so good at faking it, I can’t always tell.”
My lips remained closed but it was true. When the fantasies had started I had climaxed so freely and easily that I hadn’t had to fake it for months and months, but now I hadn’t made it for – what was it – three months? No, much longer!
“Did you enjoy it tonight? Really, I mean,” he continued, his fingers now entering my sticky passage.
“Mmmm… it was great…” I lied, forcing a smile so false even my post-climactic husband could see through it.
“Penny, I’m sorry…” he began, his hand now stationary, two fingers within my messy vagina. I snuggled up to him and put a finger on his lips as his fingers slipped from me.
“Tonight was for you. We’ll have one for me next time,” I reassured him.
“Promise me you’ll at least think about it,” he asked, almost begging. I raised my eyebrow suspiciously.
“You’re really serious? This isn’t just part of the game?”
“I’m serious. If I can’t give you what you need in bed any more then I want us to find someone who can.”
I couldn’t think what to say, but he carried on.
“I’m not asking you to let me sleep with other women too. Really I’m not. It’s all about you…”
There was more enigmatic silence from me but again he had hit my suspicion spot-on. That was exactly what I had suspected the first time he had raised the idea all those months ago. There was no way I would even consider becoming a ‘swinger’ – I had no desire to see Pete with another woman. None at all!
“Will you at least consider it? Come on Pen, just think about it,” he pleaded. “It seems to turn you on when we’re…”
“Okay! Okay! I’ll think about it!” My voice was almost a yell, cutting off his protestations mid sentence. “But I’m not saying I’ll do anything with anyone, understand?”
Alongside me, my husband beamed with pleasure.
“That’s all I ask, darling. Thank you – you never know, you might think it’s a good idea after all.”
We lay side by side in silence, Peter looking a little pleased with himself; my head full of contradictory emotions.
Whatever I told myself, the idea of having really great sex again was very attractive.
But I’d never cheated on my husband properly, despite the ‘near-misses’ all those years ago I was still a faithful wife.
But was it actually cheating if Pete wanted me to do it?
Why on earth would he want me to cheat on him?
“Now how about you let me finish you off right now, like we used to?”
My husband suddenly whispered, planting a line of kisses down the middle of my tummy and blessedly breaking my anxious train of thought. His breath was warm and soft on my skin and as his face closed in on the dark triangle between my thighs, he murmured.
“I haven’t done this for ages. It always used to do the trick.”
I felt his hot mouth against the soft skin of my upper thighs; his fingers probed deeply into my sticky vagina once again and I realised what he intended to do.
“Pete, No! Don’t! I’m not clean down there… We’ve just… I’m all sticky…Ohhhhh! Ohhhh Godddd!”
My head fell back helplessly onto the bed sheets, my thighs parting automatically as my husband’s mouth closed on my engorged vulva. Moving between my knees, his head fell between my upper thighs, his fingers gently parted my outer lips and his hot breath fell onto my warm, messy core.
My eyes closed, all my senses focussed between my thighs as his tongue flicked expertly first along one puffy inner lip, then the other before diving into the dark, welcoming passage in between.
“Pete… Don’t,” I protested weakly, “I’m all… Ohhhhh!”
The glow in my belly that had flickered feebly during our sex now began to grow in intensity as his tongue slowly and thoroughly explored every soft, moist, semen-covered part of my most sensitive area, finishing with a long, slow upwards stroke across the underside of my clitoris.
“Ohhh Jeeezzz… Ohhh… Pete… I’m not… Ohhhh… Don’t…”
My voice sounded slurry and incoherent, my chest now tightening with the force of what I suddenly realised could be a real, massive orgasm, my first in months, IF he kept on doing these amazing things to me!
“You’re full… of cum…”
I dimly heard him gasp as his fingers deftly slid back the hood of my rather over-sized clitoris. The very tip of his tongue danced around its swollen nub making my chest tighten until I felt I had to gasp for air.
“But… I’m all… all messy…” I protested to no effect.
For a full minute or more I felt his tongue circling my clit, over and under, round and round, making it swell until it felt like it would burst.
“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” My words were slurred by arousal.
“So much cum in you, Penny…”
He paused and I felt his hot breath on my inner thigh again.
“What if… it wasn’t… my cum… inside you…”
His voice was low, harsh and barely audible over my laboured breathing. His tongue dabbed at my clit roughly between every broken phrase, my head spinning madly as my orgasm began to build and build like a massive wave rising high over my helpless body.
“What if… you’d just… been fucked… by someone else… by HIM?”
A long finger entered my gaping vagina, curling upwards towards my G-spot as his tongue laid waste to my engorged clit.
The wave of impending orgasm crested over me and began to break. My body went into spasm, my legs closing involuntarily on my husband’s head then falling wide apart.
I thrust my fingers into his hair, grabbing it roughly as his hands slid under my buttocks and raised my messy vulva to his face. His active tongue worked overtime now, on, around and underneath the hood of my hugely swollen, sensitive clit as his fingers dived deep into my vagina leaving me overwhelmed and completely helpless.
“What if… it was HIS cum… inside you… in your belly… in your cunt…?”
Pete’s muffled voice was harder now, wildly aroused, almost threatening – and I loved it!
I felt more fingers entering my vagina, how many I couldn’t tell. I felt them stretching me tightly; twisting and turning within me as if exploring; seeking a special place while STILL his amazing tongue worked its magic on my clitoris – now so swollen and aroused it was painful.
“What if… it was HIS cum…? I was licking… from your cunt…”
I dimly felt that a line had just been crossed but was too far gone to understand, the pleasure and pain now completely fuddling my mind as a second, stronger wave of orgasm washed over me.
“Oh yes! OH GOD YES!” I wailed, exhausted from my first wave of orgasm but desperate for more, as if to make up for lost time.
Pete was relentless, working his fingers and tongue within me with a skill I had all but forgotten he possessed.
“Oh Jesus! … Oh… my… fucking… Goddddd!”
It was my voice I heard, but twisted and distorted by lust as my husband’s fingers finally located my g-spot and worked their magic inside my body. A final massive tidal wave of orgasmic heat began to roll over me, drowning me in its intensity.
“Cum for me Penny!” Pete hissed triumphantly.
All semblance of control left me; my eyes lost focus, I felt my thighs close hard against the sides of his head, my back arched, my fingers gripped and pulled his hair and within seconds a very real, very intense, very-much-needed orgasm washed over me like a mighty hot wave, rippling outwards from deep between my thighs, making my whole body tremble in his hands.
“That’s my girl,” he hissed, his fingers and tongue still working on my body. “Cum for me… for HIM… Cum like HE made you cum…”
The voice I heard was barely recognisable as my own as for the first time in over a year I had an earth-moving, mind-shattering orgasm that left me exhausted, panting and afterwards capable only of sleep.
But as I came wildly and noisily in our marital bed, overwhelmed by lust, totally abandoned to my own pleasure, it wasn’t my husband Peter’s face I pictured, contorted, inches above mine, filling my anxious, greedy cunt with his hot, sticky seed!
And as my body flexed and convulsed on our marital bed, my husband’s mouth and hands a frenzy of activity between my thighs, neither of us had any idea what the future held in store.
Or what we would soon become.
The kitchen was bright with sunshine that Sunday morning as I checked the laptop screen one last time before taking a deep breath and anxiously clicking on the ‘submit’ button. There was a pause, the cursor span in little circles and then the ‘thank you’ message appeared.
I breathed a sigh of relief. It was done; the fruit of two weeks’ work would, I hoped, soon be published and after that my new online friends would increase in number helping me further along the journey I had so recently undertaken.
If I had known then how far that journey would take me and my husband Pete, or how quickly we might get there I might not have been so free with my writing and sharing my emotions.
But at that moment I had no idea – and the first few steps had certainly been fun.
After my fuddled mind had adjusted to the extraordinary realisation that my attractive husband of twenty years was actually serious about watching me having sex with other men, my next thought was that I had to learn a lot more about what I could only consider a very strange and unnatural fetish.
Shared fantasies were one thing; actually having sex with another man; actually cheating on my husband for the first time since our marriage was another thing altogether. At the time I had no real thought of doing what he had asked but I loved my husband very much and wanted to understand what strange thing was happening to him to make him want this.
After all, men do have midlife crises, don’t they?
I had expected the idea to revolt as well as shock me – after all, it’s not the sort of proposal you expect from someone you have been married to for so long – but to my surprise I found myself more curious than repelled and thought about it at first in an oddly detached, almost scientific rather than a passionate or lustful way.
I had always been dimly aware of the ‘swinging’ scene and over the years had seen many TV programmes in which wife-swapping had featured, though more in comedy than in drama. Indeed at least one village not far from us had a reputation for this sort of thing dating back to the 1960’s but in my naiveté I hadn’t really imagined that it was still going on.
I had had even less idea that it involved the affluent, professional classes to which my husband Peter and I belonged at least as much, if not more than ‘those kind of ‘ families living on the ‘problem’ estates.
I had so much to learn.
I suppose Pete and I had lived fairly sheltered lives. From School we had both gone on to University in the Midlands where he had studied Medicine, I had studied Biological Sciences and we had met through mutual friends in the hospital.
Pete was and still is slim, handsome and athletic. Neither tall nor short and these days somewhat thin on top of his head, nonetheless he is still fit, confident and attractive, not least to me.
I’m as tall as my husband to the inch – taller when I’m in heels – with dark eyes and dark brown hair (most of the time). I’m still slim and fit though I have to work hard to stay that way, and have always had very small boobs, even when feeding our two kids.
Our eldest, now in his mid-twenties, lives and works in London and our two younger children were away at University at that time so Pete and I had been living the life of a couple again for nearly a year before these events took place. It had, I must confess, been a lot of fun being a couple again with evenings out, evenings in, weekends away and, of course, a great deal more sex thanks to vastly improved privacy.
Pete’s vasectomy some years ago had helped too, removing the need to worry about my long term use of the pill. Neither of us liked condoms and my menopause was only beginning so some form of protection was still needed.
We have both prospered in our careers too. Pete is a Consultant at a major hospital in the city near where we live. I work in a senior role in a medical-related field in a city nearby but I’d better keep the details of that to myself or it would be far too easy for a persistent reader to work out who we are!
But back to Pete’s astonishing proposition.
As a trained researcher, my first instinct was to find out much more about what I had originally considered an exciting fetish, but definitely one for the fantasy zone alone. The idea of turning that fantasy into reality was both frightening and exciting at the same time but not something I was taking seriously. If I’m honest, the idea of my own husband not just accepting me being unfaithful but actually trying to persuade me to have sex with other men though unthinkable in practice was highly arousing in principle.
But there was no doubt Pete was sincere about it. This was something I found deeply unsettling and at first my number one concern was for my husband’s mental health.
My first port of call for research was of course the anonymous internet so, with feelings of misgivings, I trawled the net for some time, looking for anything remotely scientific about a man’s desire to allow or even watch his wife having sex with another man – the desire to become a Cuckold.
There was plenty of porn of course, much of it badly written and entirely unbelievable, but there were a few genuine studies out there too which I analysed assiduously. I even joined a forum or two under false male names and tentatively joined in a few threads, but soon discovered most participants were either frauds or fantasists or both.
Overall I learned a number of things that both worried and reassured me:
That cuckoldry was a surprisingly common fetish in the western world, affecting perhaps a fifth of men in the USA in some form. One report suggested up to half of all American men had at least fantasised about their partner being with another man. British men couldn’t be all that different, I reasoned, rather shocked.
That it is a form of masochism – I hadn’t imagined that – in which the pain of a wife’s infidelity was offset against powerful feelings of arousal and, in widely varying degrees, a desire to be humiliated.
My athletic, attractive husband, a masochist? Who would have thought it?
Even stranger, I learned that deliberate cuckoldry is most common among educated, affluent middle class couples. This would certainly describe Peter and me. Wow!
I also learned to my surprise that it is not the same as a desire to ‘swing’ – there was not necessarily any need for the cuckold husband to have a reciprocal right to have sex with other women. Again this fitted in well with all Pete had said to me.
Maybe it wasn’t so strange a fetish…? Maybe he didn’t need therapy after all.
There were plenty of videos too, most of them obviously fake, but after a while I stumbled on a good few that appeared to be genuine. These I watched with fascination when I was alone in the house or early in the morning while Pete slept upstairs.
Despite their universally low quality, in many cases I could feel the real, genuine enjoyment being experienced by all the participants. To my considerable surprise, the identity of the ‘bull’ in these encounters seemed almost irrelevant; he was often just ‘a cock’, usually a black cock but not necessarily a huge one. He didn’t even need to be handsome and was often quite overweight!
What was more surprising was that the ‘bull’ appeared to get less pleasure from having sex with another man’s wife than either the unfaithful wife or even her cuckolded husband got out of the event.
I had not been expecting this at all and have to confess that on more than one occasion I was aroused enough watching the video clips to wake my sleeping husband up for a passionate pre-breakfast copulation straight away.
So it went on for weeks, the new knowledge significantly heightening my arousal and dramatically improving our sex life to a degree I hadn’t expected at all. Our fantasies grew more detailed and more intense so that I now only had to fake some of my orgasms rather than almost all of them.
Pete kept asking me if I had thought any more about his idea of turning our increasingly vivid fantasies into reality. I kept telling him that I was still thinking about it but wasn’t ready to give him a definitive reply yet. When he tried to press me harder, I shamelessly put him off by suggesting too much pressure would make me not want to do it at all!
Meanwhile I continued my researches on line but it soon wasn’t enough for my anxious, inquisitive mind.
Guided by some of the techniques I would use to investigate a hypothesis at work, I felt I had to find a way to test out all I had learned in real life, as I would with a medical theory. I needed to keep myself safe and anonymous but at the same time needed to find out more about my own, mixed-up emotions. The online forums I had joined helped to some extent but many of them were so obviously inhabited by imposters as to be useless.
I resolved to find at least one genuine, real life cuckold to explain the increasingly appealing desire to me on a one-to-one basis. More would be better, but one real example was essential.
So I started to write again.
I had originally discovered the pleasures of online erotica nearly ten years earlier when Peter and I were going through a ‘dry period’ in our marriage. It had also been around the time of my first ‘near-miss’ with Tony, as I now thought of it.
At that time I had investigated erotic stories on the internet as a way of addressing some of the sexual frustrations that the problems in our marriage were causing. Back then there were no ‘Fifty Shades’ books easily available to a married woman approaching middle age. I quickly found that, although there were plenty of erotic stories on the many websites out there, the bulk of them were disappointingly crude, unrealistic, often misogynistic and almost exclusively male-oriented.
After a frustrating week reading wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am stories in which ten inch cocks seemed to be the norm and were all that women obsessed about, I decided to see if I could do better myself.
Almost immediately I found writing to be both arousing and cathartic; allowing my deepest fantasises free rein as I wrote was extraordinarily arousing. I gradually grew bolder and eventually found the courage to submit my first work under a pseudonym.
Within a week it was live on screen; I could hardly believe my eyes! To be honest, seeing my own words actually ‘in print’ in public was both terrifying and amazingly satisfying at the same time.
Of course it wasn’t all plane sailing. Although I knew to expect some unpleasant comments, I was shocked and hurt by some of the extraordinarily offensive comments posted and messages sent by the horrible trolls who inhabit the internet and who also seem to lie in wait, preparing to attack unsuspecting authors.
The attacks I suffered then and still suffer now could and still can reduce me to tears with their viciousness but when the praise began to arrive a day or so later, I felt a new pride in myself, a pride strong enough to over-ride the hate mail – although there is no way to prevent it hurting.
At first I wrote as a woman but received so many unwanted and unpleasant messages that I quickly switched to a male pseudonym which I stuck with for several years. But eventually as the kids grew older and I had less and less time to myself, the writing slowed to a standstill until I found to my surprise that I had published nothing for over three years.
Now however, the timing of Peter’s extraordinary suggestion had been fortuitous. With all my children either at University or working in London, I had much more time on my hands, especially early in the mornings when I habitually rose an hour before my husband and had the house to myself – time to work, think, stretch and, importantly to write again.
And this time through my writing, I needed to deliberately explore the unfamiliar world of infidelity that my husband apparently wanted the two of us to enter.
A few weeks later a new series of erotic stories began to appear on various websites written by a woman describing herself as ‘middle aged and middle class’. The stories followed several themes but one in particular stood out in terms of the number of stories and their popularity – the emotive and controversial idea of wife sharing . Mostly were written in the first-person and, unusually for a female writer, were almost all written from the Cuckold Male point of view.
My previous years of writing as a man were beginning to pay off.
My first attempt was enjoyable, if slightly off target. At the time I hadn’t quite grasped the important difference between ‘swinging’ and ‘cuckolding’ so had written a story based on an incident that had actually happened to a close friend and her husband and which I had learned during a drunken hen party. To my surprise, I really enjoyed the writing and the closeness it had brought both me and my friend as we collaborated rather drunkenly on the details.
The story was well received but the feedback taught me of the existence of the ‘one-way’ swinging or ‘wife sharing’ world which I suppose I had suspected existed but had never explored. My next story went into this much more deliberately and deeply. Feedback for this second story was much more revealing and brought me into contact with a handful of trolls, a good few outright liars but also several real life cuckolds with whom I began to correspond regularly.
Richard was the most influential – I have his good counsel to thank for much of what took place the following year – and through their open and honest conversations I gradually began to understand the attraction of ‘planned infidelity’ to the cuckold as well as to his wife or girlfriend.
And with that understanding, my husband’s fantasies began to feel less and less perverted and, to my surprise, I found myself unexpectedly becoming more and more interested.
I turned and looked at the kitchen clock. Just after eight. Plenty of time, I thought as I filled the kettle and switched it on. I smiled inwardly, guessing that my husband of over twenty-five years would be in bed for at least another hour – possibly much longer, given the amount of red wine he had drunk at the dinner party last night.
I had been the nominated driver as usual so had remained nearly sober all evening; a good thing as it turned out, given the way Tony’s hands had wandered when I had dropped him off at his apartment on our way home.
Tony had been my husband’s partner in crime over dinner, at least as far as red wine consumption was concerned. Although not nearly as drunk as Pete, he had certainly been tipsy enough to push his usual ‘goodbye hug’ quite a bit further tonight. Once again I had been forced good humouredly to move his fondling hands away from my buttocks and up to my back as we kissed our goodbyes on his doorstep.
Tony and his wife Jane had been two of our closest friends ever since our children were born. Indeed Jane and I had first met at a nursery school Christmas party. Their two children were much the same ages as our three and we had spent many enjoyable evenings, weekends and even a few holidays away with them over the years.
The only fly in the ointment – if it was a fly – was that Tony had become a little took forward when hugging me goodbye after a day out or especially after a wine-fuelled dinner party. He had always been very tactile with the wives of his friends but as far as I knew had never actually either been slapped in the face or taken to bed by any of us. The general view was that it was ‘just his way’ and that he didn’t really mean anything by it but it was noticeable that the way he touched me was considerably bolder than other women and was getting more so.
I had tried to hide this mild groping from my husband – after all, we’re British and don’t like ‘scenes’ – but as I learned more about the ‘cuckold mindset’ it started to cross my mind that perhaps my husband was not as ignorant as I had imagined; perhaps he had known this was happening all along but had chosen not to intervene. Perhaps he even got a thrill out of seeing another man’s hands on his wife’s body.
I was never entirely sure how to react to Tony’s attempted groping. On the one hand it was an outrageous invasion of my personal space which as a confidant, professional woman with a decidedly married status I absolutely should not tolerate.
On the other hand, Tony was a very close friend of us both who I was increasingly finding extremely attractive and with whom I had come very close to ‘inappropriate contact’ on at least two memorable occasions in the past.
Extremely close and very inappropriate on one memorable occasion a few years ago; the closest I had ever come to cheating on my husband. This was an important reason I usually chose to drive and not drink if I knew Tony would be present.
Besides, he had been a bit drunk too, and who could blame him? After all, his wife of over twenty years had only months before started having an affair. I still couldn’t quite believe it; Jane had been my closest friend for nearly twenty years. We had first met at the kids’ nursery and our two families had been on holiday together nearly a dozen times since then.
She was nearly the same age as me but just after the previous Christmas, had been foolish enough to embark on a very public affair with her Personal Trainer, a man almost young enough to be her son. It was obvious to all her friends, including me that this relationship could never last long but she appeared oblivious to the fact and seemed to be revelling in her new notoriety.
So far this mid-life crisis had resulted in Jane and her husband separating and Tony living for the past six months in a new three-bedroom apartment near the city centre.
If I am totally honest, I was also rather envious that a fifty-one year old mother of two could attract and so far keep so young and beautiful a boy. Pete had rather leeringly suggested that she must be very good in bed and from what she occasionally told me about her new relationship I suspected this was probably true. She was certainly still extremely pretty, I had to admit and over the years had spent long hours in the gym keeping in shape but it had still been quite a surprise when the two of them had gone public with their affair.
Tony had moved out of their home shortly afterwards.
Since then, on several occasions and especially after a few drinks, Jane had made suggestive comments about what it was like to be in bed with her young lover compared with her husband and by implication, what it must be like for me in bed with mine. Her eyes were bright and animated and her face looked a good ten years younger as she described how incredible he made her feel. Sometimes when tipsy she would even hint at some of the things they got up to which, she once confessed after a very drunken girls’ night in, now included frequent anal sex.
The image of this china-doll-pretty mother of two on her knees with a young man’s cock in her rectum was almost more than my imagination could handle but the profound and exciting effect on my friend was undeniable and impossible to dismiss.
What spoiled the image was her rather bitter attitude to her husband Tony, who even then would seldom comment publically on her behaviour. Jane on the other hand would often make subtle and occasionally extremely unsubtle hints at his performance in bed, suggesting that his erection simply wasn’t long enough or that, unsurprisingly, he didn’t have the energy of a gym instructor more than twenty years his junior.
But whatever the reasons for her infidelity, Jane was paying a high price for the sexual gratification she was now receiving. Apart from me, many of her older friends now tended to shy away from her as if the illness might be contagious. Certainly she and her boyfriend were very seldom invited out as a couple. Worse still, her children refused to stay at the family house she still occupied when they came home from University. If her boyfriend was there, they preferred to squeeze into their father’s apartment rather than give any suggestion they accepted their mother’s young lover.
The radio beeped the hour, brining me back to the present. Frowning at my inner thoughts, I pulled my dressing gown around me and made another cup of tea before returning to my laptop to check my emails. Not my ‘real life’ emails; they came to my phone and iPad. No, I wanted to check the new email account I had set up specifically for correspondence under the new online persona I had created for my writing.
There were two new messages, both feedback from one of the sites I had chosen to publish my stories. As usual I opened them anxiously, fearing another Troll attack but to my relief this time they were both positive – very positive in fact.
One was anonymous, the author praising the story and to my delight, the style of writing, hinting that he had personal experience of the cuckold lifestyle himself. The writer of the other feedback offered to tell me all about his own history as a cuckold and added a few sentences as an example of his experiences. I noted the email address. Unlike many of the messages I received, this one had at least a ring of legitimacy about it. I dashed off a quick reply, accepting the offer. After all, I could always learn something new.
My replies sent, I refilled my mug and re-read the previous day’s message from Richard. I looked forward to receiving his messages; Richard had been a godsend, proving more than just helpful in helping me understand what made a man actually want to have an unfaithful wife. Although he hadn’t done it himself, he could understand why a man might even want to watch her being unfaithful in the way my own husband Peter seemed genuinely and increasingly to desire from me.
As I read once again how Richard’s wife Barbara had met and chosen her various lovers; how she had told him all about them; how he was allowed to veto them only for reasons of safety or sanity; how honesty and openness was so vital in a cuckold relationship, I wondered more and more about Pete’s fantasies.
Would he really derive pleasure from my infidelity in real life as well as in our fantasies? Certainly his pressure on me to at least consider taking a lover and eventually let him watch us ‘in flagrante delicto’ had become relentless. Even last night, his performance seriously hampered by alcohol, he had tried to begin a sex fantasy about me with our apparently hugely-endowed Jamaican window cleaner. If I’m honest, the fantasy had had quite a strong appeal for me too but, as I had expected, Pete had fallen asleep before we could get properly started.
But even if he was genuinely interested, apart from the obvious disturbing issue of infidelity, there were so many other questions:
What might it be like making love to someone new after more than twenty years of monogamous marriage? What might it feel like to have another man’s cock inside me, his mouth on mine; his hands on my body? Might I actually reach the orgasm that had been denied to me for so long? How would I feel coming home to Peter afterwards? Overwhelmed by guilt? Deeply satisfied? Or would he insist on being there all the time, watching? How would it feel to have sex in front of someone else?
But for every exciting positive there were so many negatives:
Who would I want to sleep with anyway, given the choice? Did I even have a choice at my age? And would that man want to sleep with me, a fifty-plus year old mother of two grown-up kids? And even if he did want me, would I dare expose my middle-aged post-childbirth body to him? And most importantly, could our marriage possibly survive if I did take a lover – or more than one as Pete’s fantasies seemed to demand?
There were far too many questions and not enough answers, despite the best efforts of Richard and my other pen pals.
The sound of Pete moving about upstairs stirred me from my reverie and I quickly closed the e-mail account on my laptop, replacing the page with an on-line recipe and deleting my browsing history. I had no reason to think Pete ever spied on my internet use, but I wasn’t entirely sure and didn’t want to take any chances – at least not yet.
As I boiled the kettle again I wondered what was going through my husband’s mind at that moment. I smiled; with him nursing a red wine hangover, whatever he was thinking was unlikely to feature me at all!
I placed two steaming cups of tea on a tray and carried them up to the bedroom.
To my surprise, the room was full of the sound of running water as I placed the drinks on my dressing table. The bed was rumpled and empty so it didn’t take a genius to work out that Pete was in the shower and I nervously crossed towards the door to the en-suite bathroom to see how he was feeling. Given his wine consumption the previous evening, I was expecting the worst but when he saw me through the shower’s steamed-up glass wall, he greeted me cheerfully, his voice raised over the noise of the rushing water.
“What?” I asked, unable to hear him properly and immediately annoyed with his demeanour. How dare he not have the hangover he deserved after being so drunk last night?
“How’s my little Hotwife this morning?” he repeated jokingly, wrong-footing me for a moment.
“What do you mean?” I asked slowly, not hearing the name properly and adding “I’m as tall as you!” in an attempt to sound less cross.
I heard Peter laugh as he turned off the water, opened the shower door and stepped out onto the mat.
“I mean that you looked absolutely stunning last night,” he explained quickly and, it seemed, honestly.
He took the fluffy white towel I was holding and began to dry himself. For a moment I was struck my how good looking my husband still was for a man in his mid-fifties; his face was still handsome, his body toned, tanned and fit, if perhaps excessively hairy everywhere other than on his head.
“That new Paul Smith dress looks even sexier than I hoped,” he continued, wrapping the damp towel around his waist. “And it really showed off your shape.”
Despite being slightly embarrassed I felt more than a little pleased. The new dress had been a very recent birthday present from Pete and I had felt very good wearing it at the dinner party. Quite short, close fitting and colourful, it was intended to highlight my long, slim legs but I had been concerned that it also drew attention to my exceptionally flat chest, made even flatter by our recent extra visits to the gym. I could feel myself blushing a little but he hadn’t finished.
“And I wasn’t the only person to notice, was I?” he asked as he turned to face me, a rather smug, knowing expression on his face.
“Don’t be silly,” I chided, wondering what he was driving at and silently praying he hadn’t noticed Tony’s wandering hands as we had said our goodbyes.
“I’m serious. At least two men in the room couldn’t keep their eyes off you all evening – three if you include me!”
He sipped his tea as he paused, looking me up and down. I involuntarily pulled my robe tighter around my body in a gesture a rookie psychology student would have recognised as defensive.
“Does it make you feel good? Feel attractive, knowing that you’re being admired like that?” he asked, apparently honestly.
“Don’t embarrass me, Pete…” I began, staring uncomfortably at the floor but he interrupted me.
“Because it makes me feel good knowing other men are looking at you and finding you as stunningly attractive as I do!”
I raised my eyes to look at his, looking for evidence of irony or teasing. I found none but he still hadn’t finished.
“Knowing they’re undressing you with their eyes right in front of me and thinking what they’d like to do with you. It’s a real turn-on, Penny!”
“Pete!” I exclaimed, “Don’t say that! I’ve never done anything to encourage…”
“I know,” he insisted. “That’s what makes it such a turn on. You’re becoming sexier and sexier without even knowing it. Ever since we started our fantasies you’ve been getting more confident, holding yourself taller, dressing more daringly, moving more sexily. And you don’t even realise you’re doing it!”
I just looked at him blankly. Could this be true?
“Look at last night’s dress. It’s tight fitting and comes less than half way down your thigh.” I began to protest but he held up his hand. “Yes, I know you were wearing tights too but think about it! A year ago you’d never have dreamed of wearing anything that revealing. Now, you wear it happily and look incredible in it!”
I was thunderstruck! Was he right? My mind rushed to all the other clothes I’d worn recently, whether I’d chosen them myself or Pete had bought them for me. Perhaps he was right! Certainly they were different – shorter, tighter, classier than the rest of my wardrobe. But if it was true, what could it mean?
Had I been sending out the wrong messages for months without even knowing it? And were they wrong?
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled as he came closer to me. “Have I been making a fool of myself? Have I… Oh Jesus!”
I stepped back from him, my eyes fixed on the front of his towel which had tented out to an almost comical degree, forced away from his legs by what could only be a massive erection. Always long and slender rather than short and thick, the slimness of Pete’s cock had at least partly contributed to my lack of orgasms over the last twenty years but to be honest the main culprit had been the looseness in my vagina I had suffered ever since I had torn badly ‘down there’ giving birth to our younger children nineteen years before.
Whatever its dimensions might be, Pete’s cock was now making its presence very obviously felt. He glanced down at himself, then looked back at me and laughed.
“See? You’re having that effect on me now and you’re not even dressed! Just think what effect you were having on poor Tony last night!”
He pulled me closer, opening my robe until his towel-covered erection pressed against my lower belly through my nightie. It felt large and hard against my skin as I slowly put two and two together.
“You weren’t really drunk at all, were you?” I stated rather than asked.
“Perhaps a little tiddly,” he confessed, kissing me on the end of my nose. “I couldn’t have driven home but I thought you might feel a bit less inhibited if you thought I wasn’t in any state to object.” He laughed and kissed me again. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, a dull feeling in my tummy meaning I suspected I knew the answer.
“I mean that a certain gentleman pushed his luck even further than usual last night, didn’t he?” I felt my robe being slipped off my shoulders and fall around my ankles. “I mean that a certain pair of hands spent rather a long time around here… and here.”
Pete’s hands were on my buttocks, raising the hem of my short nightie to expose my bare flesh, then squeezing my cheeks gently, kneading them firmly before teasing them apart to let his long middle finger run the length of my cleft, forcing my body against his.
“Pete, I’m not in the mood…please….” I tried to say but my body was already giving the lie to my words as his searching finger found the base of my slit from behind.
“Jeez Penny, you’ve not been as wet as this for a long time!” he whispered in my ear as his finger slid along my slit and delved inside my body. The angle was awkward, restricting his movements but it felt surprisingly good for such a crude attempt at seduction.
“Is it because you’re thinking of him doing this?” he hissed.
Pete removed his hand from my bottom and moved it round to my lower belly from where access to my vulva was so much easier. His palm cupped my pubic mound and a single finger slipped the full length of my slit. Instinctively I opened my legs a little. He stroked my swelling, moistening lips in long, slow strokes, dipping between the folds of flesh into the dampness that was oozing from my body.
“Mmmm. Pete, no I… Mmmm!”
But it felt so very nice! My legs began to tremble a little and I realised that unbelievably after so many years of familiarity, I was becoming incredibly aroused by my own husband’s rather crude fingering.
“Did you want Tony to touch you last night?” he asked, his voice low and hard. “Did you want him to lift up your new dress? To lower your tights and panties to your knees? To slip his finger into you like this?”
Suddenly my husband’s finger was deep within me, moving rapidly against the inside of my mound. My trembling knees buckled for an instant before I caught myself again.
“Oh Pete,” I heard myself moaning as my arms rose around his shoulders to steady myself. “I’ve not washed, I’m not clean.”
My protests were weak and were completely ignored as he backed me to the bed. My knees bent, my legs lowered me down until I perched on its rumpled edge. I didn’t resist.
“I don’t care,” he whispered. “Just like Tony wouldn’t have cared last night. He’d have stripped you like this!”
Before I realised what was happening, Pete had pulled my nightie quickly up and over my head leaving me naked.
“He would have pushed you to the floor like this!”
He suited his actions to his words and a moment later I was lying on my back on the bed with my husband’s strong body looming over me.
“He’d have spread your thighs like this!”
His strong hands were on my knees, easily parting my skinny legs, spreading me wide open until I could feel the cool air in the room on my dripping wet vulva.
“He’d have taken out his cock.”
I could feel the head of his long, thin erection parting my outer lips, then my inner lips, then pausing with just its tip inside my body.
“And he’d have got you ready to fuck, Penny; hard, right in front of me whether I objected or not.”
But to my frustration he didn’t thrust into me. Instead, he held himself still with just half the head of his cock in the entrance to my vagina. I felt so aroused, so turned on that the torment was almost unbearable.
“Please…” I began to whimper, thrusting my hips forwards as if to swallow up more of his wonderful cock but he moved back a little to keep himself tantalisingly poised at my entrance.
“Tell me how you feel Penny!” he commanded. “Tell me how much you want him to fuck you!”
“Pete! Please!” I protested weakly but the heat within me was growing all the time.
“Tell me Penny! Admit it! Tell me that you wanted him to fuck you! Tell me how badly you wanted his cock inside you!”
“Oh my God!”
“You wanted his hands inside your panties, didn’t you? When he was groping your bottom, you didn’t want him to stop, did you?”
“Oh God! No I didn’t!”
There! I’d said it! And deep down I suddenly understood that it was true; I really had wanted to let him go further – much further than my sense of propriety would ever have allowed.
“That’s my girl!” Pete said triumphantly, wriggling his hips so the head of his cock moved quickly back and forth in my sensitive entrance. “I knew you wanted him last night. You wanted his hand deep between your sticky thighs, didn’t you?”
He pressed himself the merest half inch further into me. My body jumped. It felt wonderful, almost as if it wasn’t my husband inside me at all; as if it was my seducer taking me for the first time.
“Yes, I wanted it!” I cried back.
“You’d have sucked his cock too if you’d had the chance, yes Penny?”
“Yes I’d have sucked his cock!”
“Good girl! Now what would his cock feel like, Penny? In your mouth?”
A clear, vivid image filled my mind as I replied, “Long and thick, choking me…”
“As big as mine? Tell me, Penny!”
“Bigger! Much bigger!” I hissed, guessing the answer he wanted to hear.
I must have guessed correctly if the sudden tensing of my husband’s body was anything to go by followed by the sharp thrust of his long slim cock deep into my vagina and its rapid withdrawal back to my entrance.
“Oh yes!” I gasped, feeling the base of his cock stretch me slightly, then withdraw.
“You like big cocks, do you? You want to feel a huge cock inside you, do you?”
“You’d have laid back and spread yourself for him, wouldn’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you Penny? Despite the ring on your finger you’d have spread your legs for him?”
He thrust deep into me again then pulled back to my entrance. It felt so very, very good!
“Yes! Yes I’d have spread my legs!” I croaked, loving his teasing yet desperate for him to take me properly.
“Right in front of me?” he asked, his voice hard, dipping a third time deep into my vagina.
“Yes! Oh God! That feels good! Yes, right in front of you! As if you weren’t there!”
I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into the fantasy, the images before my closed eyes getting more and more vivid as I listened to the hard voice.
“He’d have mounted you in front of me, wouldn’t he, Penny?”
Pete’s cock, still stationary in my entrance was driving me half mad with arousal.
“His body over yours, forcing your legs apart!”
“Open for him, Penny. Spread your thighs for your lover!”
Without hesitating, I opened my legs as wide as I could. Pete’s cock dipped deep into me again then pulled back. I gasped then whimpered.
“Christ Penny! I’ve not seen you this turned on for years!” he hissed. “You want him to fuck you now, don’t you?”
Almost beyond speech now, I just nodded.
“Say it, Penny!” he growled. “Tell me how badly you want him!”
To my delight I felt his long, slim cock begin to penetrate me slowly and smoothly and repeatedly.
“Tell me, Penny! Tell your cuckold husband what you want!”
“Mmmm… I want you to…”
“You want who?” He half yelled over me as his strokes increased in speed.
“I want him to…”
“You want him to do what?” The strokes were now regular, long, deep and rhythmic.
“Oh God! Please… I want him to… I want him to… FUCK ME!” My voice was barely recognisable as my own.
“But you’re married, Penny! What about your husband?” His strokes were growing faster and faster.
“I don’t care! Fuck my husband! Fuck everything! Just keep fucking me!”
In my extreme arousal I was lubricating like crazy. I realised to my horror that this was making my already loose vagina even more slippery and depriving me of some of the sensation I craved so badly. I tried to improve the situation by clamping down with my pelvic floor on my husband’s shaft and was briefly rewarded with the thrilling sensation of his ridges rubbing against my inner lips. In response, Pete’s thrusts became faster and deeper still.
“Oh yes! Yes! That was… fucking great, Penny!”
His thrusts began to grow more violent. I began to moan.
“Moan girl! Moan as he fucks you! Tell me what it feels like to have his cock inside you instead of mine?”
“Bigger! Better!” I gasped, hoping it was what he wanted to hear. It seemed to be just that.
“What do you need?” he asked harshly, “What would you beg for?”
“Pete… Oh God! I need cock!”
“What sort of cock, Penny? Tell me!”
“Big cock! Thick cock!”
Dimly realising the truth of this, I clamped down on him again, tightening myself as hard as I could and holding on as long as my pelvic floor would allow. Pete grunted in delight; his smooth strokes became shorter, sharper uncontrolled thrusts.
“Oh my God!” he exclaimed coarsely, “I’m going to cummmmm!”
A voice inside me yelled ‘No! Not yet! I’m not ready!’ but it was too late. Within seconds my husband’s handsome face directly above mine had become ugly and contorted as his climax began in earnest. His thrusts, already violent became wild and painful as his powerful body slammed repeatedly into mine and his ejaculation began.
For what seemed an age, his cock throbbed deep within me as his thrusts slowed to a halt and his spermless semen filled my body. I had come much closer to orgasm than I had for a long time but still hadn’t made it all the way.
Was it my fault for having torn in childbirth? Did I simply need more detailed and more vivid fantasies to help me get there? Or did I really, actually want and need another, bigger, thicker cock inside me?
“Penny, that was simply amazing!” Pete gasped as he rolled off and onto the sticky sheet alongside me. “I can’t believe how you turned me on like that!”
I smiled at his bright, beaming, exhausted face, astonished that he could have derived so much pleasure out of imagining his wife and the mother of his children having sex with another man right in front of him. Despite my researches, seeing that genuine, unmistakeable desire glowing eyes of the man I loved and had lived faithfully with for so long was still a shock.
“It was good for you too, wasn’t it?” he demanded. “Admit it, Penny! You really are turned on by the idea of being fucked by another man!”
It was true, I had to admit it. My words and my body had given me away to my husband in ways which were undeniable. But was he thinking of the same man whose image had been before my eyes as his cock had plunged deep into my body? Was he thinking of any specific man at all?
We lay side by side for a long time as we recovered our breath. I watched the morning sunlight travel across the bedroom ceiling as my mind span. It had been a long time since I had been so aroused during sex with my husband and there was no doubt what the reason had been; the extraordinarily vivid images of being fucked by another man. There! I’d used the word. I wanted to be fucked! Not ‘made love to’; not ‘seduced’. No, I wanted a strong, handsome man to fuck me, and if he had a huge cock then so much the better.
“It would be ok, you know,” Pete said so softly I didn’t hear properly.
“I said that it would be ok if you wanted to do it for real. With someone else if you promised to be honest and tell me all about it. It would be ok, you know!
“Pete,” I began. “Don’t spoil the moment by getting weird again.”
“You said you’d think about it,” he said almost accusingly.
“And I will… I am thinking about it,” I replied truthfully but not wanting him to know just how attractive the idea had now become. “Just don’t put pressure on me. Please, Pete.”
He went silent for a while but I could see the smile on his face broadening.
“Wouldn’t you worry that we’d split up? That you’d become cold and resentful or that I’d fall in love with him?” I asked as casually as I could, as if not intending the question to come out loud. “I know I would if you did it. I couldn’t handle it if you cheated, Pete.”
He paused before answering as if thinking hard.
“If we were open and honest about it, I could manage,” he said thoughtfully. “And I’m not asking to fuck other women in return. I’m not saying we should become swingers.” He thought for a moment. “I suppose it would be different if you had a one night stand with a stranger or an ongoing affair.”
“Which would turn you on the most?” I asked. He quickly turned towards me, his eyes bright and excited.
“You mean you’ll give it a try?” he demanded eagerly.
“No!” I quickly replied. “I’m just trying to understand you a bit better. It IS a weird thing to ask, you know. I’m trying to get my mind around it.”
He rolled back onto his side of the bed and started at the ceiling, obviously disappointed.
“I’m not sure it would matter,” he said after a few moments, “if the man turned you on enough to let him fuck you, it would have to be ok with me.”
I stared blankly at the bedroom ceiling. Oh my God! Was my husband really, honestly trying to persuade me to take a lover? And was I really, honestly considering doing it?
What on earth was happening to me?
Unseasonably warm afternoon weather had brought the London crowds out in droves as I squeezed myself uncomfortably onto the Piccadilly line underground train and stood awkwardly, my overnight bag at my feet, my face pressed into the armpit of a tall blonde Scandinavian tourist. He gave me a look of pity no Londoner would have bothered with and I felt pleased that his personal hygiene was up to scratch; at least for the next few stops.
It was Friday afternoon and I was on my way home after yet another conference. The formal dinner and most of the presentations, including my own, had been the previous evening so an overnight stay had been essential. The morning’s work groups had been optional for me but as I was in town anyway, I had decided to take part and had in fact learned a great deal, especially about my presentation style.
The food at the post-conference dinner had been good, as had the hotel room and breakfast but I had been obliged to fend off a slightly inebriated amorous approach from my next door neighbour throughout dinner.
Given my recent conversations with my husband Peter, this made me smile. It felt good that someone found me attractive enough to flirt with a little more seriously, but even if I had decided to comply with my husband’s apparently sincere desire for me to take a lover, my dinner companion wasn’t my type at all. Surgeons’ egos apparently run to more than just their professional lives; my would-be seducer wasn’t anywhere near as attractive as he clearly imagined himself to be and I remained un-tempted by his charms to his obvious frustration.
So now, still in my ‘professional’ attire of dark grey skirt suit, white blouse, black tights and shiny medium height heels, I was on my way home. Less than ten minutes later I arrived at St. Pancras station, hurried past all the shops in the fantastic arrivals hall and dragged my wheeled overnight bag up the escalator to the platform, only to find to my dismay that I had missed the train by the merest few minutes.
After a good strong silent curse, I told myself that the service on that line was generally good so I only had about forty minutes to wait for the next train. Cursing London Underground under my breath again, I turned and sulked my way to the coffee shop closest to the barriers, ordered a large Americano and pulled my conference notes out of my briefcase.
The conference hadn’t been all that riveting first time round so was even less interesting in note form. Within ten minutes I had read enough and my mind had begun to stray onto the latest erotic stories I was in the process of writing. I had quickly found that my ability and dedication as a writer depended greatly on my mood at the time so I was keeping several different stories on the go at once, adding and amending them as the muse took me.
I knew I still had a great deal to learn but was enjoying the experience immensely. As a result of my husband Peter’s constantly expressed desire to see me with another man, the ‘Cuckold’ theme was very much dominant in my current choice of story, but I had drifted into other subject areas as well.
There was also a powerful thrill in having a secret; no-one would have guessed that the middle-aged rather severe-looking professional woman sitting opposite them on the train was actually composing erotic stories and imagining herself taking part in them!
This delay in my return home could be an opportunity too. If I could find a seat where I couldn’t be overlooked, the journey home could be a great opportunity to press on with the latest chapter in my favourite series. In fact, I realised, if I moved to the corner table in the café, I could get a good twenty minutes constructive writing done now before catching the train. I slid along the bench seat to put my back to the wall and within seconds my laptop was out and I was engrossed in writing, finding to my shame, that it was getting easier and easier to put myself in the place of my stories’ heroines.
Each time a story called for a male lover, I tried to use as role model a man from my real life who I rather fancied, partly because it’s so much easier to base a character on a real person but also, I must confess, because it gave me a thrill imagining what such a man might do to me and with me and for me.
An idea for a highly erotic scene had just sprung into my mind; the world of the café faded to blur as for a quarter of an hour I typed and typed, my eyes fixed myopically on the small screen.
So it was that, when the barriers were open and I boarded the train, I was in something of a state of arousal. My face felt hot and I suspect I was a little flushed but was very much looking forward to an unbroken ninety minutes’ to develop further the plot line I had just created. My alter-ego was going to have one hell of an evening if I could just get the scenario that was filling my mind onto the screen before its intensity faded.
The train was quite busy but I was an early boarder and selected a single seat in the corner of First Class where it would be difficult for other passengers to look over my shoulder and see what I was working on. I booted up my laptop again, set the document magnification low to make it doubly difficult for an eavesdropper to read anything I might write and got back to work ten minutes before we were due to depart.
The story was taking shape nicely. My anti-hero had managed to manoeuvre his wife into a situation where she thought she was alone with her would-be-lover and was rapidly succumbing to his considerable charms. As a result, I had started work on what was always one of my favourite parts of any story – the seduction itself.
In my mind, the seducer in this chapter was heavily based on Tony, the frequent dinner companion and ‘goodbye groper’ I have described before. Tall, slim and definitely very handsome, he and I had come close to inappropriate contact at least twice before.
Since his wife Jane had embarked on a misguided affair with her Personal Trainer and they now lived apart, his newly acquired ‘single’ status made him an even more dangerous threat to my fidelity.
The action on my screen was heating up rapidly in the central characters’ lounge. Oblivious to all around me, my fast-moving fingers had typed up to the point where my anti-hero’s wife was being slowly undressed by her soon-to-be lover after a candle-lit dinner. As her husband watched, her soft body was being gradually but efficiently exposed to her lover’s touch; after all those bedroom fantasies with my husband Peter, it was easy for me to imagine what it might be like to be in that situation myself.
I fidgeted in my seat I became more and more aroused with each completed paragraph. As the train slowly began to move I became aware of my panties becoming damper and damper as my characters shed more and more clothes until…
“Hi Penny! Great to see you!”
The very familiar but out-of-breath voice above and just behind my head made me jump almost out of my seat. I had been so engrossed in my writing that I had let someone get close up to me without even noticing. Awash with guilt and fear I instinctively slammed down the screen of my laptop, begging my guardian angels to make sure whoever it was hadn’t had a chance to read what I was writing, then span around in my chair to see who it was that had frightened me so much.
“Tony! Jesus you scared the life out of me!” I exclaimed.
Oh my God! It was the very person I had been imagining seducing the heroine of my story, a heroine in many ways modelled on myself. My skin was suddenly hot and prickly at the absurd thought that he might not only have seen the erotic story I was writing, but might also have recognised one of the characters as himself. His first reaction was reassuring though.
“I’m so sorry Penny. I could see you were concentrating but didn’t realise you were in it so deep. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you!”
I laughed out loud, partly in embarrassment, partly in relief. “It’s okay, really. I was miles away and didn’t see you.”
“I nearly missed it,” he confessed. “They closed the doors just after I jumped on. I had to run through the station. The tube was a nightmare. Do you mind if I sit with you?”
I gestured to the seat opposite and as he arranged himself, his coat and his briefcase, I began to tell him I had found the underground equally infuriating. I felt terribly flustered; it was nearly impossible to make small talk with a man who I had just imagined stripping and seducing me in front of my husband. I felt exposed and vulnerable, almost as if he had just seen me naked
“Are you okay, Penny?” I heard him ask as he settled in his seat. “You look a bit… anxious.”
I ignored his comment and tried to talk cheerfully and directly as I attempted surreptitiously to slide my laptop into my briefcase.
“What were you in town for?” I asked distractedly.
“Meeting with a customer,” he replied. “A big one too. Were you at the Conference?”
“Yes, overnight,” I replied then frowned. “How did you know about that?”
“You told me at Jenny’s dinner party, don’t you remember? I thought I was the one who had too much to drink that night. And Peter too of course!”
I knew better; my husband Peter hadn’t been anywhere near as drunk as he appeared. He had just pretended to be drunk in order to see how far Tony would push his ‘goodbye grope’ and how far I would let him go. I didn’t say anything though, instead I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed. I smiled back and for a few moments we were distracted by the arrival of the trolley, the checking of tickets and the pouring of coffee.
“Would you like a complimentary glass of wine too?” the steward asked. I looked at Tony as if waiting for a lead.
“Would you like one?” he asked me, a cheeky look in his eye. “I will if you will. It is Friday afternoon after all and I hate drinking on my own!”
I grinned and nodded and before long we were touching surprisingly large glasses and chatting away. My relief at having escaped discovery was almost palpable and I began to relax quickly. After the usual exchanges about our respective kids and the iniquities of our various work colleagues we were half an hour into the journey and half way down a second glass of wine.
As we exited a tunnel, Tony’s phone rang and he asked if I minded him taking the call, it being from the customer he had met that morning. I smiled at his politeness and nodded then picked up my meeting notes and tried not to listen to the private conversation taking place across the table.
Although we had been friends for nearly twenty years, I had never really seen Tony in business mode before and must admit to being impressed. Distracted by his phone call, I was able to look carefully at the man who had featured so strongly in my fantasies.
I very much liked what I saw; tall, slim and fit in a smart, tailored dark blue suit, white shirt and red tie. His hair had started to thin a little but the steel grey at his temples seemed to make him more serious and more attractive rather than looking older. His deep brown eyes had always been one of his sexiest features and they hadn’t reduced in allure one little bit, especially when they sparkled mischievously during one-to-one conversations like the one we were just enjoying.
He turned towards the window, engrossed in his call and for a moment I felt his legs press against mine then somewhat awkwardly move away. His trousers had felt warm against my tight-covered legs and for a moment I wished they had remained there. As if reading my mind, when he turned back from the window and ended the call, I felt the light touch of woollen cloth against my nylons and a small thrill washed over me.
“Sorry about that,” he apologised. “I’ve been working towards this deal for months and it looks like it’s going to come off.”
“Really? Well done!” I congratulated him, trying to remember whether he had told me about it during dinner and deciding he probably hadn’t.
“It’s not a lot of business but it’s prestigious,” he continued. “And it sets us up well for next year.”
“You look happy,” I said smiling.
“I am happy,” he replied. “And it’s great to spend a bit of time with you. When I’m sober!” he added.
For the next hour we talked about all sorts of things; our kids, work, politics, families, holidays, everything but my old friend, his estranged wife Julie. And as we talked I was struck by just how good a companion he really was; how he asked questions rather than just told me things as most men do, and then really listened to my answers. As the conversation grew closer so I felt his legs pressing more firmly against mine under the table and several times our hands touched above it.
The journey simply flew past and before long we were approaching our station in the fading light.
“Did you drive here?” he asked me as we began to slow down.
“I’ll get a taxi. It’s no problem.” I replied.
“My car’s over there,” he said nodding towards the large off site car park. “Let me give you a lift home.”
“It’s a bit out of your way,” I protested unconvincingly.
“It’s no problem. Besides you haven’t asked me everything yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re dying to know about Julie and me but are too polite to ask,” he laughed.
I blushed but he was absolutely right. Although I had heard something of Julie’s side of the story from our post-exercise conversations at the gym, I had little idea how Tony felt about the situation. Julie of course was in full scale mid-life crisis and had been simply swept off her foolish feet by a lover over twenty years her junior. I had to admit, he was extremely good looking with a fit body and, if her reports were anything to go by, an enviable endowment and prowess in bed. Julie had always kept herself in great shape but since her affair had started, her body had improved still further and her self confidence had soared.
The price of her folly had been estrangement from her husband and two children, though there was as yet no talk of divorce, and becoming the centre of scandalous conversations within our circle of friends. The number of social invitations extended to her had greatly reduced, partly because her boyfriend had been Personal Trainer to many of her friends too but also because her unfaithful presence made many couples feel uneasy.
Besides, it was hard to gossip about someone when they were actually there.
Despite his comment, Tony said little about his real feelings as we drove through the lamp-lit streets towards the village where Peter and I live. It was clear that she had hurt him deeply and that he was still in love with her despite their ten month separation.
Still very good looking, I knew myself that since the separation Tony had been presented with many opportunities to form other relationships and had actually had a couple of short term affairs. I also knew that he wasn’t looking for anything permanent; that he expected her to want to come back to him eventually but at that moment he wasn’t at all sure that would be good for him.
Barely fifteen minutes later we turned through the large gate posts and onto our driveway then pulled up outside the front door. Tony leapt from the driver’s door and ran round to help me down from the car, then carried my briefcase and overnight bag to the house while I fumbled in my handbag for the key. A minute later we were in the hallway and he placed the bags neatly up against the wall.
“Okay! You’re all set!” he said cheerfully, turning to face me. “Have a nice evening!”
“Are you sure you don’t want another coffee?” I asked as a matter of politenesss.
“I think all that railway coffee has put me off it for a while,” he chuckled. “Thanks anyway.”
“It was nice to talk to you properly,” I said softly as those deep brown eyes locked onto mine.
“It was, wasn’t it?” he replied softly. “And without the usual disturbances.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that; was it the kids or the phones? Or maybe my husband?
“We should do it again,” I said cheerfully, approaching him for our usual farewell hug and kiss. “Thanks so much for the lift.”
Tony moved towards me, stooping a little until his lips brushed against my cheek for our habitual goodbye peck. I felt his arms wrapping themselves around my waist and waited for the usual hug and ‘farewell fondle’ – the now familiar straying of his large strong hands onto my buttocks where they would rest, waiting for my own hand to move them away and for the good natured admonishment that I would normally administer.
Sure enough, within seconds I felt the warmth and weight of his right hand on my left buttock, drawing my body into his as his lips brushed against my cheek. Instinctively I reached behind and took hold of his wrist as I would normally have done to move it away…
But I didn’t!
This time it was different; this time, for some reason I didn’t move his hand away.
Even now I can’t explain exactly what made me, on that specific occasion, release his wrist leaving his hand on my bottom and raise my arms around his neck instead. Just why I chose that moment to take the first tiny step on the fast-moving journey that followed, I simply do not know, but take it I did.
It took Tony’s puzzled brain a few seconds to register that something had changed; that his hand was still on my warm buttock and that far from chastising him, I was now hanging from his neck, my cheek against his; my body leaning against him.
My heart was thumping as I felt his hands gently and tentatively squeeze my bottom as if he was testing me, unable to believe my lack of response, wondering what to do next.
My mind told me that it wasn’t too late to stop; even then I could have released his neck and moved his hand away with only a little embarrassment, but I didn’t. Nervously, almost unable to believe what I’d started, I nuzzled his neck with my nose and after a moment of sheer terror, felt his right hand join his left on my bottom, cupping both my buttocks and squeezing me tightly against his tall, muscular frame.
Nervously, not quite understanding what I had started, I pressed myself against him and rubbed his slightly whiskery neck with my cheek. He squeezed me tightly, his rough chin against my smooth cheek.
Like awkward teenagers at a school party, our faces clumsily manoeuvred until finally our lips touched.
Oh God! What was I doing?
Our closed mouths pressed tentatively together; I felt his hot lips on mine and his tongue gently tracing their outline.
No Penny! This had to stop!
Then almost before my senses could register what was happening – certainly before my conscious brain could intervene and stop me – we were kissing full-on as if our lives depended on it. Tony’s tongue parted my trembling lips easily and plunged deep into my mouth, seeking mine. I sucked on it, my own tongue writhing around the intruder while my mouth opened wider and wider until our teeth clashed stupidly together as if we were teens outside a school disco.
Before I knew it, we were in full passionate embrace, arms around each other, mouths pressed firmly together, open wide, tongues active and searching. I felt his tongue probing deeper in my mouth as his eager, exploring hands gripped my buttocks through my skirt, pressing me tightly against his tall, strong body.
His fingers were on my sides, then on my tummy, then firmly on my boobs, kneading them through the thin material of my bra and blouse, searching for my nipples which I could feel hardening quickly, their teats rubbing against the bra’s thin cups.
“Ohhhh…” I heard myself breathing as he fondled my tiny breasts, the first man in nearly twenty years to treat me with such passion.
I felt a small ‘popping’ and a release around my tummy and realised that his nimble fingers had unclasped the waistband of my skirt. Christ! Things were moving quickly! There was a slow loosening around my hips as he lowered the side zipper and slid the garment efficiently down until it rested around my ankles.
For an instant the horrible thought of how I must look in black tights and over-large, unsexy panties flashed through my mind but it was too late to do anything about it. I felt Tony’s warm, strong hands slipping inside the elastic at my back and cupping my bare buttocks, skin on skin, his fingers running up and down the cleft between my cheeks.
Again the warning siren in my brain rang out; there was still time to extricate myself, though now it would be much harder but the passion surging from my body simply overwhelmed any doubts that tried to surface. Instinctively parting my legs the merest fraction I felt Tony’s fingers dive deep between my cheeks, sliding under my bottom until their tips found the base of my slit.
I tensed as my outer lips were clumsily parted and a long finger slid awkwardly along my slit, the first man other than my husband to touch my bare vulva in over twenty years. I shivered in excitement and arousal as he tentatively explored my rapidly dampening sex, sucking on his tongue as if trying to draw him into me at both ends at once.
A split second later the finger was withdrawn and I felt my tights and panties being slid confidently down, over my buttocks until their elastic rested in the cleft at the top on my thighs. Then a large, strong hand began to stroke my tummy before descending towards my pubic hair – which I suddenly and ridiculously wished I had trimmed. For a moment I felt fingertips toying with the tight curls between my thighs, then parting my lips again and diving into my body from the front, much, much deeper this time.
I gasped as his strong hand forced its way between my easily-parted legs and whimpered into his neck as he began to expertly finger me, first in long smooth strokes the length of my slit, then taking care to locate and toy with the most sensitive parts of my almost painfully aroused body. From its lowest edge, around and between my hot inner lips, his finger probed, explored and teased on its inexorable journey upwards towards the hard nub that swelled and throbbed awaiting his touch.
An instant later, my knees shook uncontrollably as Tony’s probing fingers found their mark, stroking the sensitive underside of my swelling clitoris in short, rapid movements. Even in my teens, I had never been fingered as expertly as this and before I realised what was happening, my was shaking as a small but totally unexpected orgasm rippled through me, right there in my own hallway.
“Tony… Tony…” I mumbled, massively aroused but absurdly embarrassed.
“Come…” he whispered.
His hand was removed from my vulva he led me through to the lounge as if I was the visitor. I tottered forward, the panties and tights around my knees forcing me to take tiny steps but his arm was strong and I held him tightly. The room was warm and clean and the light was low as he guided me to the large deep rug in front of the fireplace that was one of Pete and my favourite cuddling places.
He turned my body into his and we kissed again, gently and delicately then to my surprise he moved behind me, drawing my back against his chest. I looked up to see our reflections in the large rectangular mirror above the mantelpiece. Tony’s long arms encircled my upper body as he showered my neck with tiny kisses, nibbling my skin delicately with his front teeth. I sighed, as his hands dropped to my waist then one by one began to unfasten the buttons on the front of my shirt. With each ‘pop’ of the buttons, a little more of my bare tummy was visible in the mirror until my shirt hung fully open revealing the flesh beneath.
I felt the touch of his fingers on the sensitive skin of my tummy then saw them rise to my small, off-white bra. For a moment I cursed myself for wearing such an old, unattractive garment but then the thought vanished as his warm hands cupped my tiny boobs, kneading them through the thin fabric.
I moaned, unable to recall when I had last been touched like this or had felt like this. It was as if I was a teenager again, back behind the village hall after the disco, exploring and being explored. It was so exciting!
A moment later the analogy grew stronger as Tony dexterously flipped my bra upwards, exposing my boobs to his touch. The straps felt tight under my armpits but the sensation was amazing, stripping off the years as his fingers began to toy first with my small globes then at last to my nipples which grew even harder as he gently rolled then tweaked them between his fingertips.
I could hear myself breathing, low and deep as I watched myself in the mirror being exposed then caressed. Something within me told me that this was very wrong; that I should stop it now before it became even more serious. But something deeper within me told me that this was what I had wanted and needed for a very long time.
I felt my right breast being released and the soft light touch of his fingers walking downwards over my tummy.
I felt his fingertips toying with my pubic hair, tangling tantalisingly in my tight curls then the long, slim finger returned to my slit.
“Ohhhhh Tony!” I sighed.
“Just relax,” he whispered in my ear as I watched and felt his hand slide deep between my thighs.
The image in the mirror wasn’t me; it was another woman being seduced, being fondled, being fingered. It wasn’t Penny the scientist, Penny the wife and mother with another man’s hand between her legs, his long finger parting her inner lips as she watched and delving deep into her most private places.
I felt his large palm against my pubic mound, his fingers wrapping downwards into my slit. I instinctively spread my legs wider and was immediately rewarded by the thrust of his long middle finger into my body. A moment later there was a small stab of pain followed by a wonderful feeling of being stretched as a second and then a third finger was thrust into my loose vagina.
I felt faint. With three fingers inside my body, even I felt tight and stretched again. The memory of the dark fumbling behind the village hall came back with a vengeance as Tony’s fingers were thrust deep into me, curling upwards towards the place I hoped my g-spot would be.
The next thing I knew, my knees had buckled as a totally unexpected wave of orgasm shuddered its way through my body. I leaned heavily back against Tony’s chest, my weight pressing heavily on the large strong hand firmly secured between my thighs.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered as his left arm encircled my waist. “It’s alright. You can’t fall; just cum if you need to cum!”
There was reassurance and protection in his low, seductive voice and I surrendered to this amazing man. A moment later I felt myself being lowered unresisting to the thick, soft rug on which Pete and I had cuddled so often.
But this time it wasn’t my husband’s fingers on my body; it was another, more expert hand that was touching my sensitive flesh, pulling my tights and panties irresistibly down to my knees then returning to my vulva once again.
My arms rose around Tony’s neck and I pulled his face onto mine, our lips colliding almost violently. My mouth was open and his tongue probed deeply within as the wonderful, pleasure-giving fingers were drawn the length of my weeping slit. I gasped into his mouth then gulped as they were suddenly thrust hard into my vagina once again.
It hurt! I squealed then felt the stretch in my inner lips once more and the pain no longer mattered.
The next moment, I felt the muscles of his arms bunch and the fingers were thrust hard into me, this time being twisted back and forth, his palm against my engorged lips, his expert thumb pressing firmly against my clitoris.
My second climax, much stronger than the first racked my body. Tony, Tony, Tony… the name span round and round in my head as I came on his hand, the room filled with the wet slapping sound of his palm against my weeping vulva.
“Cum for me Penny!” he croaked in my ear. “Just let yourself go! Cum all you can!”
For a moment I was beyond rational thought, let alone speech but when the trembling slowed I heard my own voice pleading, almost begging.
“Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh God, please fuck me now!”
I felt the fingers slip out of my vagina and there was frantic fumbling alongside me. I stared vacantly at the ceiling, trying to get my mind around what had just happened and prepare myself for what I so badly hoped would happen next. There was awkward clumsy shuffling then a tall shape loomed over me.
Tony was kneeling upright alongside, his trousers and pants around his ankles, his shirt front partly concealing the erection that sprouted boldly from between his thighs. In a daze, I reached across and parted the short tails, revealing his cock in all its glory.
I touched it; apart from my husband’s it was the first naked erect cock I had touched since our wedding. Tony gasped as my fingers stroked its round, smooth end and it jumped upwards comically. I took it in my hand and squeezed it. It was firm, warm and smooth and quite unlike the cock I had imagined so often in Pete and my fantasies, though at that moment it was simply perfect! So different from my husband’s long, slim erection – the erection that for over twenty years had been all I had known.
It was much shorter but much, much thicker. If I’m truly honest, it was really quite an ugly, stumpy, thick appendage shaped more like a can of Coke than a sausage but by now I was beyond caring about such trivial things. As I lay back on the thick soft rug, my skirt around my ankles, my tights and horrible panties bunched around my knees, all I wanted was to feel that thing inside me.
“Are you sure?” he asked, though his body barely paused as he knelt between my spread thighs, the trousers and shorts around his ankles tripping him as he mounted me.
I nodded as if incapable of speech then felt the heat of his body looming over mine, his breath on my face, his shirt falling onto my bared boobs, both of us ridiculously still half dressed. I spread my legs as far as my bunched tights and panties would allow.
“Nnngh!” I winced as something large and firm stabbed clumsily first against my anus, then hard against my clitoris. “Ouch!”
“Sorry,” he grinned sheepishly. “All these clothes are getting in the way.
Tony knelt back then with a single movement swept my tights and panties down the lower half of my unresisting legs, down to my shoes then away leaving me completely naked from my waist down, totally exposed and completely accessible.
Freed from my bonds, I instinctively spread my legs for the man I now prayed would fuck me and fuck me quickly. Again he leaned over me and I felt his erection brush against my inner thigh.
Some little voice deep within me still whispered that this was wrong, that I could still stop – that this really was my last chance remain faithful to my husband – but the much loude, voice bellowing from my lust-driven body drowned out any remaining chance I had of salvation.
Instinctively, I reached down to guide his cock into my eager, waiting body. I gasped aloud as my fingers closed around his shaft; it simply filled my hand – short but so, so thick.
I couldn’t remember what I had imagined Tony’s cock would be like in my fantasies but I knew it wasn’t like this. A strange feeling of fear mixed with incredible arousal washed through me as I directed his swollen head towards my inner lips. Already stretched by his fingers, they parted easily and I felt his smooth rounded tip beginning to force itself into me.
At the last second the tiny voice within me screamed ‘Stop!’ but by then it was far too late. Tony’s body tensed above me, the muscles of his strong thighs contracted and his short, stumpy erection was thrust slowly but irresistibly forwards.
For the first time in over twenty years, a new and unfamiliar cock began to penetrate my body.
Oh my God! Oh my Goddd!
Despite all that has happened since, the memory of that first illicit penetration will remain in my mind forever; the spreading of my legs obscenely wide, the parting of my inner lips, the smooth roundness of his head pressing into me, stretching my opening… wider… wider…
Oh my dear God! How thick was he? How much more must I stretch? And still he wasn’t finished!
The new, unfamiliar shaft was simply incredible, forcing its way into my body, irresistible, stretching me until I was tighter than I had been since our daughter was born; tighter than I had dreamed would ever be possible again.
After so many monogamous years I felt tight again – young again even. I could feel every ridge on his shaft as it smoothly, slowly but forcefully penetrated my unresisting body, rasping through my wire-tight entrance. I could feel Tony’s hot chest with its distinctive, masculine smell and overpoweringly arousing smell towering over me, dominating me as my fantasies were finally fulfilled and his body penetrated mine, deeper and deeper.
I felt dizzy, light-headed, my legs automatically opening wider and wider as if to free his way into me, that incredible thick cock stretching me tighter and tighter, penetrating deeper and deeper until, to my disbelief, it became thicker still nearer to its base.
It was hurting me so badly but so wonderfully.
And then finally I felt the full weight of Tony’s body on mine as his pubic hair ground hard against my mound and there was finally no more cock to force into me. He paused, buried his full length inside my body and for what seemed an age we stared into each other’s eyes as if coming to terms with the enormity of what had just happened.
A man – a real man not one of my husband’s fantasies – had forced his erect cock deep into my vagina and I had let it happen. Over twenty years of fidelity had slipped easily away like a second skin leaving me naked, exposed physically, emotionally and morally.
And I had wanted it badly and had wanted it for a long time.
Then before my mind could adjust to my new status as a fallen woman, my first ever lover began to fuck me!
Starting in almost nervous, tentative slow thrusts, Tony slowly drew himself back until only his smooth, oh-so-thick head was still inside me, stretching my entrance. The new sensation was exciting; amazing with just a tiny hint of discomfort as my body adjusted to the unaccustomed size of the invading phallus. Then he thrust himself forwards sharply. I gasped in pleasured surprise as he forced his erection into me, my tightly stretched inner lips again feeling every ridge and undulation on his shaft, something I hadn’t felt with Peter since our youngest was born.
God! It felt good!
Tony pulled back again and for a moment I found myself wishing he was longer so the amazing sensations would last and last. Then he thrust himself into me again, this time with much more force.
“Oh my fucking God!”
I heard my own voice gasping aloud as his hips slapped noisily against my inner thighs and his pubic hair rasped again against my mound.
“Did I hurt you?” his voice sounded anxious.
“Christ no!” I hissed.
Again he pulled back and thrust hard into me. Again I gasped aloud. Again he thrust into me. And then, as if twenty years of pent-up of frustration and passion was let loose in a single moment, Tony began to fuck me like a man possessed.
Oh my God! Did that man fuck me! Harder and harder, faster and faster, the girth of his cock stretching me terribly and wonderfully at the same time until within the first minute I felt my first climax building.
Jesus! I had never reached orgasm that quickly before! Almost before my brain could register the powerful signals my body was sending, I felt the wonderful wave of climax wash over me.
“NnnnnnnnGgggHHHHH” I heard myself half moaning, half grunting.
“Are you ok?” Tony’s voice sounded anxious but he didn’t slow his thrusting. I simply nodded, my eyes staring into his.
“Dontstopdontstopdontstop!” I hissed.
Tony he smiled and redoubled his efforts. Moments later a second wave hit me, then a third, each slightly stronger, slightly longer lasting than the last.
How could this be happening to me? Me! Penny; a fifty-one year old mother whose vagina had been loosened so badly in childbirth, had just reached my third climax within three minutes of penetration!
My voice soared with the pleasure, now as great as any climax my husband had given me in many, many years.
But there was more to come; Tony adjusted his angle, lifting his body higher and making his cock grind more firmly against my clitoris.
“Oh my fucking Goddddddd!”
My body shook as his cock found its mark, grinding across my engorged and sensitive nub. Above my moaning, the room filled with the loud, almost obscene sounds of his body slamming into mine as his lust drove him onwards.
Pinned helplessly underneath his tall, strong body, escape from the onslaught would have been impossible but in truth was the last thing on my mind. As much as he wanted me, I wanted him, begging my body to open for him, to take as much of him into me as I could, and yet to stay tight around the shaft that was bringing me so many wonderful sensations.
A fourth climax hit me, stronger than any I had ever experienced in my life, then a fifth, so powerful it hurt me, choking off the breath in my throat and silencing my climactic wailing.
Tony’s eyes were glazed with lust as he fucked me harder and harder. Beneath him and quite beyond distinguishing pleasure from pain, my fuddled brain span. I could feel my abused vagina screamed loudly at me, its inner lips stretched tightly around the shaft that penetrated it deeply and repeatedly. I could feel the pleasure still building within me, already beyond any previous orgasm yet I could tell that another, even more overwhelming climax was still there to be had, still building slowly within me, new, exciting, incredible, making me feel… the words wouldn’t come into my mind.
Why hadn’t I let this happen long ago? Why had I wasted so many years not knowing what it felt to be truly fucked; to feel this gorgeous man’s body inside mine?
I stared up into the handsome face of the man who totally controlled me now, my hands on his strong shoulders, then on his back, then his waist, pulling hard as if trying to draw him into me completely. A bead of sweat fell from his forehead onto my lips and I licked its saltiness, revelling in the earthy reality of what was happening to me.
Faster and faster he thrust as he lost control, grinding my back hard into the rug and twisting my thighs grotesquely wide. His strokes lost their rhythm, growing short and stabbing. I dug my fingernails into his sides, then his arms, then his neck as he grew closer and closer to his climax and the huge wave building within me grew closer and closer to breaking over me.
For a split second it dawned on me that he was about to cum; that Tony was about to ejaculate within me; that my body was about to receive another man’s semen for the first time in over twenty years. I could have stopped him there but to my shame it never crossed my sex-fuddled mind. All I could think of was how to make the huge wave of pleasure and pain break over me; how to have that mightiest of orgasms that I had never understood existed but which I now craved with every cell in my body.
I clamped down on his cock as hard as my battered pelvic floor would allow in the hope that this last burst of sensation would tip me over the edge and into… I didn’t know or care what. Tony’s thrusts lost all remaining rhythm and then suddenly without further warning, his handsome face became ugly; twisted and contorted merely inches above mine as his body tensed and spasmed with the force of his own orgasm.
For a moment I felt his thick cock grow thicker still and cried out as it stretched me, then his whole lower body began to throb and pulse as he began to ejaculate
“Oh yes!” I heard a voice barely recognisable as my own crying out. “Yes, yes, pleeeeease….”
Tony’s breath came in crude, animal like grunts in time with the throbbing of his cock as his semen began to spurt into me. Clenching his buttocks, he drove his pulsating cock as deep into my body as his strength would allow, driving me hard along the floor, grinding his pubic hair roughly into my mound as my back and buttocks rasped painfully against the carpet.
It felt simply incredible, wonderful. I felt incredible too, desirable and desired, a real woman again after so many years of being just a wife and mother! A real, handsome man had wanted me so badly he had actually taken me forcefully on my own lounge floor, in my own house, filling my body with his life-creating seed which was even now being smeared over my cervix.
And on the way he had showed me not only orgasms greater than I had ever experienced, he had also given me a glimpse of an even greater climax that I now knew was there waiting to be enjoyed.
It had been quite unlike the sex of Peter and my fantasies but it had still been incredible as my trembling body could witness.
I hadn’t reached that full overwhelming orgasm but it didn’t matter; I had glimpsed it and knew it was there. The climaxes I had reached had been enough for now; enough to make me tremble and tingle in their afterglow; enough to make me cry and laugh both at the same time. It was enough to let me know that the orgasm of my life was still deep inside me, waiting to be unleashed and that I wanted to unleash it.
Eventually Tony’s thrusting slowed to a halt, the throbbing of his cock ceased and he held himself motionless over me, his face inches above mine. I could smell the stale railway coffee on his breath still as we both panted. A drop of sweat fell from his forehead onto my cheek as his strong, thick erection began to soften rapidly, leaving an unfamiliar feeling of emptiness as my gaping vagina struggled to contract around his shrinking shaft.
Our eyes locked together, his pupils huge, black and framed by rings of deep desirable brown. I could feel tears welling in my own eyes and blinked them quickly away as he lowered his weight onto me, pressing me hard into the floor. My hands fell from his shoulders to my side, my legs unfolded themselves from around his thighs and I lay almost lifeless beneath the man who after so many years of friendship had just completely conquered me.
A moment later I felt his flaccid cock slip easily from my body and bit my lip as the emptiness hit me. Taking his weight on his knees, Tony lifted himself up and rolled off my motionless body to lie close alongside on his back. I felt his right hand fumbling for my left then my fingers were entwined with his.
“Christ I’ve waited a long time for that,” he gasped, panting then turned his heat towards mine. “Are you okay?”
I turned my head silently and looked at him. His trousers and underpants were bunched ludicrously around his ankles; his shirt was still neatly fastened; his tie still tied though hopelessly askew; he hadn’t even had the chance to take his shoes off. It would have been funny if what we had just done hadn’t been so serious.
I looked at myself lying alongside him. My legs were splayed open, the half- shredded tights and twisted knickers which had bound my ankles together were yards away. My knees and thighs were still grotesquely spread apart displaying brazenly the swollen, wet, sticky triangle above. I must have looked like a giant frog but for a moment felt frozen, unable even to close my legs and cover my brazenly exposed and extremely messy vulva.
It really had just happened; Tony really had just made love to me, not just in my fantasies but it real life, on our lounge floor.
What in God’s name had we just done?
“Penny? Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice now low and anxious.
“I’m… I’m fine, Tony.” I said softly, staring at the ceiling, wondering whether I had just made the worst decision of my life.
I felt a small trickle of liquid run from my vagina, down my buttocks and onto the carpet. Slowly I brought my legs together as if trying to hide the shame of my defilement from view; as if it were possible to recover a little modesty after what had just happened.
And what had just happened? Twenty years of almost complete fidelity had been cast aside; my honour simply handed over without resistance to this man; this wonderful, handsome man who had made me feel so… so… incredibly desirable and yet…!
I felt a tingle on my cheek.
“Penny! Don’t cry, please don’t cry!”
Tony’s voice was soft and reassuring as he hugged me, kissing away the tiny tears that had begun to roll down my face. I felt warm in his arms and comforted and we lay together for what seemed a long time.
“I’ve dreamed of making love to you for so long,” he whispered holding me close. “But I never actually thought it would happen.”
I nuzzled his neck, my naked lower body starting to shiver a little, whether from a chill in the room or an after effect of my infidelity I couldn’t tell.
“Are you okay about it? You did want it, didn’t you? You didn’t feel forced… I know I got a bit carried away…”
“I’m okay,” I interrupted, still overwhelmed. “It was lovely and I did want it, it’s just that…” I paused, my throat dry.
“It’s just that you’ve never cheated on Pete before and you’re not sure it was a good idea or what might happen next?” he filled in the missing words with uncanny accuracy.
“What do you want to happen next?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Tony. I can’t think straight right now.”
“You need some time to think about it?”
I nodded again. “I need to try and understand what just happened and why. Is that bad?”
“How long have we known each other? Twenty years? I think I can wait a little longer if there’s a chance of making love with you again.”
I kissed him on the cheek, tears once again running down my face. But Tony hadn’t finished.
“Whatever happens, I don’t want to lose you as a friend Penny. I’d prefer to be a lot more to you than that but I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
Now I was crying properly, feeling his kisses on my face and neck, acutely aware of the cool wetness between my thighs that screamed out my sin. After another few minutes the clock in the hallway began to chime.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, pushing him away and sitting bolt upright. “It’s six already and Pete will be home in half an hour!” I looked around at the room and at myself. “I can’t let him see me like this!”
I began to stand up but stumbled over the tangle of panties tights and shoes by my feet. Tony grabbed my hand to steady me.
“I’d better go!” he began. “Unless…” he started pulling up his underpants and trousers, his flaccid cock dark and sticky.
“Please Tony,” I pleaded. “Please just go! Let me sort things out by myself.”
“Are you sure? If you need some moral support…”
“I’m sure. Please just go!”
“Of course!” he finally fastened his trousers and turned towards the door then span back towards me. “You’ll call?” he asked anxiously. “You promise? You don’t hate me?”
I response I kissed him once, hard on the lips, my naked vulva and legs pressed against the rough wool of his trousers.
“I don’t hate you! I’ll call. I promise!” I replied then hustled him out of the house, making sure none of our neighbours could see my nakedness through the open door.
I watched from behind the curtain as Tony’s car reversed quickly down the driveway, the large automatic doors opening as his car approached them closing behind him.
My breathing slowly began to return to normal and my trembling slowed for a moment before I remembered that Pete really would be home in much less than half an hour. Gathering my discarded clothes together I rushed upstairs and into the shower where I desperately tried to wash away at least the physical traces of my guilt.
As I climbed the stairs I could feel Tony’s semen leaking from my vagina and running down the inside of my thigh. I felt dirty, ashamed, guilty beyond expression but even then there was no denying the height of arousal and pleasure my first ever adultery had produced.
Adultery! I was an adulteress. Oh my God!
After scrubbing myself until my skin hurt and hastily drying myself on a large bath towel, I quickly looked in the large mirror above the sink. To my surprise, the person looking back was still me – admittedly a pink face and red-chested, dishevelled me with slightly puffy lips and no make-up – but I hadn’t grown horns, a pointed tail or the mark of Jezebel on my forehead. There was nothing in my face that screamed out that I was now a fallen woman; that I was no longer the innocent wife and mother that I had been only that morning; that another man’s semen was even now swimming about inside my once-faithful body.
So much for my face, but as I looked more closely at my body, clearer signs began to emerge. There were small bruises on my boobs and on the inside of my thighs but carefully-chosen clothes would hide these. My well-used vulva was swollen, dark and surprisingly sore but again that could be concealed, at least for the moment.
I hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans and a high-necked shirt to cover the evidence of my guilt.
There could be no possibility of sex with my husband that night; the marks on my body would be obvious to him and despite the fact that he had urged me so strongly and so often to take a lover, I wasn’t anywhere near ready to confess all and at that moment wasn’t sure I ever would be .
Returning quickly downstairs I threw my still-damp panties into the washing machine – the torn tights were beyond saving – then opened all the windows in the lounge to let the fresh air cleanse the room of the smell of recent sex. I straightened the cushions on the couch and turned on the coffee machine just in time to see my husband’s Porsche slowly approaching along the driveway and pulling up near the house.
As he climbed out of the driver’s door and retrieved his briefcase from the back seat, I felt a tiny trickle of Tony’s semen begin to leak from my vulva and run messily down my inner thigh.
God help me, I silently prayed!
My prayers were answered; Pete was been perfectly normal and cheerful the whole evening. If he noticed anything he didn’t mentioned it and even made a half serious attempt to start one of our cuckold fantasies as we watched the late news together. He was easily put off this time but as we went upstairs to bed he insisted once again that it would be okay with him if I did start an affair.
I watched him go into the en suite bathroom then undressed quickly, hiding my second pair of semen-soaked knickers in the bottom of my drawer. Before pulling on my pyjamas, I took one last look at myself in the full length mirror on the closet door.
The marks on my boobs were hidden; my pink-flushed chest less noticeable than I had feared. The dark gash between my legs was still sore and swollen but the evidence was fading quickly. Would my feelings of guilt fade with it, I wondered?
But did I really feel guilty? Really guilty? After all, hadn’t my husband urged me to have sex with another man?
As the night progressed painfully slowly, the answer to that last question became painfully clear; I felt as guilty as sin; disgusted and ashamed of myself.
But the more disgusted I felt, the more vivid the memories of what had occurred became.
And the more vividly I remembered how incredible my adultery had felt, the more I wanted to repeat it.
And the more I wanted to repeat it, the more guilty, disgusted and ashamed I felt.
And so it went on for what seemed like hours. Sleep was impossible; my mind and stomach working as a team to keep me from anything that might ease my conscience. Hours later I lay wide awake alongside the father of my children, listening to Pete’s slow breathing.
Though I hadn’t made it difficult, the seduction – such as it was – had been wonderfully exciting. Being made to feel so attractive after all these years had been incredible; being stripped by a strong handsome man in my own lounge had been amazing too and as for the sex…
With middle age a reality and after giving birth to three children I hadn’t expected anything to feel that good ever again but it had been simply mind–blowing. I had reached orgasm faster and more frequently than ever in my life before. What was more, I knew for certain that there was a greater, deeper orgasm still to be enjoyed, waiting in the darkness for me if only I could get there.
And I now knew it was there, I really, really wanted to get there.
But how? In over twenty years, my warm, loving husband hadn’t brought me as close to this hitherto unsuspected climax as Tony had during our very first copulation.
But was I really the kind of wife who cheated on her husband? Even if Pete had made it clear he wanted me to?
The answer to that was, once again, an unequivocal yes. There could be no debate; I had already become an unfaithful wife; a slut; a whore. In truth, I was no better than Tony’s estranged wife Julie and her young lover. If anything I was far worse; Tony was one of our closest friends; we had gone on holiday together as two families many times.
What would my husband say if he found out I had betrayed him with one of his closest friends? When he found out, I corrected myself because this couldn’t be kept secret forever.
And far, far worse, what would our three kids think if they ever discovered their mother had slept with their best friends’ father?
I groaned slightly as I rolled over in bed. My body ached from Tony’s unfamiliar onslaught, my hips and thighs were stiff and the soreness between my legs was a constant reminder of both the immense pleasure and impending guilt that the day had brought.
I turned to look at my newly cuckolded, oblivious husband as he slept and wondered how long I would be able to call him by that name.
Could our marriage survive this? What on earth would happen now?