26 comments/ 110101 views/ 45 favorites Waiting At Home Ch. 01 By: Thaiclippe My wife, Camille, and I met during our junior years in college and wed within a year of graduation. At that time I had had sex with only my high school steady and a senior engaged to marry her high school sweetheart back home. She being much less conservative than me had had sex with four others, two in high school and two since going to college. Though I told myself that didn't matter deep down I was jealous and, to some degree, wondered if she would remain faithful to me throughout our marriage. And even though my cock is slightly larger and thicker than most, something I saw in locker rooms, way in the back of my mind I worried if I was large enough for her. I wanted to ask her about this but never found a way to bring it up. In time, however, my doubt and insecurity just went away. Camille has more than proven that she is a wonderful wife, lover, mother and true friend. We've been happily married for going on ten years, have two great kids and a lovely home in a very nice, upscale neighborhood. I have built a successful company, while she remains very involved in PTA, works hard to promote our local arts communities, chauffeurs our children and their friends to their events, and helps to raise funds and donations for a refuge for battered women. She also works out regularly to keep her 34B-28-37 body toned and in good shape. I love and appreciate her more than life itself but, to be honest, with the long hours I work and the twice monthly three-day out-of-town trips, involvement in our children's activities and such, I am often simply to bushed to keep up to her sexual wants. Here too she is understanding and supportive, and what I don't give her she makes up for with her vibrator. Then a little over three years ago while taking the commuter train home from a three-day business trip to Boston, I found a copy of Varieties someone had left on the seat next to me. I started reading the letters submitted mostly by husbands who enjoy watching their wives have sex with other men, as well as letters submitted by wives who have their husbands' knowledge and support to enjoy having sex with other men. They all said how much this spiced things up at home. It wasn't long before my cock was so hard that I placed my jacket across my lap to keep others from seeing it. And not long after getting home my wife and I were in our bedroom going at each other the way we did in college. She wondered what got into me, so I told her that I thought of her most of the way home. I did in a way, at least during the drive from the train station to our house. That's when for the first time in years I wondered how the sex was with her four previous partners. That thought used to make me jealous and insecure but at that moment I felt curiously aroused. And during our lovemaking I actually fantasized about her having sex with another man. That fantasy along with reading more letters and experiences submitted online from couples who enjoyed sex with others made me as horny as ever for my wife which for the next six months left her with no need for her vibrator. She was thrilled to the max but very curious as to what got over me. I kept telling her that it was just her but still she wondered. Nothing about her had changed and my work and other demands were the same, so why this wonderful resurgence to my sexual needs? Then one day while rummaging through the attic and basement for things to put in an upcoming yard sale to raise money for the battered women's shelter she found the copy of Varieties and put two and two together. That night while making love she told me that she met a man that afternoon. She described how they had a hot fuck in the back seat of his car, right there in the parking lot with people walking around. It wasn't true but she made it sound so real that it totally blew my mind, not to mention my load. Then she snuggled up close, took my rapidly softening cock in her hand and whispered into my ear, "I found your copy of Varieties in the basement... and I got so horny reading some of the letters I ran for my vibrator... got myself off three times." Then she moved down to take my sticky cock in her mouth, stopping every so often to say that there were many times when she wanted me to tell her about my fantasies and to tell me about hers, but because she sensed that I was uncomfortable about her sexual past she never brought it up. She said there was no way in hell that she would actually have sex with anyone but me but the fantasy of doing so made her as randy as can be. After she sucked my last few drops of cum out of me she moved up to nuzzle her face in the crook of my neck and asked if I ever fantasized about me having sex with another woman. The answer was no, not even once. But since finding that issue of Varieties on the train I fantasized about her having sex with another man. "But wouldn't you like a threesome with me and another woman?" she asked. I honestly, truly had no interest whatsoever in having sex with anyone but her. Then I told her that she was right about my early insecurity, jealousy and doubts over her previous partners, and how her being just her made them go away. I didn't admit it then, not even to myself, but deep down I was also aroused by those thoughts and feelings. She told me about her first time, when she was seventeen lived in a small farming community in Indiana and while in high school, there was this one football player, an arrogant, self-centered jock who was thought to be one of the coolest guys in school, someone all the self-anointed "in" girls would gladly drop their panties for with the hope of getting pregnant and, thus, married. My wife, however, was not an "in" girl. She was pretty enough but too studious and, besides, she worked at the (ugh!!!) Dairy Queen. Her parents were not wealthy and she had four siblings, meaning they could not afford to buy the "latest" in cool clothes, meaning that she did not fit in with the "in" crowd. She dated some, not much, mostly with the "uncool" boys. Then one balmy night near the end of the school year, at the end of her shift at DQ, he just showed up to walk her home and, of course, she was thrilled that someone who just signed a letter of intent to play football for a prestigious Big Ten school on a full scholarship paid attention to her. She had no idea, at least at the time, that some of his buddies bet that he couldn't fuck a goody-goody girl like her, no matter, because by the time they reached her home it was she who wanted to fuck him. She didn't like him that much but she wanted to somehow get back at the "in" girls who snubbed her by scoring with one of their most sought after trophies. She dropped panties right there on the lawn in her back yard on condition that he promised to not cum in her. She had him pegged right. He was into his own wants. He simply shoved his cock all the way into her virgin cunt, pumped hard and fast for two or so minutes then pulled out to shot his hot cum on her lower belly. Then he left. Her first might have been good for her ego but it just plain hurt. The only two things she enjoyed was to feel him cum on her belly and then for him to quickly leave. Within two weeks she got involved with her boss at DQ. He was thirty-four and unhappily married. He was gentle and sensitive and as much into her pleasure as his own, so for that entire summer before leaving for college she not only learned about sex but quite enjoyed it. And by the time she finished telling me about it we fucked intensely another two times. I told her about my two lovers. The girl I went steady with in high school who let me fondle her tits while she jacked me off and, two weeks before I left for college, finally let me fuck her. We sort of talked about maybe putting something serious together after I graduated but then she got pregnant by and married a widower with four children. My other lover was a senior I met during my sophomore year. We worked at the same pizza-tavern and fucked like crazy every chance we got.. Then, after she graduated, she returned to her hometown to marry her high school sweetheart. My wife told me of her other two lovers. One was a black classmate who died in a motorcycle accident, and the other a fifty year old professor. And with both the sex was good. But she didn't love them. She loved me, and that made for the best sex ever. I believed her, still, the mental image I had of her having sex with those others, especially the black classmate, so totally aroused me. In my mind's eye I had this exhilarating close up of a huge black cock stretching and stuffing her pink pussy to the very max. But the truth was that he, like her, had to work part time jobs to barely make ends meet. That meant they were too broke to go anywhere or do anything and, more so, they needed the rest of their out-of-class time to study. She said that she would love to enhance my fantasy but his cock was no longer or thicker than mine. The sex they had was the only recreation they could afford and happened mostly during brief study breaks. What made it most exciting for her, at least at first, was the contrast of skin color. But, like it became with her boss at DQ, it soon became a pleasant routine. Then he died and shortly thereafter she got involved with the professor she did research for in exchange for extra credits. That meant straight fucking twice a week at the back of a supply room. What made that exciting was the ever present chance of getting caught; otherwise it was merely a pleasant departure from her busy and menial routine. Camille and I were two of eight students to share an old, somewhat run down and drafty five bedroom house just off campus. We both worked menial jobs to make ends meet, which left little free time for play. She shared a room with Carol. I shared a room with Tim. Within two months of starting our junior year, Tim and Carol moved in together, as did Camille and I. (Tim and Carol are happily married, have six kids, live clear across the country and we still keep in touch.) She knew me, she trusted me, she believed in me, she loved me, and that combined to make for the best sex she ever had, with no close second. And nobody but nobody ate her pussy as well as I did, not even Carol. Not even Carol? Oooops, that just slipped out as I buried my face between her legs. But since it was out she said that one night the during the first month back to school with neither of them having had any sex in months they shared a bottle of cheap wine, smoked a joint and played "boyfriend." Carol was the "boy." She kissed, touched and undressed Camille the way a boyfriend would, which eventually led to Carol eating her pussy to a tremendous orgasm. They smoked another joint then Camille became the "boy," which ended with her eating Carol's pussy to a tremendous orgasm. They felt awkward about it. Neither of them was lesbian or even bi. It just happened. Still, their curiosity had been piqued and nobody would ever know so the next week they ate each other's pussies to multiple orgasms from the '69' position, but there was definitely "something" missing. That was about the time that Tim and Carol and Camille and I started taking more than mere house-mate interest in each other. I asked if she ever felt any desire to give it another try with a woman. She said that over the years she had been approached by three different women, all of them married, all at various events involving our kids, and that had piqued her curiosity not enough to want to actually do anything with them but just enough for an arousing fantasy, something she took care of with her vibrator. "Is that why you asked if I fantasized about having sex with your and another woman?" I asked. In part, yes. She hoped that we could share that fantasy together, in the same way she shared my fantasy about her having sex with another man. And from then on I was only too happy to oblige her. But with time and frequent use the sexual energy that fantasies create simply dissipates. So within a year of our opening up to each other's fantasies and desires we drifted back to our regular routine: That of being too busy and getting too tired to keep sex urgent and exciting. It was still pleasurable and nurturing but the gusto was gone. I still fantasized about her having sex with another man but was resigned to the fact that there was no way in hell that she would go through with it. Then right out of the blue she called me at work and I could hear the excitement in her voice. It was Thursday afternoon, she was at our neighborhood community center helping to set up displays submitted by local painters and sculptors. Camille was close to breathless as she told me that a man in his middle twenties who owned a successful upscale art boutique at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York was there, and that everything about him – the way he looked, the way he moved, the way he talked, the way he smelled – had her so sexually aroused that her panties were wet. She said they talked mostly about the art pieces being put on display but the way he looked at her left no doubt that he was interested in her too. Then she asked if I was serious about her making it with another man. There it was, my fantasy, right there and I was too stunned to say yes or no. So I asked her if she thought she could go through with it and without any hesitation she said yes -- but only if it was for the both of us. My mind whirled, my heart beat hard against my chest, sensation exploded in my loins and I could only search for words. Then she said that he asked her to have a drink with him at his hotel after the showing closed the next night. My cock was growing hard and what I heard in her voice was pure lust, and it was up to me, all up to me. After a long moment I said yes, I wanted her to have sex with him – for the both of us. She sounded relieved as she asked if I could pick the kids up at school because she wanted to go shopping for the right things to wear for her date and would be a little late getting home. I sat at our kitchen counter with our eight year old daughter and six year old son half listening to what they did in school as we snacked on Oreos and milk. My mind was on the fact that the love of my life, my soul mate, their mother, the woman who had so thoughtfully and carefully created and maintained this comfortable and nurturing home, was at that very moment buying new clothes so that she would look her best for a man she had just met and would fuck the next night. That's when the jealous and insecure feelings I once had about her previous sex partners returned, only they were now at least ten times as intense, all mixed in with arousal and sexual tension. In one moment I was angry that I said yes, and in the next moment I was thrilled that I had. The letters and stories I read online that were written by other husbands and wives convinced me that I was not alone with the desire for my wife to have sex with another man, in fact, I felt far from being alone with it. Camille was about to become a hot wife, and I was about to become a cuckold. This thought both excited and frightened me. Those letters and stories were about what the wife did with the other man, in great detail. But I couldn't remember any of them being about what the man felt when his wife was with someone else, especially the first time. So to give it a rest, to level out the rollercoaster ride my emotions were on, we, all three of us, decided to cook a yummy-nummy dinner and to have it ready when Mommy got home. That meant homemade French fries cooked crispy and golden brown, grilled hot dogs and root beer. The kids set the table while I cut the potatoes then while the oil heated we grilled the hot dogs, and it was all laughter and giggle filled fun. Then with the hot dogs and buns being kept warm in the oven we started to fry the first batch of potatoes Camille came through the door. She plopped her packages on the counter then bent to catch the kids as they ran into her arms. They were so happy to see her and so proud because they helped Daddy cook dinner for her, and that just added to Camille's obvious glee. She came to give me a hug and a kiss, then asked barely above a whisper if I was all right. I was and I wasn't, something we would talk about after the kids were asleep. She smiled knowingly then whispered that she had to go to the bathroom to freshen up before dinner, which included changing her panties. Dinner was all fun. The kids talked and giggled about their day and we listened and asked questions, and every time we looked across the table at each other we knew what was on our minds. Camille's eyes said, "Just wait until I get you in bed." And mine said, "Bring it on." I read the kids a story as Camille showered and got ready for bed, and after they said their prayers tucked them into their beds. I showered and then as I shaved I took a long look at myself in the mirror. I was a successful businessman and good provider, attentive and loving Dad, loved my wife, was proud of our home, respected by all who knew me, not the most unattractive man in the neighborhood, and standing there with only a towel wrapped around my midsection saw that I was in good physical shape despite my busy schedule and closing in on forty years old. We had everything we needed and most everything we just plain wanted. So why this obsessive fantasy about my wife having sex with another man? Was there a glitch somewhere in my brain? Then I remembered how incredibly exciting and satisfying sex was after she found that copy of Varieties. And how excited we got while reading similar letters on cuckold sites. It just got better and better for both of us. I thought about the time she came home from a PTA meeting, slinked into bed and told me in minute detail about sneaking out of the meeting to fuck the young phys-ed teacher in an empty class room, right there on a student desk. It was all make believe but it made us so horny we fucked with total abandon four times that night, something we hadn't done since we first started sleeping together in that drafty old bedroom – locked in fiercely passionate embrace between two sleeping bags zipped together. But over time the energy we got from these fantasies waned. And now it was back, suddenly, obviously more for her than for me. Camille was naked under the sheet. As soon as I moved in next to her she placed my hand between her legs. Her pussy was hot and wet. Very wet. She turned to look at me and said that it had been that way most of the day. She took my cock in her hand as she said how much she really wanted to fuck this guy. She had no idea why it all hit her so suddenly and intensely. They were extra cautious not to give anything away to anyone, after all, she was a respected married woman in our community. She looked into my eyes and cooed that she wanted to suck and fuck him until he cried uncle. And with that I shot my load up into the sheet. Just like that. She quickly moved down and between my legs to slurp my cock into her mouth. And as her tongue coaxed the last few drops into her mouth I felt her whole body tremble. She gasped and moaned as she bucked her pussy against the mattress. She too came hard. With both of us still panting and surprised at how quickly we came with no stimulation other than her words she moved up to snuggle in my arms. After a few moments of recovery I told her how so very aroused I was since she called me at work, and how my emotions went from excitement to dread and back, up and down, over and over again. We were married and had everything going for us. We were happy. We lived the American dream. The all-American family. Couples like us were not supposed to even think about having sex with anybody else much less get so highly aroused and energized by just the thought of it. But there we were, in bed and naked in each other's arms, our legs intertwined, with my throbbing cock already close to full erection again and her quivering cunt glistening wet. She kissed my cheek then purred that it wasn't too late to back out. If this was something I couldn't handle she would understand and cancel the date. Even after all the fantasizing and wishing and down and nasty, dirty talking slutty role playing we did about her fucking another man, and as excited as that made us, when it came right down to it actually happening I was totally divided. Half of me couldn't wait for it to happen, and the other half dreaded it. And I didn't understand either half. I had no fear of losing my wife to someone else. Just holding her in my arms and feeling her excitement made me feel good and secure. And the fact that she, after for so long insisting that we keep this a fantasy and not take it any farther, now actually wanted to go through with it didn't threaten me in any way. Waiting At Home Ch. 01 Being with me was love and security and belonging where being with him was lust, adventure and fleeting. We both understood this. She would have the physical pleasure while I waited at home alone with my thoughts and imagination, and I was fine with that too. I had absolutely no desire to be with another woman unless it was in a threesome with my wife, and even this would be more to cater to her curiosity than my physical desires. She was totally fine with keeping the fantasy a fantasy, then she met someone who pressed the right button. Not intentionally. I believe her when she said that it just happened, just like that. She felt something happening inside of her, like a door opening for the very first time. She couldn't put her finger on what it was about him, and he didn't come on to her in any obvious sexual way. They had spent two hours working together and discussing the artists and then just like that they looked at each and they both knew. She tried to explain it but couldn't. She just knew that the slut in her that was unleashed when we started reading cuckold/hot wife letters wanted to be naked and uninhibited with him, and the fact that he would be moving on the next morning just added to the excitement. So what was it about husbands who enjoyed having their wives go off to have sex with other men? I could understand and even appreciate the voyeurs who got off watching their wives having sex with other men. And I could understand if I was a lousy lay, or had a tiny cock, or couldn't get my cock up, but that was most definitely not our situation. My cock perfectly fit Camille's cunt. We knew each other in every way. So all right, our sex life became a bit routine. But after ten years of marriage and being exclusive that was to be expected. So we talked and we fucked, then talked some more and fucked again, and the only thing that was decided was that she would go on her date and then come home to share the details with me. We would try this once and see where to go from there, and whatever happened we would work our way through it together. More than anything else we would continue our life's journey together every step of the way. At work the next morning my mind kept wandering to what Camille. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? It was so hard for me to concentrate on work but I was scheduled to leave for Boston on Tuesday where I hoped to close on a deal I had been working on for several months, and that meant getting all the right numbers and pieces together. There was a time that morning when I was needed in the shop but I made some excuse why they would have to wait but in truth I had a raging hard-on and didn't want anyone to see it poking against my pants. And when I did get there I wondered what my employees would think if they knew that their boss's lovely wife would be meeting a strange man at his hotel later that night, and what would they think if they knew that she was going to suck and fuck him dry with my knowledge and support? There were six men and two women, all of them married, working on the prototype of a new product we planned to put into production if things went well in Boston. I wondered if any of these husbands fantasized about their wives fucking other men, or if any of them had actually experienced anything like it. And I wondered if the two wives shared their fantasies with their husbands, or if they ever had sex with anyone with or without hubby's knowledge? They showed me the problem they were having so we put our heads together and for three straight hours we were absorbed with one "what if we..." after another until we came up with modifications that would not only solve the problem but make the product that much better. That kind of team effort and problem solving was always exhilarating, so much so that it took my mind off Camille and when I looked up it was already time to leave. The plan was for me to leave work early, pick the kids up at school and take them to spend the night with Camille's sister, then hurry home in time to watch her get ready for her date. By the time I got home I was so filled anticipation, angst and sexual tension that my jaws were clenched. I called out for Camille but got no answer so I went through the house looking for her. Her car was in the garage but she wasn't home. The showing was from seven to ten but as one of the hostesses she needed to be there by six-thirty. It wasn't quite four-thirty, plenty of time left for her to get ready, but where could she be? And of course my first thought was that she had gotten too horny and decided to go fuck him that afternoon. Then I realized that was something she just would not do without first letting me know. There were too many things all racing around in all directions blind inside my one skin. My wife was going to fuck another man while I waited at home alone with my thoughts and feelings. That thought was on my mind from the moment I drove off the company parking lot. At one time I wondered how disappointed Camille would be if I asked her to not go through with it. I had to chill out, that's all there was to it. But how? That's when I remembered one of Camille's yoga and meditation exercises. I sat on a stool at our breakfast counter, closed my eyes and deliberately controlled my breathing to long, deep, measured breaths, in slowly and out just as slowly. I kept it up until I felt my jaws and shoulder muscles relax and my mind slow down. And when I opened my eyes Camille stood four feet in front of me. She wore a pink sweat suit, white and pink running shoes and a pink baseball cap. Her shoulder length light brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, her skin glowed, her green eyes sparkled but it was her smile that said all to be said about what she felt. She put her arms around my neck and kissed me long and fully on the lips. She told me that she was so horny that she used her vibrator to get herself off three times and even that didn't do it so she went for a quick three mile run to work off some of her sexual energy. And now that she was mellowed out and in control it was time to start getting ready, something she wanted to share with me, after all, this whole thing was for us. The "us" that began the day we shared our wedding vows, when the "you" and "me" forever became "us," when the "yours" and "mine" forever became "ours." She led me by the hand up the stairs and into our bedroom where she asked me to remove her clothes. When she was naked, with her tiny pink nipples standing fully erect and a look of raw sexuality in her eyes she led me into our bathroom. While the tub filled with hot water and sandalwood scented bath oil she pressed her body fully to mine and we kissed. Long, deep kisses. With our eyes locked together as solidly as our lips had just been she lowered herself into the water and just lie there absorbing the heat and sensations Then she slowly and sensuously washed every part of her body, including her hair. She took her time shaving her armpits, her legs and, finally, her pussy lips. And as I watched I felt so totally in love with her. This pretty, loyal, good natured and well meaning, sexy woman had stood shoulder to shoulder with ever since we moved into the same bedroom during our junior years in college. She was with me every step of the way as I built our company and she built our home, a place I couldn't wait to get to at the end of the business day. And in all that time though we sometimes had our disagreements and different opinions we had not one cross word for each other, not so much as one, not ever. She was always clean and fresh for me, which included neatly trimmed pubic hairs and smooth shaven pussy lips but at the moment she was preparing herself for another man to enjoy. Seeing the excitement in her smile and lust in her eyes by far overrode my twinges of jealousy that were part of the yin/yang feelings waging war inside of me. She stood in the tub, blotted her hair as best she could then wrapped the towel around her head. Again her eyes locked with mine as she stepped out of the tub into the towel I held ready. I patted her dry everywhere, especially her pussy which was already a slightly deeper pink than usual. She had already had her nails done so she stood there looking at me in the mirror as I blow dried her hair. Then I followed her into our bedroom where she retrieved three packages from her side of our closet. She removed the items and placed them on our bed – a lacy/silky pair of black panties and matching bra, a lacy/silky black garter belt and black hose, and a black linen dress. With me sitting nearby on our bed she took her time arranging her hair – a part down the center and brushed straight down all around. She was 39, the same as me, and her skin was still clear and soft, with only slight traces of lines near the outside corners of her eyes, so she needed very little makeup to enhance her natural features. And even that was mostly near her eyes. She very carefully applied lipstick to the lush lips I for ten years adored seeing and feeling around my cock. The same full lips that later that night would cater to another man's cock. She stood to examine her body in the mirror. Her 34B breasts had a trace of sag, not much, and her pink nipples were still rigid. Her belly had only the beginning of roundness, her hips were a bit wider than they were a few years back, and her ass was still round and firm. She looked great, the result of taking good care of her skin and regular workouts. She fastened her watch on her left wrist and checked the time – just after five – so she came to me, pressed my face to her breasts. She said that all she ever had to do was look into my eyes and know how loved and valued she was and that was all she ever needed to keep her being and doing her very best for her husband and kids. She loved and respected me beyond what words could even begin to describe and as late as noon the day before the thought of actually having sex with anyone but me was beyond her grasp. She loved the games we played, and the sassy and nasty pretended "doings" that grew from our fantasy. And she loved how aroused I got, and the great sex we had that came from it. But it was fantasy. It wasn't real. But what lay before us was real. She knew with every fiber of her being that she truly, actually wanted to fuck another man. To really fuck him. To suck his cock and sit on his face. And to do so until her pussy was swollen, sore and purple. Maybe when the time came she would chicken out, though she doubted it. Then she eased my head away from her fleshy little 34B tits just enough to look into my eyes and said that if this was something I couldn't handle all I had to do was say so, and that would be the end of it. My feelings and well-being were far more important to her than this ache in her pussy. I told her that I had jealousy and insecurity pangs and second thoughts as well as a very strong want for her to do it – freely and without guilt – to go for the gusto with this guy almost fifteen years younger than her. I told her that my cock had been rock hard and throbbing since fucking her before going to work. I knew that I was in for an emotional roller coaster ride from the time her car pulled out of the garage until it returned. I also reminded her that no matter what we would work through things together and that, deep down in my being, I had this sense that this would somehow make our marriage even stronger. Where that came from I had no idea but it was something I definitely sensed. "Yes, my love, I want you to take this from fantasy to reality – for the both of us," I said evenly. She pulled my face back to her breasts once more and let out an audible sigh. I felt her rigid nipple and softness of her left breast but mostly I heard her heart beating wildly in her chest. She eased herself away to fasten her garter belt around her waist, then sat next to me on the edge of the bed and eased her seamless black hose in place, first the left leg then the right. And as she did this she told me that she gave a lot of thought to sucking me off before she did her makeup, and that she decided against it so as to not dissipate my sexual tension. This had something to do with a letter written by a hot wife she read online, about how much she loved the freedom to fuck other men as much as she did the actual fucking, and how part of that pleasure had to do with knowing that her husband was at home dealing with his jealousy and insecurity which were key elements to his arousal and pleasure, so much so that by the time she got home he had her on the floor within feet of her getting through the door and fucking with a passion bordering on rage. Only then did they go to bed and make love as she described in detail what she did with the other man. The woman would have the sex and the pleasure and enjoyment thereof. That was easy to understand. But the man's pleasure and enjoyment was too complex to understand by reading letters, especially since the great majority of these letters focused on the woman's activities and not on the man's time alone with his thoughts and feelings. Camille didn't pretend to understand it from the husband point of view any more than I did but what she knew for certain was that I would get a lot of pleasure and satisfaction from her pleasure. With her hose fastened in place she stood and stepped into her scanty panties, the kind cut high up on the hip and covered a bit less than half of her cheeks, and as she did this she smiled at me and said I was in for everything that comes with being a cuckold. Also, at least hopefully, she was in for everything that comes with being a hot wife. Then she put her new black lacy/silky bra in place and fastened the hook. Her tits were not real small nor were they by any means large. They were simply the prefect size and shape for her 5'4' one hundred and forty pound body. Her sexy bra seemed so tiny, had only the one hook, but it covered just enough of her perky tits to uplift and keep them in place. She went to stand before the mirror to look herself over. Then came the plain little black linen dress. It fit just tightly enough to hug her every curve and dimple, and was cut about one inch above her knees and swooped down across her chest to provide the barest glimpse of her cleavage. It wasn't the sexiest dress she could have bought but then she was a happily married and respected woman contributing her time at our community arts expo simply to help promote and support our local artists. Many of our neighbors and friends would be there and the fact that she ached to fuck a young gallery owner from out-of-town was not to be even suggested much less advertised. As I zipped her dress up at the back I realized that another man's hand would soon enough be unzipping it. Then I fastened the antique necklace made of small and delicate pearls that her grandmother left her around her neck and we stood side by side admiring what we saw in the mirror. She looked elegant and classy and, to anyone who knew what to look for, totally sexy. She would look and play the part of the proper and respectful volunteer hostess perfectly, and to the young man who so admired her in the worn and faded blue jeans and old sleeveless jersey blouse she wore to move pedestals, put tables up and hang paintings the previous day she would look simply delicious and totally irresistible. We went downstairs and sat facing each other at the breakfast counter sipping wine, looking into each other's eyes, smiling. She asked if I was jealous and I said yes, but not because she would fuck somebody before returning home. I was jealous because she looked so beautiful and desirable that I wanted to have her in every way, right there and then. That wasn't about to happen, after all, she really was needed to work the art expo. But she would come straight home afterwards if that was what I really wanted. I told her that the wanton look in her eyes was altogether too intense to expend on something she could have any time she wanted at home, and that whatever it was going on inside her that created that look had to be satisfied in an equally wanton and taboo way. We already knew that three hundred tickets were sold for the expo and that more would be sold at the door. I wondered aloud how many of those husbands fantasized about their wives having sex with other men, and how many of the wives had sex with other men with or without their spouses' knowledge, and how many of the wives there would actually have sex with another man before the night was over. Camille had no idea about the first two but surely there would be some in each. She did know about the latter. She knew for sure that there would be one happily and securely married wife there who would have sex with another man, and that wife didn't have to cheat because she had her loving husband's knowledge and support. We went to her car and as she got in I noticed her wedding ring. The simple gold band I bought for $80 dollars at a discount store back when that was an enormous sum of money for me. I since bought her a very expensive diamond ring but she never wore it. That plain ring I put on her finger the day we married, which she never removed, not for any reason, was worth more to her than all the diamonds in the world. There she was, my wife, wearing totally sexy/femmy undies beneath a dress that so nicely complimented her understated elegance, backing her car down the driveway. The car turned onto the street, she waved at me then drove off beyond my line of sight. She was on her way to do community service work and from there to a hotel to have a drink with a man fifteen years her junior and, judging by the intense sexual energy they wordlessly communicated to each other, to his room to explore and satisfy their desires. I changed into a sweat suit, put some money in my pocket, put my running shoes on and left to dissipate some of the intense energy that left me with clenched jaws and a tossing feeling in the pit of my stomach. I ran then walked then ran then walked until seven thirty. I was out of gas but at least I felt more relaxed. The art expo would be in full swing and Camille would be working the room, so to speak. She had learned from previous showings that art buyers had to be "romanced" into putting their money in the till. That meant schmoozing and interpreting the meaning and essence of the art pieces. I thought it was pretentious and ego-massaging but Camille understood and appreciated these airs far better than I did. I went into a neighborhood sports bar that served cold beer and great sandwiches. There was a good crowd but I had no problem finding a small out-of-the-way table where I could be by myself. I ordered a beer and a corned beef sandwich and tried to get into the baseball game showing on the big screen TV. I looked at my watch. It was twenty to eight, more than two hours before the showing closed for the night. Plenty of time to call Camille if the part of me that leaned toward backing out won over the part of me that wanted her to go through with it. I knew she would call it off if I asked but what would that disapointment do to her? To our marriage? In a way it was my fault, first for bringing that copy of Varieties into our home and, second, letting my fantasy of her being wanton with another man develop to that level of arousal and excitement. But then we both so thoroughly enjoyed and benefited from that fantasy, something that lasted for eight months before it began to wane. My mind went back and forth as I nibbled my way through half on my sandwich. I tried to get into the game but all I could think about was my wife. Was she flirting with the guy? Maybe I should go over there and sneak a peek? I looked at my watch again – only eight-thirty. Ninety minutes before it was time for her to take that first step toward becoming a hot wife. How excited was she? Could others see in her green eyes what I saw? This was our community. We were dug in here. People knew us. What if anyone found out? Waiting At Home Ch. 01 I finished my second beer, put the uneaten half of the sandwich in a carry-out box for later, then started the eight-block walk home. As I walked past houses occupied by "normal" married couples I wondered if any of them explored or even participated in extra-marital sex. How many of them were fully open and honest with each other about their sexual identities and wants and curiosities? Did they read online letters and stories submitted by husbands and wives who had sex with others? Were any of the couples who lived in these houses swingers? Were any of the husbands cuckolds? I remembered one article I read that undertook a survey of "players," and the vast majority of these married people were professional – from electronic, medical, education, even law enforcement fields. By the time I got home I decided that it didn't matter what anyone else did. What mattered was what we did and no matter how torn and unsure I felt the simple truth was that the biggest part of me wanted my wife to fuck another man. There it was, finally. I took a long shower, shaved, then got into my bathrobe and went downstairs. I poured a glass of wine then went into our family room to sit on the couch. I reached to turn on a lamp but decided the light filtering in from the kitchen was enough. I felt calm from nine-thirty until ten. They would be closing the art showing. How long would it take Camille to get to this guy's hotel, the one near the airport? What would she be thinking and feeling during that drive? Was she nervous? Ten o'clock -- that was the moment when what I had come to define as the "cuckold wait" began in earnest. My moment had arrived, and I was aroused. My cock was rock hard. My heart tried to beat its way out of my chest. My mouth felt dry. And my mind flitted wildly from one scenario to another. How long would they waste in the bar getting to know each other over a drink? What would they talk about? Would he touch her there? What if someone we knew saw them? I remembered some of the stories I read about the wife's first date. They were all different and yet much the same. Their biggest common denominator was that they were exciting. Many focused on the size of the man's cock. What if this guy was really hung? Would Camille's little pussy be able to accommodate it? Some of these stories focused on the ":newness" aspect – the excitement that came with being with someone new. This alone was ultra-exciting. As was the "first time" after so long of being with the same, familiar man. I felt only arousal and excitement until eleven o'clock. They surely would be in his room at that moment. That's when jealousy took hold as never before. My jaws clenched, my stomach tightened, my erection went away. I couldn't just sit there. I had to pace. Camille had other cocks in her mouth and cunt but they were all before we met, and none of them did for her what mine did. I had no doubt whatsoever about my wife's honesty and well-meaning but what if she somehow got addicted to strange cock? Especially if this guy was really hung, what then? Our fantasies were fun and exciting but they were safe. How many times had she told me that while she enjoyed the fantasy there was no way she could even force herself to fuck another man? Then just like that, since just yesterday she couldn't wait to fuck this guy. She called me right out of the blue and asked if I was serious about wanting her to fuck someone else. I had my chance to say no, that I wanted us to keep to the fantasy. All right, so that caught me off guard. I said yes, make the date with him. That call alone got me so hard it was thirty minutes before I could get up from behind my desk and go back to work. I remember how terribly aroused I was waiting for her to get home from her shopping spree. How I wanted to see what she bought, and how her making me wait until she dressed for her date made me even more aroused. Then to watch her get ready, to see how great she looked in her new clothes, but deep down right up to then ten o'clock hour it was still a fantasy. I was like the pretend games we played. Now, at that very moment, it was real. She was in his room. Camille, right up until the moment she got in her car, gave me chance after chance to call it off. I could still call her on her cell phone to call it off but what if she had to move her mouth off the guy's cock to answer the phone? I stared at our telephone wavering for several long moments before realizing that there was no way I could force myself to place that call. Even though everything in me at that moment wanted what was happening to be a dream and not reality, it was happening. At that very moment my wife was in a hotel room with every intention of getting naked and going for the sexual gusto with a man who would come morning would be on an airplane destined for Albany, NY, no doubt feeling smug about fucking another man's wife, and most probably this was nothing new to him. It was at that moment that I really thought about the "other man." Was scoring with a married woman an ego trip? Was it some kind of challenge? Was he proving something to himself? He was single, mid-twenties, successful and confident. Many airlines put flight crews up overnight at that hotel. Surely he would have had no problem finding a younger single woman to fuck. So why was he with a middle aged married woman? So all right, so she was fit and pretty and out-going and friendly, she was still fifteen years older than he was, not that she looked it. And she wasn't just any married woman, she was my wife. So what kind of limp-dick wimp did that make me in his eyes? What about her husband and kids, and her home and happiness? Did he even once consider any of that? . My jealousy was getting out of hand. Not once in our ten year marriage had Camille and I exchanged so much as one cross word. So I took my frustration out on the other guy. What kind of man would fuck another man's wife? Did he have no integrity? It was only when I realized that everything in me wanted to punch the guy's lights out that I came back to reality. Nothing about him really mattered. He was an available cock that fit the bill – unknown in our community, young, unattached and, most importantly, from out-of-town. Camille was with him at that very moment because she wanted to fuck him, not because he wanted to fuck her, and she had my knowledge and support. And that was that! At eleven-forty-five, with me sure that his cock was at that very moment in my wife's willing cunt, with her no doubt moaning and gasping and ecstatic, I felt weary bordering on emotional and mental exhaustion. Camille had tubal ligation after our second child so there was no worry about pregnancy, and she was too astute to choose a sleaze-bag to be her first so we didn't worry about disease. We hadn't even talked about condoms so I was quite sure they would go bare-back. And I wondered how any times he would cum in her mouth and cunt. Given how she always reacted to my orgasms I was sure that his would add to her pleasure. My emotional highs and lows were taking their toll. I went upstairs and took a cold shower to snap me back to a more controlled level. I returned to the family room with another glass of wine, left to wonder how much longer it would be before she would come through the door leading from the garage into our kitchen, no doubt looking totally fucked-out and beaming with afterglow. That thought rekindled my passion. My cock stirred and started to get erect, after all, her coming to me and sharing the details of her sexual adventure was the "payoff" for cuckold husbands. Funny, I really didn't think of myself as a cuckold, still, my wife was away at that very moment fucking another man with my knowledge and support. And it was that reunion with the woman who's cunt was sticky with another man's cum and her face flushed with sexual satisfaction that made the cuckold-hot wife relationship worthwhile. Knowing that whatever problems I had she would be there to work through them with me, I got more and more excited thinking about seeing her come through the door and into my arms. Finally, at twelve-thirty, she called to say that she just got into her car and would be home in thirty minutes. What I heard in her voice and breathing told me that she had fucked him, and that alone made me even more aroused. Then began the second wait of the night, those excruciating minutes that left me all I could do to keep from jacking off. There were two times during that wait when I came within an eyelash of cumming without even touching myself. Then, finally, I heard her car pull into the garage and the door close behind her. She had her payoff and now the beginning of mine was only moments away. Camille was now my hot wife and I was her cuckold husband, and I couldn't wait another second longer to hear all about it. The Wait – Part 2: The Payoff – continued... Waiting At Home Ch. 02 PART 2: THE PAYOFF My name is Camille. I'm happily married to a wonderful man, have two great kids, a lovely home in a great neighborhood, and I got to fuck my ass off with another man without having to cheat. Here is my side of our story: I will always remember the look on my husband's face as I got ready for my date. There was so much in that look – love, trust, admiration, want, lust and even doubt, the kind of doubt that comes with second guessing a decision made. He watched me bathe, shave my pussy lips, etc. Then he toweled and patted me dry, spending extra time and care between my legs. He even blow dried my hair. He stood there quietly drinking me in with his eyes as I did my hair and makeup. There was no need for words. We both knew exactly what was happening and, more so, we were in this together. We were doing this for the both of us. We didn't say a word until I snapped my new garter belt around my waist and started placing my sheer black nylon hose on my freshly shaven legs. That's when I told him the only reason I didn't give him an orgasm before I did my makeup was so that he would experience everything that came with becoming a first time cuckold, at least what I had gathered from reading stories and letters about what husbands went through when their wives were off fucking other men. Actually, I knew very little about this if only because there was so little to be read about this part of the hot wife/cuckold relationship, but I knew my husband and knew that he had an emotionally thrilling and gut wrenching, up and down trip in store for him. If this was to work for the both of us he would just have to fully experience his part of the adventure. Still, as I put on my new sexy/silky black panties I asked him once again if he still wanted me to go through with this. Next, I put on my new skimpy, sexy/silky black bra, the one that covered just enough of the titties he never tired of ogling/fondling/suckling to keep them uplifted and nicely in place. I looked myself over in the mirror. I was proud of my still fit near forty year old body. I looked beyond my image to see the look in his eyes, the look of approval that said he was even prouder of my body and, more so, the look that said he totally approved of what he saw in the mirror – the image of a loving and loyal wife wearing the sexy underwear she bought especially for her first date with another man since two years before she met and then married the love of her life. Then came the classic little black linen dress. It fit me perfectly, not too baggy, not too tight. The top swooped across my chest just low enough to give a glimpse of cleavage and just under two inches above my knees. I didn't look overtly sexy nor obviously frumpy nor overly conservative. I gave a lot of thought to that dress. The first part of this night would be to serve as a volunteer hostess at our annual community art expo, so it was important for people to me to see me as the happily married woman they knew, and yet without advertising or even suggesting in any way that when the show closed at ten I would be off to fuck the young art gallery owner from upstate NY who would be there to meet our local painters and sculptors and, hopefully, to sell their pieces in his trendy boutique. He would see how sensual and wanting I was but nobody else would have a clue. As far as they knew the only reason my husband wasn't there with me was because he had an important out-of-town meeting coming up and needed all the time between now and then to prepare. After closing the expo for the night, however, at first glimpse of me in my new undies, the ones I bought specially for this night, this other man would see that the woman in his hotel room was the same sexy and wanton slut my husband saw looking at her fully dressed image in the mirror. My husband and I sat on stools facing each other at our breakfast counter sipping wine, smiling and communicating with our eyes. His cock poked into the fabric of his pants, and my pussy felt warm, moist and wanting. He had already told about his insecurity and jealousy as well as his excitement and arousal, and how everything inside him was at odds with his decision for us to go forward with this. When it came right down to the nitty-gritties his arousal won over his doubt. Something that did not come easily for him. Then it came time for me to leave. He walked me to my car, we kissed, and I got behind the wheel. I looked up into his eyes and said it wasn't too late to change his mind. He just smiled, closed my car door then took a few steps back. I knew that had he called this off I would have been disappointed but it would have been over in a heartbeat. My husband and his feelings, along with our two kids, were my whole life. Nothing but nothing was more important to me than they were, especially something as unnecessary as the opportunity to fuck another man without having to cheat. I backed my car out of the driveway and onto the street, and as I shifted from reverse to drive I looked over to see him standing there in our garage. I looked at him for a long moment, waved, took a deep breath and then drove off. My heart immediately started pounding with anticipation. Over the years I had seen a few men who caught my eye, some of them enough to fantasize about while working my vibrator on my pussy, but not one near enough to even think about cheating. I just didn't have cheating in me and neither did my husband. The trust we shared from the moment we decided to share a bedroom during our junior years in college was too perfect, too priceless to risk damaging in any way. Besides, I had had enough sex with other men – even though most of it was good – to know that love took sex to a whole new level, one I could not even imagine possible until I met the love of my life, the man I married. The same man who just moments before stood standing in the garage smiling at me though he knew that before I returned home I would have sucked and fucked another man. Until mid-morning yesterday I would never in a million years believed I was even capable of fucking someone new. Then, wearing old clothes that I didn't care if I ruined, while positioning pedestals and setting up tables and hanging paintings and working up a bit of a sweat doing so, I noticed a young man, probably mid-twenties at most, walking around talking to the different volunteers and expo sponsors. I also noticed the way he kept looking at me. Actually, I kind of liked the way he looked at me, not that I expected anything to come of it. Then a bit later in the morning as I took a coffee break he came over to introduce himself and to say that he owned a new but upscale art boutique in the thriving resort town of Saratoga Springs, which was thirty five miles north and a bit west of Albany in upstate, NY, a town that catered to the wealthy. He said that he was on the last stop of a six city tour looking for promising artists to represent, and was told that I was the most knowledge person there so would I mind telling him a little something about our local artists and their art? Being a long-time supporter of our art community and working my fourth consecutive expo I was only too happy to promote our artists and their works. I have to admit that I was attracted to him right from the start. At 6'2" he towered above me. He had a lean, athletic build and weighed about one-eighty. About the same as my husband only he was 5'10" and more stocky. He was handsome in a rugged near chiseled way, though no more so than my husband. His brown eyes were warm yet seeing, in a way that didn't miss much. He was unassuming and respectful, and had long, dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail which set him apart from most of the more conservative people I knew, even my husband. I liked the way he talked, and the questions he asked. I was especially impressed by his comments and interpretations. He seemed strong and confident, though no more so than my husband, but there was also something uncommonly sensitive and delicate about him. The truth is that I just plain liked everything about him, including the way he moved and smelled. I still had pieces to place and paintings to hang, and as he helped me with them we continued to discuss the various artists and their pieces. I continued to grow more and more attracted to him. So much so that within two hours of our meeting we looked into each other's eyes and we both knew that we wanted more. Much more. My pussy was so wet that I feared that I might leak through and leave a dark spot in the crotch of my worn and faded denims, so much so that I went to the ladies room to line my panties with toilet paper. When I returned I heard him tell the expo director that he had to leave but would return the next night when the showing opened. Then he came to politely and respectfully thank me for taking the time to discuss things with me, then after looking around to see if anyone paid attention us, in a voice barely a whisper asked if I would like to have a drink with him at his hotel after the showing closed the next night. At that very moment I knew with every fiber in my being that I wanted to fuck him. Just like that. I told him that I needed a few minutes before I could say. He said he would stall for a few minutes before leaving and walked off toward the door. I called my husband to ask if he was serious about wanting me to have sex with another man, something we both fantasized about and explored for over two years. I caught him off guard, to say the least, and there was more to this than just telling him I actually, really wanted to fuck another man but after a few minutes he said to go ahead and make the date. I looked across the room and nodded yes. He smiled and left. I immediately looked all around the room to see if anyone had noticed. Nobody had so I hurried to arrange the rest of the pieces then left to go shopping for clothes to wear for my date. The community center was only a ten minute drive from home, which meant I would be there close to six-thirty to help with setting things up before the doors opened at seven, but setting things up was the farthest thing from my mind. I was so aware of the stirring feelings in my pussy. In a way it felt like my whole universe was centered right there between my legs. I've been incredibly horny before, too many times to count. I remember the day I found that copy of Varieties. I sat on the basement steps and thumbed through it, then I read some of the letters. Husbands and wives writing about their spouses' extra-marital sexual escapades. No sneaking. No cheating. Just exciting sex for fun and pleasure. That entire concept was so foreign to me and yet as I read these stories I got excited. Then I thought about how incredibly horny my husband was for close to six months. Before then our sex life had settled into a comfortable routine then just like that he returned from a business trip absolutely ravenous for me. I wondered what got into him but didn't press it, I simply enjoyed every second of it. Then, reading the letters in Varieties, I began to understand why. But which letters turned him on the most? The ones about swingers? Threesomes, both FFM and MMF? The ones about watching a spouse have sex with someone else? The ones about the husband waiting at home for the wife to return with the details of her having sex with another man? The ones where the wife had sex with another man to humiliate, degrade and punish her wimpy and/or tiny dick husband? There were so many varieties, hence the name, so many different kinks. So I went upstairs and logged on to the internet and checked through the history of sites visited. Then I came upon a cuckold forum site. I had no idea what a cuckold was but no matter I brought it up on the screen. And right there before me were hundreds of pages of letters and stories submitted by husbands whose "hot wives" had sex with other men. And here too I got horny reading them. At least most of them – the humiliation and punishment ones actually turned me off. Though I thought it was strange that my unquestionably dedicated and committed to me husband would get turned on by the thought of me having sex with another man, as evidenced by his going online to read letters submitted by husbands whose wives had sex with others, I decided then and there that I wanted to be a part of his fantasy, but only as a fantasy. It started that very night while making love I described a situation where I fucked another man on the back seat of his car in a grocery store parking lot. It wasn't true but no matter, my husband went absolutely wild, and I benefitted from his surge of sexual energy. It was wonderful. That's when we opened up about our fantasies. But they were fantasies, not reality. There was no way I could even force myself to have sex with another man. And there I was – wearing all new clothes I bought especially for this occasion, fully aware of the want I felt in my pussy, on my way to an art expo that, afterward, would have me in the hotel room with a strange man -- with my husband's knowledge and support. He was about to become a cuckold and I was about to become a hot wife. I was in my car and on my way. It was actually happening. This was not fantasy. It was real. Very real. I parked my car toward the back of the community center so I wouldn't be obvious when I left. I just sat there telling myself over and over again that no matter how excited and anxious I got I could do nothing to give anything away. Not even a hint. I had to be the Camille they knew, there to help in any way I could to promote our local artists and their works. And when the object of my lust appeared I would have to play it even more cool and casual than I had the previous day. Everything in me wanted to get naked and wanton with him. I still didn't fully understand why or even how so quickly it came to this. All I knew was that there were at least three hours between schmoozing potential art buyers and small talk with people from the community who knew me and getting to his hotel room. And not even the most desperate ache to fuck him was more important than my standing in the community. I was the happy and loyal wife of a successful, respected and very much liked man, the mother of two beautiful children and involved member of our community. That is what I had to keep in mind no matter what my inner slut wanted. I was asked to work the doors, that is, the "gate," with a first time volunteer, a wholesome looking, slightly chubby woman in her early thirties married to a teacher, and mother of three. Our job was to collect tickets and to sell them to those who didn't take advantage of the pre-expo discount price. We took up our places and promptly at seven opened the doors. The 16th annual art expo was open for business. People of all sizes, shapes, colors and ages, all in an upbeat mood, some dressed to the nines, others totally casually were there for the same reason, to look at the art created by our local artists. We greeted them warmly as we took their tickets. We were very busy for the first thirty minutes then things tapered off. I thought I saw my volunteer partner light up when a particular couple entered, something I chalked up to friendship, but then I noticed that both ladies wore ankle bracelets. I remembered an article I read about how women involved in swinging wore ankle bracelets to signal such to other swingers. I took another look at my chubby housewife partner. She smiled warmly at me then turned to greet the people coming through the door. Could it be? She looked so everyday PTA and soccer mom, but then that was me too and I could hardly wait to get into a hotel room with a man who wasn't my husband. But then maybe their ankle bracelets may just have been coincidence. No matter, I made it a point to not light up the way she did when the man I looked for arrived. That was just ten minutes later. He didn't have a ticket because as a gallery owner he didn't need one. I introduced him to my gate partner, they shook hands, he smiled nicely at me, nothing out of the ordinary, then went on his way to talk to the artists whose work caught his attention. No clues, no hints from either of us, even though I felt an urgent and major quiver in my pussy, so much so that I excused myself and went to the ladies room to line my panties with toilet paper, something I made a mental note to remove before leaving to meet him at his hotel. During previous expos time always flew by. But not on this night. I kept myself busy doing this and that and, mostly, I kept a safe distance from him. We exchanged a knowing glance or two from across the room but nothing that would be obvious to anyone. Then at nine-thirty I went to the main entry and as I gathered the tickets and cash the chubby housewife said that she noticed the way I looked at her anklet and then at her. She smiled warmly and asked if my husband and I were swingers. I said that we were not. She said that she and her husband were, been doing it for four years, and how she was sure that it saved their marriage. I said that our marriage didn't need saving, that my husband and I were perfectly good just the way things are. She said that she and her husband, a teacher at a local community college, didn't believe that, biologically speaking, humans were monogamous animals. And that human beings, both men and women, needed the validation that having sex with others provided. The validation that they were desirable, and besides it was a lot of fun. It was that that kept them feeling alive and emotionally healthy. I thanked her for her input then left with the receipts. Sitting next to two others as we counted and documented the receipts in a ledger I thought about what the swinger lady said about validation. My husband more than validated me. He completed me. But then why all of a sudden did this pressing want to be with another man find its way into my being? I had everything. A loving and trusting, and supportive and attentive husband. Two wonderful children. A beautiful home. No money worries. The freedom to spend my time as I choose with no need to explain to anyone. What else could any woman ask for? It was then that I gave serious thought to going straight home to my husband. To not say a word to the other man. Just get up from that desk, go to my car and drive straight home. Surely my husband would understand. Maybe he would be disappointed that his fantasy was not fulfilled. The same held true for me. I didn't need to feel validated, certainly not by fucking another man, and my husband had no desire to have sex with another woman. And yet I so very much wanted to fuck a man who was not my husband. My husband had waivered in and out, and I gave him every opportunity to ask me to stay home with him but right up to the moment I got into my car and he wanted me to go forward with this. This after almost two years of trying to understand why any man would even want his wife to have sex with another man. But so much of what we found online convinced us that so many men wanted just that. More than we dared even imagine. And they came from all walks of life. There were even sites dedicated exclusively to helping husbands find men to fuck their wives. And they did so for so many reasons. Many sought size to stretch and stuff their wives' pussies to the max. Others felt inadequate to please their wives. Many wives had higher sex drives than did their husbands. But the vast majority of these men seemed quite normal. These men just got a charge out of their wives enjoying sex with others. In most of these stories their wives were at first reluctant but were quite happy once they finally took the plunge. None of those motivations seemed to fit my husband and me. About the only thing that we never experienced in our relationship was jealousy. Maybe that is what my husband missed. Waiting At Home Ch. 02 As for me I had four cocks in me before meeting my husband and all but one was nice, exciting even, but none did for me what my husband's did – not even close. Size was never an issue. My husband's cock perfectly fit my pussy. We loved each other and that made all the difference. I did not love the man I planned to meet after the expo closed for the night, I was simply attracted to him. I still wasn't sure why I wanted to fuck him. Maybe it had to do with the stories we read, about our fantasy to do just this, with our role playing and make believe stories. Our sex though enjoyable was routine before we started our joint fantasies, and after that it was as hot and passionate as could before slowly waning back to routine. Then last night when I told my husband about the gallery owner and how much I wanted to fuck him the sex we had was as hot and intense as could be. Whatever the reasons were I just knew that I really, truly want to fuck this other man, just once. And I honestly believed that my husband wanted this as much as I did. Now it was my turn to waiver back and forth about whether or not to go through with it. After making the last ledger entry I looked at the clock. It was nine-fifty-five. Tonight's showing would be closing in five minutes. That made it our show time, that which belonged to my husband and me. He had earlier made his final decision and now I had to make mine. I went to the ladies room to remove the toilet paper pantie liner. I closed my eyes and went deep into myself. After a minute or so I opened my eyes. My answer was clear. I went back to the main room and looked around. The other man was not to be seen. I said goodnight to several people and left. There was no more waivering. I was in my car and on my way to the airport hotel. I was nervous, after all, it was close to twelve years since I had been with anyone but my husband. I was pushing forty and he couldn't be much more than twenty-five. There had to be plenty of single women closer to his age to choose from. So why me? I cautiously went to the entrance to the hotel lounge and saw him sitting by himself at the bar. It wasn't real busy, still, I looked around. There were mostly women sitting in small groups here and there, probably airline people, and a few couples, nobody I knew, and nobody noticed me leave the community center. So far so good. He saw me, came to me and suggested that we find an out-of-the-way table. I held his eyes for a long moment, took a deep breath and suggested that the table in his room would do just fine. My husband and I had stayed in this hotel the night before we flew to Nassau for a quickie vacation, so I knew that the rooms had wet bars filled with things to drink and munch on. He smiled nicely and off we went to the elevator. I had no reservations about being there. My inner slut had full control of me, and I felt thrilled because of this. There was something that felt deliciously sinful about being with him as we rode up to the fifth floor, and that just added to my slutty feeling, as did the walk down the hallway to his room. We both knew why we were there so there was no need for words. I sat at a small table watching him pour white into two glasses. When he brought them to me he leaned forward to kiss me, softly and sensuously. He asked if my husband would wonder about me not getting home shortly after the show closed and all I said was that I told him I would be going for a drink and not to wait up for me. But won't he suspect anything? Not a thing, why would he? We each took one sip of the wine before he kissed me again, this time more fully on the lips and with more passion. And I kissed him back. Our tongues touched. Needless to say the wine went untouched after that. He guided me to my feet, put his arms around me and we kissed. Really kissed. Passionately. Hungrily. He eased the zipper all the way down the back of my dress and then deftly unhooked my bra. We kissed some more and pressed our bodies together so that I could feel his erection against me as we inched ever so slowly to the bed. He hooked his thumbs beneath my dress at the shoulders and eased it and my bra straps downs my arms, kissing me all the while. Then he eased my dress and bra down to my hips. He put his left arm around me so that his hand was in the middle of my back and pressed my titties and erect nipples firmly against him. I kissed him as hungrily as he kissed me, maybe even a bit more so. Then I felt his right hand cup and fondle my left breast and tease my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. That sensation sent a shiver through my body and straight to my cunt. His touch told me that even at his young age he knew about women. He continued to fondle my breast and kiss me as his left hand moved back to start my dress down beyond my hips. My bra fell completely loose and onto the carpet. And then my dress fell to my ankles. I eased my shoes off, stepped out of it and gently kicked it aside. He soon had both hands working my breasts and the sensations moved me to an even higher level of arousal, something I felt throughout my entire body and not just in my tits and pussy. There was nothing tentative about him. Nor was there anything clumsy. He guided me onto my back on the bed, removed his Navy blue blazer and deep blue shirt. That's when I noticed how smooth his chest was. I loved my husband's hairy chest but seeing this man's hairless torso was curiously exciting. He knelt alongside the bed, moved his left arm over my shoulder, under the back of my neck and grasped my left wrist. Then he placed his right arm between my legs so that his bicep pressed hard against my pussy. I was pinned under his control. I felt his strength. I was his to do with as he pleased. He held me like that for a long moment, as if to accentuate his dominance, then moved his face over me and took my left nipple between his lips. He nibbled and nipped at it, then swirled his tongue over it. He took more of my breast into his mouth and suckled it. His tongue flicked and swirled all over my breast sending shivers of excitement all through me. I was so awash with desire lost track of how long he did this. Then he began to slowly trail kisses, nips and licks down my belly until he reached my belly button. He spent a good time there, tickling and swirling his tongue on and around it. Next, he kissed his way to the top of my panties. He used his tongue to lift the soft elastic, as if this was a preview of what was to come. He withdrew his arm from between my legs just enough so that his hand could fondle my pussy through the silk panties. His touch was both expert and wonderful. My ass squirmed against the mattress. I gasped and tried to control my breathing. His fingers explored my pussy lips, the shaft of my rigid clitoris, then my clitoris. I moaned and bit my lower lip as I felt an orgasm building. He continued touching my pussy as he began kissing, nipping and licking his way up my right side, both tickling and exciting. He reached the crook of my arm just above my armpit. He bit me there not enough to leave a mark but, still, hard enough. That sent my pussy quivering and bucking against his fingers and to my first orgasm. Not the hardest orgasm of my life but good nonetheless. And different in a way that I couldn't explain. He rose to his feet as I basked in that lovely little orgasm. I watched as he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped then stepped out of his tan Dockers. He turned to face me and slowly eased his boxer shorts down his hips. Then his hard cock sprang free. My eyes widened and I held my breath. It was at least two inches longer and not quite twice as thick as my husband's with a large, bulbous, purplish head. That had to make it close to nine inches long and not quite as round as the cardboard tube around which paper towels are wrapped. My vibrator was longer and thicker than my husband's beautiful cock and I occasionally inserted it fully in me, but only on those days when I was incredibly horny. I guess I wasn't ready for something that huge. In fact, we had never discussed size, not even once. But this man's cock was larger than anything I had imagined much less actually seen, and at first I was both intimidated and aroused just by looking at it. He stepped out of his shorts then stood there letting me look at his cock. His stance, almost a rehearsed pose, told me that he took a lot of pride in its size and that he expected me to adore it, first with my eyes. He moved onto the bed, placed his forearms in the crooks of my knees and lifted and spread my legs to give him full access to my pussy. There was something in the way he moved and in his posture that stated that he was dominant, that I was there so he could fuck me, as if him just being him made it impossible for me to deny anything and everything he wanted. And perhaps he was right about this, still, in my mind I was there to fuck him. To use him to quench my not fully understood desire to fuck a man who was not my husband. He moved forward, eased the crotch panel of my panties to the side and placed that huge bulbous head to naked my pussy. Even though I was wet I wasn't yet physically or mentally prepared for his size so I braced myself for what had to be a painful penetration but he pressed it against me only enough to spread both my outer and inner cunt lips. He held it there against my opening for a long moment. It felt so wonderful that I had to catch my breath. Then he slowly moved up my body. He rubbed it teasingly against both breasts and especially my nipples before moving up to offer it to my mouth. I took it in both hands and stroked it. Then I kissed and licked it all up and down the shaft, as well as kissed and licked his balls. I was in no hurry. The more I handled and licked it the more fascinated and comfortable I became with it. And with this came an arousal I had not experienced before. A different kind of arousal I couldn't explain. Then I took as much of it as I could into my mouth, which was at most an inch beyond the head, and sucked and slurped and gobbled with total abandon, all while stroking it vigorously with my right hand and cupping his balls in my left hand. I heard him breathe harder and faster, felt his balls draw up into his pelvic cavity, and his thighs and lower belly begin to tremble. His cock stiffened even more. I knew his orgasm was on the way and that inspired me to suck and stroke him with even more fervor. He gasped and moaned. I tasted his pre-cum. I squeezed his balls a bit more firmly. He let out a gasping-moaning gurgle as his cum splat hard against the back of my mouth followed by another spurt and another, so much so that I couldn't swallow all of it fast enough. Still, with cum dribbling down the sides of my mouth and on my chin I sucked and slurped and stroked almost furiously. I wanted every drop of cum he had in him. Then with those sensations becoming too intense he slowly withdrew his throbbing cock from my mouth and grasp. He sat on his heels between my legs, eased my panties all the way off then just looked at my clean shaven, glistening pussy as if mesmerized by it. He moved my knees up, spread them wide and just looked, all while I studied his face. I can't explain it but he looked like a little boy seeing something intriguing for the first time. So much so that for a brief speck in time I felt a bit motherly toward him. Something in me wanted to pull him to my bosom and hold him. But that vanished as quickly as it came. Because that's when he bent forward, placed my legs on his slender shoulders, and took my large left cunt lip between his lips. He nipped firmly then slid his lips up and down its length, and any intrepid thoughts I had gave way to those sensations. His tongue worked with his lips to intensify those sensations. He ran his tongue between my large outer lip and thin and delicate inner pussy lip length the whole length from the bottom all the way up to and along the side of my rigid clitoris shaft. He repeated that many times, almost lazily, and always taking care to barely brush my clitoris with his lower lip. Those sensations were overwhelming. I panted and moaned and tried my best not to squirm myself away from that marvelous touch. He took my thin and delicate inner left cunt lip between his lips, only then he stopped just short of reaching my clitoris, though he took care to ever so gently blow hot breath on it. He repeated this several times before taking my right outer lip between his lips. He did the very same things on the right side of my pussy as he did to the left, and drew me to the very brink of orgasm, something he sensed and backed off a millisecond before I exploded all over his face every sexual sensation that so filled my entire body and centered in my sensory-overloaded pussy. That was exquisite torture and not only did he know it he reveled in it. Then he took both of my inner lips between his lips, inserted the tip of his tongue between them and moved briskly up and down. He inserted his tongue just a bit deeper between them as he went up and down until it reached my opening. And again he brought me to the brink of orgasm before backing off. I tossed my head from side to side, bit my lower lip and dug my fingers deep into the bed cover and mattress as every fiber in my being screamed for release. But that would come when he decided and not before. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he inserted his tongue as deep as it would reach into my opening. He moved it firmly in and out and around and around as if to open it wide in preparation for what was surely to come. This went on and on until, with my legs still draped over his shoulders, he ran his tongue directly on and the full length of my clitoral shaft. He flicked it up and down and across, and swirled it around until once again I was on the verge of exploding before he eased off. I had no idea for how long this went on but it seemed like hours, though in real time it was more like fifteen to twenty minutes. I felt sensory overloaded verging on exhaustion, something he sensed because it was then that he placed his mouth firmly over my clitoris and with a suckling motion like an infant feeding from a mother's breast he brought me closer and closer until, finally, I climaxed so hard it seemed like I would never catch my breath again. My body trembled and bucked and my lungs screamed for air, and when that breath finally came it was in a loud, desperate gasp. The sensations in my cunt were overwhelming, way too much to take even one more lick. I tried to push his head away, to free my cunt from the grip his mouth had on it but he held firmly and motionless in place until those heart-stopping, breath-taking, body-quaking sensations subsided. Then he started suckling my clitoris again and within a few seconds I had a second, equally as explosive orgasm. And again despite my best efforts to push him away he held firmly and motionlessly in place on my clitoris until I recovered enough for him to bring to a third orgasm. I must have blacked out because of the indescribable pleasure and sheer relief that third orgasm brought because when I opened my eyes he was over me. His body was propped on his hands and outstretched arms and his eyes looked deeply into mine. He was still between my legs, which were still draped over his shoulders. That's when I felt the bulbous head of his huge cock labor its way into my cunt. The thrill I got from his thickness and that initial penetration, surely not more than two inches, made me catch my breath. There were only two prior times when my pussy had been fully stretched, and that was when I gave birth to my children. But on both of those occasions I had been given epidural blocks that totally numbed any sensation and pain. And beyond this the biggest stretch that I experienced was from my vibrator, which was a bit more than half of the girth that now entered my so desperately wanting pussy. He held it in place just long enough for me to adapt to that initial thrill then pushed it in another two inches deeper, and again I not only gasped but my eyes rolled up into my head. For a second or two I actually thought I could see the wave of pleasure that swooped over and captured my senses. He held his cock motionlessly about a mere four inches deep into my cunt until my eyes returned to meet his. Then he pushed it in another two inches. That's when with a purely involuntary motion my back arched and my ass pushed my pussy upward in a way that asked for more cock, which he gladly accommodated. There, for the first time in my life, a cock reached a place in me that nothing much less anybody had ever touched, and though it seemed like it had bottomed-out, which left him with at least an inch of excess meat, the feelings in my cunt were way too heavenly for words to describe. I read letters written by hot wives about the thrill and pleasure of being stretched and stuffed to the max, and never fully understood. Now I knew exactly what is was they tried to describe. He eased his cock all the way back until the head was still barely in me, then he eased it all the way back in. Gently and slowly at first, then gradually a bit faster and harder until his weight rested on his elbows and my ass moved forward to greet every new thrust, and we fucked with wild abandon. At that moment there was no husband, no kids, no home, no community, no Camille. My whole life, my universe, my purpose, my identity, my hopes and fears were right there in the thrill, pleasure and fullness that started in my cunt and coursed unbridled throughout my entire being. I lost count of my orgasms as I gasped and moaned, and whimpered and gurgled, and every noise that came out of me had that unmistakable cunty sound that originated where his cock so filled me and raced up through my body to grunt its way out of me by way of my mouth. And now his cock was all the way in me. I felt his balls slap against my ass as his long, steady, powerful seven inch strokes brought him closer and closer to orgasm. My fingers dug into his back, my legs were wrapped around his hips, I felt his hot breath on my neck, my nipples were so hard they ached. Then I felt his body trembled so hard it neared convulsion. I felt his load of hot cum splat inside me. He pressed his cock hard against me. He held totally still for a long, long moment. Then he pulled it all the way out and he collapsed on his back next to me. We lie there side by side not touching, just catching our breath and waiting to regain our senses. After a few minutes he asked I was sure that my husband wouldn't be suspicious about me getting home so late. I turned to take a long look at him and got the feeling that scoring with another man's wife was as important to him as the sex was. That's when I knew it was time for Camille, not the just wanton slut who had just fucked her pretty little ass off, to leave. As I put my bra and panties on I felt cum oozing out of my so thoroughly fucked pussy and that felt good. Then as I put my dress and shoes on I wondered how many wives he had seduced into cheating on their husbands. I retrieved my keys from my handbag, and then without saying a word started for the door. "What? No kiss goodbye?" he asked a bit too smugly for me to appreciate. I opened the door slightly then looked back at him. "A great fuck like we just had is a hard act to follow. Think your husband is up to it?" he asked. I was about to say that if he only knew that this was something my husband and I did for the both of us, that my husband knew exactly where I was and what I did, and that he was all for it. And that the self-satisfied young man sprawled on the bed was just a cock to us, the one we needed to fulfill our fantasy and would soon be on his way out of our city as well as out of our lives. But instead I simply smiled at him in a way that threw him mentally off balance and said that yes he had a really different cock and knew what to do with it but when it came to being a man he wasn't fit to carry my husband's sweaty jock strap, and that was the plain and simple truth. Waiting At Home Ch. 02 By the time I reached my car and got in behind the wheel I was aware of how cum-soaked my panties were. I also sensed soreness coming on in my pussy. I reached under my dress for a quick feel. My pussy lips were definitely swollen. And no doubt it was already a pink so deep that it verged on purple. I called home. My husband answered on the second ring. There is no way to describe how good it felt to hear his voice. I told him I would be home in thirty minutes, started the car and was on my way. I was so anxious to get there that I had to tell myself to slow down and drive the speed limit. I had to admit that it was really good sex. In fact, I would never have believed that loveless sex could be that good. But it was good. Very good. I was sure that the size of his cock had a good deal to do with it but there had to more than that to it. How any orgasms did I have? There were those three when he ate me. Then there was that little one when he first pushed that huge dick head in me. But after that, when I became so totally lost to pleasure, I had no idea how many there were, I just knew that I had many. They just kept coming one after the other. More orgasms than I had in any one night in my whole life. Probably as many as I had in any one week, well, maybe that was a stretch, especially when we were in college, then again when we started sharing our fantasies. My little pussy had been stretched and stuffed to the max, that part was pure bonus. I had been thoroughly fucked. I was sure that I would have a tender reminder of it with most every step I took for the next day or two or three. So what made it so good? His pussy eating technique was, to be totally honest, the best ever, which only meant that I had something new to teach my husband. But we hadn't done much of anything that I hadn't done many times before. Except for the partner there was nothing new about it. It was pretty much the same but at the same time it was different. And there was my answer: what made it so good and exciting was that it was different. Different touch. Different feel. Different rhythm. Different sounds. Just different. The closer I got to home the more anxious I became to get there, and the more I thought about my husband. Fucking that other guy was sexually good, not fun good. My husband was every kind of good, including fun good. That other guy had an agenda. That of proving to himself that he had what it took to get another man's wife in bed with him, something that most probably involved sneaking and cheating. All right, so I misread him to be considerate and sensitive and he turned out to be exploitive. No matter, he was a great fuck and went out of his way to prove it. That made for a seriously good sexual adventure. So good that I still glowed inside and out. Then as I turned onto our street, despite the soreness I felt coming on in my pussy, and despite the buzz I still felt, what I felt more than anything was how much I loved my husband. The great fuck was Camille's payoff. Part 2 of our story is about my payoff so I'll pick it up from here... The first wait, an excruciating emotional roller coaster ride that went back and forth and up and down from intense arousal to morbid dread, from joy to fear, from calm to anger and every sexually thrilling or gut wrenching emotion in between, lasted from the time Camille left our home so many hours earlier until, finally, at twelve-thirty, she called to say that she just got into her car and would be home in thirty minutes. What I heard in her voice and breathing made me even more aroused than I had been that whole, long night. Then began the second wait of the night, those excruciating thirty minutes that left me all I could do to keep from jacking off. There were two times during that second wait when I came within an eyelash of cumming without even touching myself. Then, finally, I heard her car pull into the garage and the door close behind her. She had just returned from fucking another man, her very first other man in our near ten year marriage. Now her car pulled into the garage and I heard the door close behind it. She just got home from fucking another man. Wearing only my bathrobe, with my cock rock hard, I stood a few feet inside the door leading from the garage into our kitchen. She was now my hot wife and I was her cuckold husband. We talked and fantasized about this for a long time, and now that it finally happened I couldn't wait another second longer to hear all about it. The woman who came through the door wore the same clothes but looked very different than when she left a six o'clock. Back then her hair and makeup were just so, and her glow and the excitement in her smile and eyes came from anticipation of what was to come. At that moment her hair was tussled and her makeup gone, and her glow came from sexual satisfaction. Her eyes were too filled with tears to get a good read of what she felt, and her lips trembled as she rushed into my arms. She pressed her head to my shoulder and sobbed that she loved me. I had questions, to be sure, but I knew better than to ask, at least not at that moment. I love you, I love you, I love you was all she could say as she clung to me with all her might. I held her close and let her cry. After a couple of minutes she reached down to take my then semi-hard cock in her hand. Her eyes were still teary when she looked into my eyes. She smiled and said, "I just fucked my ass off with another man... do you want to hear about it?" As soon as we entered our bedroom she removed my robe and pushed me onto the bed. Then, with her eyes locked on mine, she removed her dress, bra, garter belt and hose, saving her panties for last. She had no more tears and I noticed a different kind of look in her eyes. One I had seen many times before. The look that said she was feeling especially slutty. She eased the panties off and as she did I saw how red and puffy her pussy lips were. She positioned herself between my legs, then she flashed a really slutty smile as she dropped her cum-soaked panties on my chest. I took them in hand. I felt the wetness and smelled the mixture of her pussy juices and his cum as she took my cock in her hand, and a thrill I had never known coursed through my loins. She kissed my cock, told it how much she adored it then said that they didn't spend any time in the bar. She took my cock into her mouth and sucked it intensely for a minute, then said that they went straight to his room where he gave her a glass of white wine. She sucked really intensely for another minute, stopping when he felt my orgasm starting to build. She said that she only got to take one sip of that wine. Then she took my balls in her hand and sucked me some more, all while I fondled her panties. And so it went. Her body trembled at times and her breathing quickened as she alternated between describing her experience in minute detail and sucking me to the start or orgasm and, again, backing off to provide more detail. I couldn't be sure if her arousal stemmed from the way she made love to my cock with her mouth or from recalling the details of her sexual experience with another man, though I did notice that she never talked about him specifically. At this point she talked about licking and sucking his huge cock and how she ended up jacking him off into her mouth. And how so much cum gushed into her mouth she couldn't gulp it all down. Some of it dribbled out at the sides of my mouth and all over her chin. She had already described his cock in great detail – its length and girth and texture and, especially, the huge, purplish, bulbous head –so I had a vivid and all but overwhelmingly arousing mental image of her being straddled over and hungrily doing her best to get as much as she could into her mouth – barely more than the head – all while stroking the shaft furiously with her hand in an urgent quest to get it to shoot its hot, sticky cum. And if she hadn't squeezed my cock so hard I surely would have blew my load right then. She looked at me, saw my body trembling, my eyes closed tightly as I bit my lower lip, heard me half moaning-half gasping, and cooed that no matter what she wasn't going to let me cum until she wanted me to cum. She also reiterated that she had no words to describe how much she loved me but not to worry because she had the rest of her life to show me. She took a little break, just kissing my belly and inner thighs until my cock showed signs of relaxing, then she returned to the task at hand – that of including me in her sexual adventure with another man by describing it in detail. She started by saying that her pussy was mine to eat any time I wanted it, not only because she loved me and loved the way I ate her but also because of the way I loved to eat her. Then she said that just a few short hours earlier her pussy had been eaten as never before. She described how it started with her left large pussy lip and continued trying to capture with words her feelings, sensations and excitement with each step and lick that followed, and how so often she came close and was backed off from cumming until his mouth sucked into it her pulsating clitoris. She tried to describe what she felt as he suckled her clitoris but fell well short of doing so. I tied to visualize this but her words combined with mouth and tongue on my cock sent such intense waves of pleasure that my mind sometimes disconnected. It was like watching a critical play in a football game and to lose the signal and the screen went blank, if only for a few seconds. I heard her words and her breathing and felt her squirming her pussy against the mattress as she re-ran that part of her night through her mind but with everything in my being begging for an orgasm and the relief that came with it my inner-imaging capacity was just not up to it. Then, finally, she described how the other man's talented tongue brought her to a tumultuous orgasm, then soon after an equally explosive second one. And as she gasped to describe her third, a totally mind-blowing orgasm she brought me to my first orgasm. I came so hard and it lasted so long that toward the end it felt like I my shoot my balls out the tip of my cock along with those last few drops of cum. I was finished, at least for the next several minutes, and she knew it. Camille scooted out of bed, hurried downstairs for the bottle of wine we opened after she was dressed and just before she left for her date, grabbed two glasses then hurried right back to bed. As she propped herself against a pillow she thanked me for not jacking off while she was gone, and told me how much she appreciated me saving all my cum for her. She filled the glasses, gave one to me, clinked hers against mine and smiled "Here's to learning new things." She took a long sip of wine then giggled that she couldn't wait to teach me. After finishing her second glass of wine she asked with a devilish sort of smile if I had enough excitement for one night. I didn't have to say a word – the look on my face and gleam in my eyes said all she needed to hear. She took my cock in her hand and described how that third oral orgasm sent her to a place she had never been to, and how when she opened her eyes he was poised between her legs with the tip of his cock pressed against her opening. She described how her legs were spread wide and draped over his shoulders. At that point, before she said another word, we were both amazed at how quickly my cock went from soft to fully hard. She scooted around to straddle me. She looked into my eyes as she lowered her pussy down on my cock. The truth was that I expected her pussy to be on the loose and sloppy side, what with his size and the mixture of his cum and her juices in it. It was slippery enough though no more than usual, and surprisingly snug. But then the grimace on her face reminded of how swollen her pussy lips were. She was definitely sore. There were times when we fucked so hard and long that she was left sore but this sore was different and it ran deep. No matter, she was naked and in bed with her guy, the love of her life, and she needed to fuck him every bit as badly as he needed to fuck her. It excited me to realize that my cock was where another man's cock had so recently been. Less than two hours earlier, to be precise. Only that was already beginning to seem like so long ago. She tried to describe the thrill she felt when the bulbous head of that huge cock first penetrated her. This was a thrill like no other in her life. But then her pussy had been stretched well beyond anything she knew. And that, she sighed, was something that had to be experienced to even begin to understand. She pressed down hard so that my cock, small by comparison, was all the way in her, then she rocked gently in a circular and back and forth motion. She rocked on my cock harder and faster as she got more and more excited as she remembered and tried to describe how it felt for that huge cock to go deeper a few inches at a time until it bottomed out. And once it got to that depth how she felt it everywhere inside her cunt as it stroked in and out, slowly and gently at first, then gradually and harder until there was nothing but that ever-mounting excitement and arousal and sensual sensation. Until there was nobody attached to that cock. Until there was nobody attached to her cunt. There was just that cock fucking that cunt, and all of the primal feelings that went with that sensory overload for who knew how long until it culminated in an orgasm that exploded throughout her entire being. An orgasm that lasted so long her mind short circuited to the point that, with her eyes rolled up into her head, she was sure that she actually saw it -- like a swoosh of bright white light racing at warp speed to whisk her off to a place she had never been much less ever imagined even existed. Now we fucked madly. Urgently. My cock erupted. Her cunt exploded. Then she collapsed forward into my arms. We were both breathless. She held her pussy motionlessly on my cock until it softened and slipped out. Then she moved off of me, though not all the way. Her left leg remained draped over me, her pussy pressed against my hip, she nuzzled her face in the crook of my neck, and we held each other close. I had two huge orgasms and felt sexually spent. Spent but good. Very good. She had who knew for sure how many intense orgasms so I couldn't even image how sexually exhausted she had to be. After ten minutes I went to the bathroom, dialed the lights down to low, started the hot water flowing, poured in some sandalwood oil, turned the bubble jet setting to low. We hadn't said a word since we climaxed together so it was if she read my mind. There she was, naked, beautiful, and totally fucked-out for one day. We got into the soothing water and faced each other. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, content to just lie there and let the air jet bubbles work their magic. After a while she opened her eyes to see smiling at and admiring her. She asked what I was thinking. I wondered if she could live and be content without a huge cock in her life. She chuckled and said definitely not, but that was something that could very nicely be accommodated with a huge dildo, especially if I worked it on her. It wasn't something she wanted every day or every week or even every month but when the mood was right, and she was sure it would be at times, yes, she would love to revisit the sensations that came with having her pussy stretched and stuffed to the max. Then she stood, took the hand-held faucet in hand, gently spread her tender pussy lips and rinsed the cum out of her. She looked into my eyes and asked if I wanted her to fuck another man again sometime. I gave that serious thought as we toweled each other dry. Then I kissed her and said that yes, if the right guy came along and the circumstances were right, I would like her to fuck him, but the question was if she would like to fuck another man. She said she would, if the right guy came along and the circumstances were right. Then she added that for the time being and at least for the next several months she had more than enough renewed sexual energy in her to keep me sexually occupied and happy. And with that she took me by the hand and as she led me to our bedroom she said. "I hope your tongue can get hard because I have something I can't wait to teach you".