I was the one who asked for this, but I didn’t know what it was that I was asking for.
For as long as I can remember I’ve had this fantasy, I’ve wanted to watch my wife with another man. Finally I had the courage to ask her for it, but what followed was the last thing I could have ever expected.
She’s giving herself to him, she’s giving all of herself to him, and it all so natural to her.
Frankly I was shocked she even agreed to this in the first place. My wife isn’t the most adventurous of women, so for her to go through with this at all is so unexpected. Even still I expected her to be demure and that wasn’t what I got.
She is alive when she is in his arms. She is demanding and terrifying and beautiful all at the same time and this is more perfect than I could have ever possibly imagined.
Until it all takes a turn into the darkness of the moment. Until my wife reveals her secret, the secret that has the two of them laughing at my expense.
She’s going to have him tonight, all of him. Even if it means breaking my heart in the process.
Excerpt
Where has my wife gone? This woman is not her.
This woman is something else, is someone else. This uncaring and statuesque beauty is so unlike the woman that I loved that I don’t recognize her. I don’t see one bit of my wife in her.
And I don’t know if I hate that.
She laughs as she slips just out of reach of me and she twirls, giving me a good view from every angle. One full rotation and then she’s looking at me again and her heels are click, click, clicking on the floor as she steps back and steps away from me. Closer to him. Closer to him.
She has always been beautiful. She has always been able to stoke a unique fire in my heart and in my belly and in my loins. She is something else now, something more than she has ever been before.
I can stop this still, that’s what the little voice in my head tells me. It tells me too that this is a turning point in more ways than I can know, that this is a door that locks once your cross the threshold of it. Letting this happen, it’s going to be the end of things.
But I know that I can’t stop it. I know that I have no more control over my own body and my own voice than I do hers. I can’t end this now, not when I’m so close.
My breath burns in my lungs as I watch her turn to him and I realize that I’ve been holding my breath for so long. I exhale sharply through my nostrils and then pull in a quick breath and hold it, for one instant, watching with rapt attention as she turns to him and wraps herself around him.
My wife is clad in black lace. My coworker is wearing a finely tailored suit. They look so elegant, so perfect together, as they kiss for the very first time.
Her body, nearly naked and pressed against his. His arms reaching down to hold her and to wrap around her and to squeeze her into him as she giggles once more and then moans when he claps on and squeezes her ass.
Her lips parting to let in his greedy tongue, her hands playing just under the fabric of his suit jacket to knead against his chest with her mewling delight on full display and then I see his hand slip up and tease the little dimple above her ass and she shivers with delight in that way that she always does.
He knows. She told him.
No. He found out through experience.
The small of her back. The brush against her ribs. The subtle sweep over her hip and all the rest of it. All those places where her body is uniquely sensitive and he knows them already and when he kisses her he’s kissing her like she likes to be kissed because this isn’t the first time she’s ever kissed him.
But that’s madness. That’s paranoia. He knew her and she knew him before this, but only through work functions and Christmas parties and they barely even knew each other’s names.
But she wouldn’t be the first wife.
The rumors and the suspicions. The men at work who had the rumors swirling around behind their backs. All the stories about this man, about this asshole, stealing wives for the sport of it all.
No, that couldn’t be. No, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t hurt me like that. She loved me too much to hurt me like that.
My wife wouldn’t cheat.
And yet when she moans now she doesn’t sound like my wife at all and when she pulls back only to slip down to her knees she looks like someone else. She undoes his belt with subtle grace and equal skill and she tugs out his cock, looking at it with the look of a woman who has seen it before.
Because he is big, as big as advertised. So big that if this was the first time she’d ever seen him she would have been shocked, would have been stilled to silence.
But she isn’t.
Instead she greets his cock like an old friend and a faithful lover. She parts her lips around the head of him and moans, staring up at him while she pushes down to take him in.
And I sit in the corner, squirming uncomfortably. I taste the fabric of the blindfold in my tongue and I hear my heart pounding in my ears, feel the throbbing need that is going unsatisfied in me.
And for the first time I think that maybe tonight isn’t about me after all.