That was until the night they showed the first Aquaman movie on TV, and Zack Gilbert took his shirt off in the opening ten minutes.
“So are you thinking about him right now?”
Sitting in the opposite corner of the couch to me, she gave me a dark look. Half annoyed that this might turn into a lifetime of teasing her about her little thing for Aqualad, half trying to come up with a smart come-back.
“Maybe,” she said after a pause, as though her conventional thinking still led her to believe that I would be offended if she told me she was actually thinking about young Mr Gilbert.
“You’re thinking about how you might take him upstairs into the bedroom?”
A slight flush in her cheeks, and I felt my heart rate quicken.
“Maybe I am,” she declared. “He’s pretty hot, don’t you think?”
I smiled, “It’s pretty hot that you’re so into him.”
“Look at those abs, I would definitely go for those abs,” she said, still under the impression she was taunting me.
She was wearing a thin summer dress, but her bra should have kept her nipples hidden — it didn’t, they were pushing up like bullets. I felt myself tingling, thickening down below.
“But you’d get all jealous if a guy like that showed up at our front door,” she said, “or if I brought him home from the office?”
“Uh-uh, I’d be ecstatic.”
“Ha. And you’d just let me take him upstairs, strip off his clothes and suck on his big hard cock? Just like that?”
“I would,” I said in that completely-serious tone, the nuclear holocaust kind of serious tone.
There was a long moment where she looked at me, taking in that serious voice of mine. I noticed the rise and fall of her chest. Her breathing was deepening, she was actually getting turned on by this.
“You’d want to watch me take that big cock in my mouth, right in front of you?”
“Absolutely.”
She took her time letting this all sink in, then she slowly crawled over to me, and placed her hand in my lap, feeling out the form of my erect manhood.
“You’d want to see me taking it out like this,” she said, unfastening my fly, retrieving my stiff cock as I sat there on the couch. “Putting it… in my mouth…”
She sucked it into her mouth, and her eyes were directed at the TV, where the movie gods answered her prayers by putting Aqualad up on screen.
2
She didn’t understand my number one sexual fantasy, but she did come to accept that I had it, that it was real.
She had the biological proof from talking about it while I was inside her, of course, but it took another article in Cosmopolitan to dispel her concerns that I was either insane or some kind of Machiavellian genius trying to engineer a threesome with one of her girlfriends.
“It says voyeurism is usually near the top of the list of men’s fantasies… when he turns peeping tom to watch a woman undressing…”
“Well then I guess the market for strippers isn’t going to fade any time soon.”
“No, wait: it says actually more frequent is the fantasy of watching his wife or girlfriend while she is making love to somebody else — a man or a woman…”
Reading out the saucy parts from her women’s magazines to me before we went to sleep was a fairly recent innovation in our marriage, but I wasn’t complaining if it set her mind at ease regarding my own personal depravity.
It helped her see that it was fairly safe as fantasies go, that she really was central to her husband’s dirty thoughts, that if there was any temptation to go and make that fantasy a reality, she would have to be very much involved.
It also helped her to take full advantage of knowing my particular little kink.
She could tell me she’d been thinking about our friend Zack, and I’d be almost instantly hard. To start with, that would be about all it was, that initial hint that she’d been a naughty girl thinking about her crush again.
A short-cut to getting her husband in the mood.
Slowly, she got more and more into it, I think because every little hint she dropped, before or during, spurred me on. And I’m guessing by how wet she got, it spurred her on, too.
She started by telling me more about how she’d been thinking about her Zack, gradually opening up with more and more explicit ideas as she found that each one seemed to make me stiffen further inside her, or throb like a vibrator.
“I was thinking what if he was my intern, you know, how I’d sneak him into the 12th floor bathroom…”
“And what would you be doing in a bathroom with an innocent intern?”
“Probably bending over the sink, letting him slide inside me from behind…”
She made it sound as though she did actually spend quiet moments at work thinking about sex, about her little thing for Zack Gilbert, and that warmed me up inside, to imagine her libido blooming, unable to be contained at work.
It got so that she’d drop me a little text message occasionally, suggesting that right at that moment in the office, she was daydreaming about Mr Gilbert’s large package rather than the latest quarter figures she was supposed to be reviewing.
It got me so wound up I’d pounce on her as soon as she got home.
>Been thinking about Zack again… had to take off my panties before our afternoon meeting, they got so damp ;-)
It was a fun little fantasy, and something we both kind of assumed would continue in that vein as long as it turned us both on. Inevitably, though, the thoughts about Mr Gilbert got a little stale. Marissa would drop in little hints she had a new favorite celeb, and occasionally mentioned one here or there, and that did the trick for a while.
I never tired of receiving texts from her at work suggesting her underwear was in a real state because of her daydreaming.
Then one of her three interns was offered a junior position at another brokerage, and Marissa admitted to me one night that she’d started having thoughts about the replacement, Daryl.
While Daryl wasn’t exactly Zack Gilbert, he was both a similar age and, she believed, just as athletic and well toned. With the turnover of interns at Marissa’s firm relatively high, she knew this new guy wouldn’t be there long — and that made him safe to fantasize over in her book.
The impact on our love life was quite explosive. She would no longer tell me she was daydreaming about a random celebrity she’d never have any hope of meeting — she would come home in the evening with tales of checking out the guy who worked with her closely every day.
Daryl wasn’t the cute, adorable innocent that Marissa’s fantasy had turned Zack Gilbert into, a beautiful boy to be defiled. Daryl was a cocky so-and-so who knew he was attractive and flaunted it. Ordinarily, I got the feeling that as an intern my wife would have got rid of a guy like that pretty quickly.
He did irritate her at work from the get-go, especially that smug arrogance of his. But for Marissa, this time it made it okay to fantasize about ripping off his clothes, taking him down a peg or two, perhaps even dominating him sexually.
It was still just a bit of fun, mostly everything was in our heads — nothing really happened between Marissa and her intern, she was very careful to avoid sexually harassing him. What can I say, she was a professional.
She didn’t give the cold shoulder to his flirting, though, with my approval.
She’d tease me during the day with the occasional text about spotting Daryl checking her out, about how he was clearly becoming interested in her.
>Wearing stockings today to see if he noticed. Boy did he ;-)
And I saw firsthand what kind of an effect this attention from a new man was having on her. In many respects, it was what confirmed to me that she wasn’t merely teasing me with the idea of Daryl having an eye for her: she was dressing differently, in shorter skirts and more figure-hugging tops, and carrying herself with a new air of confidence. She seemed more cheerful than usual, too, and of course was more likely to take me to bed for more than ju
st a little light reading before lights out.
“He’s really having an effect on you,” I happened to mention while she was dragging me bodily into the bedroom one evening.
“You did say you were okay about it,” she insisted, hiding the slight uncertainty in her voice. “It’s nothing really.”
“Hey, I like it. Anything that gets you showing off your legs and jumping me as soon as I get home…”
She giggled, “What can I say? He makes me feel good about myself.”
On that occasion, there wasn’t even a warm-up: she pushed me down on the bed, tore open my pants and sank down on me, surprising me more than a little that she hadn’t been wearing underwear under that pencil skirt of hers.
“Is he allowed to hit on you at work?” I asked her.
“As long as I don’t report him.”
“And there’s no reason why you’d do that.”
She flashed me a sexy little grin, “It’s flattering, I guess. It’s been a while, you forget that maybe other guys might think of you that way.”
“Because your lousy husband doesn’t tell you enough that you’re beautiful?” I offered her a playful squeeze of the breasts, as though it might provide some kind of compensation for my insufficient flattery over the years.
“No offense, but it’s just not the same when you do it.”
“No?”
“You’re obligated to tell me I’m beautiful and sexy.”
“That’s what he told you?”
She shrugged, “His eyes do every time they point in my direction.”
I liked to think of him hitting on her while she was at work, that he was ramping up his efforts to win her attention. And that one day, she might just respond to it.
She continued to tell me about what she’d been thinking about him that day, or how she’d been sneaking glances at him when he wasn’t looking, and I have to admit my productivity at work fell as I either waited for her texts or responded to them. The more she did it, the more able she seemed to drive me wild.
>Didn’t wear panties today, I wonder if he’ll be able to tell?
Or:
>D trying to look up my skirt today in the meeting. I hiked it up so he’d have something to see.
Then I found a new way to fire Marissa up: my telling her that if she wanted to, she could quietly pursue something with him outside of work. It was still fantasy, of course, but because it seemed real, and there was that possibility that if she wanted to turn it real, she could, it seemed to take things to another level.
I’ll always remember the way she looked at me, startled, the first time I told her: “You know, you could always ask him out for a drink or two after work some time. See what happens.”
Was it mere fantasy? Or was it really me telling her to go do this? From her shock, I immediately softened the blow, said: “You know, if Zack doesn’t mind.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said, sounding noncommittal perhaps, but the next time we were together she told me that that evening she’d just come from having drinks with him.
I knew she was just fantasizing again — she’d just about had time to get from her downtown office up to our townhouse a few blocks from Lincoln Park, there wasn’t any leeway for her to have drinks with anyone, and Marissa wasn’t one to knock off work early. She wouldn’t want to be seen accompanying interns to bars after work, anyway, though that didn’t stop me suggesting it.
>It’s your birthday, honey, you deserve to let your hair down. Maybe you guys could get a nice hotel room together so you can both drink ;-)
3
Then one night, she and her interns, and a couple other co-workers, attended an industry conference that culminated in an evening awards ceremony. I was having a little fun back home alone, imagining that she was out there with Daryl, and when she texted me to warn that she might be late, I playfully texted her to say if she needed to stay the night, I was sure Daryl would be happy to keep her company.
She didn’t respond to that, but a few hours later she let me know she was in the car on the way home, and when I said she didn’t need to rush on my account, she added:
>Daryl was asking after everyone else had gone if I wanted to stay out for a few drinks.
Again, the question was open: was this part of the fantasy, designed to get me going so I’d be ready for something when she got home? Or was she saying he had really asked her to stay a little longer with him? I was fairly sure that my sensing that it was the latter was not wishful thinking.
But, I had to keep calm, assume the most conservative version of the story so as not to raise my expectations too high.
Naturally I texted her back to say she had my permission to go for it if that was what she wanted. No reply to that one.
Yet when she got home, she was almost instantly tearing at my clothes and dragging me off to the bedroom — I wasn’t complaining. When we were both naked, she was so wet her juices were dribbling down her thigh, and her nipples were like little stones.
“I take it he really did ask you out, then?” I asked her as she shoved me back on the bed, depositing herself between my thighs to take my hardness in her hot mouth.
“Uh-huh,” she said, and what got me seriously buzzing, certain she was telling the truth here, was that as I looked down on her coaxing my shaft with her lips, I could see that she had one hand lodged between her legs, and she was touching herself while she went down on me.
Was she imagining it was Daryl she was sucking? What a naughty girl.
“What did you say to him when he asked?”
She withdrew me slowly from her mouth, and replaced it with her hand, which she used to pump me, her fingers squeezing me, feeling me, perhaps exploring with the thought of what it might be like to hold another man’s hardness in her grip.
“I told him I’m married and I love my husband,” she said with a smile directed my way that almost seemed to blame me for this awkward situation she’d found herself in.
“And what did he say?”
“He suggested I tell you, that maybe you’d be okay with it.”
I nodded. I felt a little burst of intense heat in my stomach at the thought that this young stud might actually think he could seduce my wife with my full blessing. Was this scenario more common than I thought, this fantasy more prevalent in men than I assumed? Or had Daryl picked up on signals from my wife that suggested she might have a husband with fantasies of sharing her?
“And here you are, telling me,” I said, my voice flat, serious. A little shocked, perhaps, but making myself clear. “And I am okay with it.”
She paused — froze, really — and gave me such an intense stare I felt like some kind of earthquake was going on all around us. It was what I could only describe as a Crossing-The-Line look. Both a question asking if I was really doing this, really suggesting that we cross this particular line, and a burning assertion that she was actually thinking that just maybe, she might be thinking that crossing the line could be possible.
And there was a dark warning in that look, too: you know we might be risking our marriage to even think about making this real.
I shrugged, trying to take the insane tension out of the air. “Maybe next time, you should actually have drinks with him. It’s only drinks.”
She pulled herself up, straddling me, slotting me inside her to begin a motion that was rocking to her personal beat, what she needed just then, to hell with me.
As though she was imagining using a certain intern for her own ends, not caring about whether she was going to get him off or not.
It was seriously hot watching her come like that. I felt strangely detached from it, as though I really was a third party watching her using another man as her personal toy.
After she came, she lay on her back and welcomed me in, missionary style, to slowly build toward my own end.
“It would only be drinks,” she said as I moved inside her, and she could tell from the way I swelled within her that the thought was pow
erful for me, too.
“Of course,” I said. “Only, if you wanted to, you’d be free to have a little fun here and there.”
“He’s leaving, did I tell you that?”
Her ice-blue eyes were burning. As though this was the barrier to her taking things forward with Daryl, not the fact that she was married to me. I guess it really was.
“You’re getting rid of him?”
“No,” she grinned, “he got offered a job at Bingham, Crawley & Judd.”
“Wow. So you don’t have long to make your move.” It sounded as though I was stirring up the fantasy between us again, only there was a strange edge in my voice where both of us knew that potentially, this was for real now.
She said: “I’m not doing anything until he’s no longer working at the same firm as me.”
I felt a shiver course down my spine. She was going to do this. After all the fooling around, all the fantasy, all the role-play, she was really going to make a play for this guy.
“Well, not like he’s moving to a new city,” I said, trying to keep calm, trying to sound calm.
“I’m going to tell him you know all about this,” she said. “That if we go for drinks, it’s because you’ve said it’s okay.”
I gave her a serious look of my own, though mine were not quite so powerful as hers. Said: “Fine. You do that.”
4
The tension between us each night, as we waited for Daryl’s time at Marissa’s company to run out, was palpable.
That last week in particular, it probably didn’t help that it was her time of the month, so we refrained from any real lovemaking.
“I don’t want to talk about it until he’s left the firm,” was her fairly clear line whenever I tried to broach the subject. It was plain to me that she was thinking about it as much as I was, though. When would it happen? How would it happen? Could it actually happen at all?
Wives with Benefits: Volume One Page 8