“And you wanted him?”
“Uh-huh… he was… nice…”
“Attractive?”
“Very.”
She placed her hand on my head, gently stroking me, her fingers running through my hair. Looking up, I saw that she was gazing down on me, affection and wonder in her eyes. My tongue dipped down inside her pussy. I licked and sucked on her lips, growing bolder, less concerned at the risk. The man had come inside her, his seed had filled her, there had been time for the biology to work. I wasn’t going to disrupt that, I was sure of it.
“So you went back to his place?”
“Eventually…” she said, a little breathless. “We went… very… slowly…”
“Tell me.”
“You really want to know?”
“Everything.”
She stroked my head as I kissed around her pussy, and caressed it gently with my fingers.
“We got to his place and he was very nice,” she said, seeming a little wary about imparting the details. “Wanted to show me around….Asked me if I wanted a drink, a coffee, whatever. I just… I just wanted to get to the bedroom.”
“Uh-huh,” I chuckled. I could see it was reassuring to her.
“I sat… on his bed… and he leaned down to kiss me…”
Again, she was cautious about talking so openly. Worried that my good will might turn sour. But sliding a finger inside her, feeling just how slick her pussy was, I was lapping up every detail she could impart, and she could tell.
“I liked kissing him…” she said, groaning as I slid another finger inside her. “Although it wasn’t the same as with you… it was slow… sweet… he didn’t want to go too fast for me.”
I pushed myself up to kiss her mouth now, as though offering her a comparison, but as it progressed it was more… encouraging, I’d say. I broke away. “You weren’t just kissing him all night, though.”
She shook her head, a wicked glint in her eye. She still couldn’t quite believe I wanted to know all this, but I could see that she enjoyed the idea that I might be turned on by it.
“I helped him take off his shirt… and I was just running my hands all over his chest…” there was a dreamy tone to her voice.
I was a little surprised that I wasn’t jealous, that I was pleased that the man she’d chosen had been attractive.
“And then I undid his belt… slid down his jeans… just a little way… and there it was…”
I pushed myself up, and now pulled the straps of her bra down off her shoulder. She helped me remove it, exposing her small but pert breasts, and her sensationally stiff nipples. We gazed into each other’s eyes a moment, and it was clear I was enthralled by her adventure almost as much as she was.
“A good one?” I asked, feeling slightly foolish, slightly awkward.
“Uh-huh.”
She moaned as I took one of her nipples in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it.
“It was… strange…” she said. “I guess I just never expected to see another one, other than yours.”
“It was okay, though… you liked it?”
She nodded. “It was… very nice.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged. “I touched it. I held it in my hand, I… stroked it. I was kissing his stomach… then I took it in my mouth.”
I kissed her again on the mouth, amazed by what she’d done, amazed at how it thrilled me. The way she kissed me back, I’m sure she was amazed at how it all thrilled me, too. After ten years of marriage, she’d never known her husband might be like this.
“You said he wanted your… feet?” I said, a trifle breathless after our kiss.
“He knelt down in front of me,” she smiled broadly, “started kissing my legs and my feet.”
She laughed, “It was a little weird… but I didn’t mind. He took off my shoes, rubbed his face up against my stockings…”
“Takes all sorts,” I said, and now I was slipping down, kissing Lisa’s legs again. She did have shapely legs, that was true enough.
She smiled. “I asked him if he liked them, and he was all apologetic, like he’d accidentally drifted off, revealed what he’d wanted to keep hidden.
“I said it was all right. I peeled off my stockings, told him he could do whatever he wanted.”
I held her feet, kissed them.
She said, “It was… nice… he gave me a foot massage… only he was kissing me there, rubbing his face against them… Kind of turned me on… how much he was into them… I guess I like men if they’re a little kinky…”
She was beaming, ear-to-ear as I moved up her thighs, and kissed my way back to her pussy, to taste her, to enjoy her infidelity at the source.
She said, “I moved my feet to his… to his cock… he was so hard… he was panting as I touched him like that. As I stroked him. Oh God…”
Lisa groaned as I took her clit back in my hot mouth.
“He took off the rest of his clothes, stood by the side of the bed so I could suck on him while he kissed my feet, sucked on my toes…”
As I mentioned, I’ve never been into the whole feet thing, and will never be in all likelihood. But hearing of another man obsessing over my wife like that… it was darkly appealing.
For some time I feasted on her, and it was hot to me that Lisa might be lying there recalling her time with Paul, his obsession with her, and how it had been to suck on him. Lisa paused in her tale and simply enjoyed me going down on her, relaxed now concerning the issue of my enjoying her so soon after her previous encounter.
Then she seemed to realize I wanted to know more, so she continued, “He went down on me, too. I never thought men really enjoyed that… if they had a choice…”
“Of course we do,” I laughed, and continued going down on her.
“Then… I took off my dress, and… my underwear… he lay on the bed with me…”
“He fucked you?”
“Uh-huh,” she said. Now she was urging me up, up on my feet. I complied.
“How was it?”
“Weird,” she said, slipping down my pajama pants, taking my hardness in her hands. “Weird because it wasn’t you.”
“But you did enjoy it?”
She looked up at me, trying to work out if I wanted her to have enjoyed it, or if I might be upset that she had. Then she said, “I did enjoy it.”
She had to feel my cock throb in her hands. It made her giggle. Then she was stretching her lips around my tip, moaning as she bobbed her head forward, taking me inside her warm mouth, enjoying my full stiffness, this second cock of the night.
She was reconnecting with me, she was confirming that having found out about her adultery — albeit consensual adultery — I still loved her, I still wanted her, I still desired her. My quivering hardness was all the confirmation she needed.
“How was it?” I asked her at last. “How did he fuck you?”
She withdrew from me, but there was no longer any questions in her eyes concerning whether I really wanted to know this. Lisa turned around and presented her behind to me, kneeling there on the couch, clasping its back.
“Like this,” she said. “From behind.”
I stepped up, touched the tip of my cock to her slippery entrance, stroked her with it. She moaned, said, “He told me I could imagine it was my husband, if I wanted to.”
I chuckled at that. “And did you? Did you imagine it was me?”
“I don’t know… I tried,” she said, looking back to check on my response.
“You didn’t have to,” I smiled.
“It was just… he was different,” she explained.
“You liked knowing it was someone else,” I said, not really a question, an assertion. Asserting that it was okay with me. “It turned you on.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, and then groaned long and loud as I thrust into her, filling her.
My God. Her pussy was lubricated with another man’s come. It was so wrong, so offensive to the civilized order of society. And yet
that whole feeling of the taboo, of the forbidden, only made it seem that much hotter to me. I held her, my unfaithful wife, and I squeezed my full length into her.
Her pussy seemed different, and I was sure I wasn’t imagining it. It wasn’t just the presence of another man’s emissions. She’d been… stretched.
“He was big,” I said. Again, a statement. “Bigger than me.”
“Does that matter?”
“It’s just… interesting,” I said. I didn’t know why I found it interesting, why it added fuel to the fire inside me. I guess I liked to know my Lisa had been able to experience someone different to me.
“Sure, he was big,” she said, turning to witness how her words thrilled me, which in turn only encouraged her. “I was kinda surprised, actually.”
“You liked it like that?”
“It was just different, that’s all.”
“In a good way.”
She smiled. “In a good way. He had to go slow… but it felt good… like it was touching every part of me inside… filling me up… stretching me…”
I nearly exploded into her just then — and yet I wanted this time with her to keep going, and going, and going. I paused, withdrew from her, eased back.
She could see what she was doing to me, I knew it. She turned, and urged me down onto the couch, climbing over onto my lap.
“We could go upstairs to bed, you know,” she smiled.
I shook my head. “I think we’ll both collapse if we go near a bed.”
She manhandled my shaft, drew it up into position, then sank down, taking it back inside her heavenly channel.
“Can you even feel me in there, after him?” I joked.
“Of course,” she grinned, and began to squeeze the muscles in her hips to glide up and down my length.
She cradled my head in her hands, and rode me, and it was obvious how much she enjoyed it — even if I wasn’t as large as her new lover.
“So you’re… going to… see him again?” I asked.
“Uh-huh,” she said, panting now, finding it difficult to speak. “That… okay?”
I felt the adrenaline coursing around my veins, though I should have known she would be planning on seeing this Paul guy multiple times. We’d talked about that, the need for her to see the chosen man a number of times, to raise the chances of conception.
“Sure,” I said, trying not to come until she had.
“You know… maximize… the chances… of…” she panted.
“Of conception,” I agreed. “We always… said you would.”
She smiled, then paused for a breather. “You weren’t supposed to be aware of the details,” she said. “I was supposed to be keeping this a secret from you.”
“But now I know,” I said, kissing her mouth. “And I want to know… everything.”
She began to move again, dancing over me, stirring her hips to jive on my shaft. Running my hands over her breasts, the curves of her back, her behind, down her thighs — I couldn’t believe how desirable she was to me, how much I craved her, how her liberated sexuality thrilled me so much. But it did. I kissed her mouth, I nuzzled against her neck, I buried my face between my breasts — and every moment, I could tell she’d been with another man.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she said, pausing once more.
“You can tell me anything.”
She nodded. “I have dates with three more men lined up.”
Well, that was a surprise. Again, I had to take care not to finish prematurely. My wife was considering seeing other men, other than Paul. Would she ever had told me? Our original plan was for her to see just one man.
“I know what we said,” she attempted to explain. “I was narrowing down the guys interested in me… and partly I couldn’t decide… partly I had every chance that my first date might flake out on me.”
“Only he didn’t,” I said. Now I was stirring my hips, moving my cock inside her.
“I know we only talked about me seeing one. But I thought if you didn’t know the details… what would be the harm? And if no one knew whose baby it was…”
I nodded. “Less chance of one getting curious about what might have been…”
She said, “They’ve all been tested, they’re all clean. But… I don’t have to… I can just stick to Paul if you want.”
“No,” I said, squeezing her behind, thrusting up into her. “I like the idea.”
“You do?”
I kissed her, hard. “It would increase chances of conception even more,” I said. She nodded. I added, “And it turns me on that you’d get to date other men, too.”
Her smile was bigger than ever, and as she started to move on me again, what I said clearly took her over the edge, her panting turning to little yelps, whimpers, her body shivering as the orgasm overwhelmed her.
And with that, my own climax was unstoppable.
“I love you, you know that?” she said as she collapsed against me, exhausted.
“Of course I do,” I replied.
“We’re going to have a family, can you believe it? I’m sure of it. We’re going to have a baby.”
“I’m sure of it, too,” I said. “And why stop at one?”
<<<>>>
She’s Seeing Someone
I did my research, I knew what the signs were that she was cheating.
Firstly, there were changes in her social patterns, and her behavior generally. She started going out with her friends much more regularly — I mean, before, she was hardly seeing them once a quarter; after, it was weekly, sometimes more.
I didn’t mind, I liked when Diana saw her friends, she’d come back refreshed, somehow, cheerful. Only, it started to get suspicious. I mean, dressing up so nicely for a night out with her old college buddies? And I know she was drinking a little more regularly, but I swear sometimes she came home and smelled of cigarettes. Where did that come from?
At weekends, there were unexpected shopping trips, and she’d come back after a few hours having bought nothing or very little. There were the unexpected phone calls, she’d have to slip out of the room to receive.
More time on the mobile phone generally, actually. Texting, emailing. Her promotion at work, apparently. But it all added up.
Then, again the result of her promotion, were all the late nights at the office. Two, maybe three times a week I wouldn’t see her until I was in bed — and frequently in the early days, I’d be asleep when she came home, and I wouldn’t see her until the morning.
Her business trips became more frequent, too.
Okay, so we were making a little more money these days, but suddenly she was spending more on clothes, on make-up, perfume, on going to the salon, on her appearance generally. Suddenly. She looked a little blonder, and was she working out? Oh, she looked wonderful for it, and even the boost to her self-confidence was worth it — I would have suggested it, had I known how much better it would make her feel generally.
But I was lumped with the question: why?
In the early days, our sex life suddenly improved. She seemed happier, more fulfilled at work — I assumed it was nothing other than her improved mood. She was more interested in sex, considerably. Sometimes she’d come home late from the office and wake me up. I wasn’t complaining about that — and my guess is that it distracted me. I was so content, I didn’t ask questions.
That was the thing — I was happy, so I didn’t try to figure out why she’d changed.
And then I was talking to my buddy Mark at work, and consoling him because he’d walked in on his wife in bed with one of the guys doing up their house, and what he said about how his wife had behaved in the weeks and months prior to catching her — well, it started ringing bells for me concerning my marriage.
The funny thing is, I was never angry about Diana, at any point. It started off with a kind of disbelief, a numb feeling, my head kind of reeling when it hit me, when all the characteristics Mark described about his cheating wife started to ring true regarding my own w
ife.
But I wasn’t angry at her. It was more like… I was interested. Fascinated, you might say.
She’d come home, seriously late from the office, and like always I wouldn’t question it. But lying in bed waiting for her to come up, perhaps after a leisurely late dinner, I noticed she hopped in the shower before coming to bed. And actually, she did that fairly regularly when coming home — after girls’ nights out, or after simply working late. Never explained it, though I’d never had any problem with her showering at any time, with her need to come to bed feeling fresh after a long day.
But after my little conversation with Mark, I was wondering if she was showering to hide the signs of her affair. She’d been with another man, and she didn’t want me to catch a whiff of his cologne, or something worse.
I wasn’t angry, though.
In fact, the more I observed her behavior, the more I seemed to hope that she was actually being unfaithful. I wasn’t sure why. It seemed to turn me on when she came home, and gave the furtive signs of having been with someone else. To begin with, I thought I was just conditioned to be horny when she got home — because sometimes, quite often, she’d get home and want to jump my bones. Later, though, it seemed to be thoughts of her affair that got me hard — ironically, ready for her to come to me and cover up her infidelity with increasingly sensational sex.
I don’t know what the opposite of a vicious circle is, but it all fed into the improvement in our sex life — I would be thinking about her infidelity, and it would turn me on so much, I was better in bed when she came to me. And in turn, it made her happier and hornier and sexier for me — how could I possibly complain?
Nights when I was asleep as she came home, invariably she’d let me sleep. Curious, I faked sleep a few times, to see what she did. She stayed downstairs a little longer than otherwise — and strangely, didn’t shower when she came up to bed. I assumed it was to avoid waking me.
When she slipped under the covers next to me, I swear I could smell that dark, wicked scent of sex.
Jesus.
That was the real proof for me.
My wife was having an affair — and I loved it. I couldn’t get enough of her. Her new-found confidence, her efforts to dress nicer, her sexy new underwear. Everything she was doing for her new lover, it seemed both wrong and yet so hot to me.
Wives with Benefits: Volume Two Page 5