“Hey, you forgot something?” I said.
Nina just slammed her door and smiled wickedly, “No, I got everything I need.”
True, her coat came down far enough to conceal her underwear — but only just. It was like the world’s most scandalous dress, and if she had to bend over for any reason, or walk upstairs, she’d end up giving anyone in the vicinity a seriously good view.
Thankfully we were taking the elevator up to our apartment.
We only just managed to get inside our front door before the clothes came off, and my tortured cock was buried deep inside her gloriously wet pussy.
“Are you… thinking about her?” Nina said, somewhat breathless, as she clung to me, and I slammed her up against the wall in our hallway.
“Thinking about who?” I asked.
“The girl in the leggings,” she said, her lips curling up into a mischievous smile.
“No,” I insisted — truthfully, too.
“‘Cause it’s… all right… if you are…”
I held her tight and carried her through toward the bedroom. She was fairly light, but I was also pumped by the night’s adrenalin.
“I’m not… thinking about… anyone else,” I said.
“Or that girl with the huge breasts…” Nina suggested.
I laid her down on our queen size bed, then climbed between her thighs, catching a chestful of her sexy scent as I lay over her, nuzzling into her neck as my manhood brushed against her burning sex.
“I suppose you’re fantasizing about that guy… with the tight pants,” I said, stroking her pussy with my hardness.
“Does that make you mad?”
“No.”
“You love it, don’t you? You love that I was checking him out, I was looking at his big bulge, and it was turning me on…”
“I thought you said I was the one turning you on,” I quipped.
“Oh you were,” she laughed, “As soon as I felt how hard you were because I was being naughty.”
She yelped as I thrust into her, filling her completely.
With everything we’d been talking about, thinking about, I didn’t last long. That’s not to say she didn’t come, either.
“Do you… ever… just think about me… when you’re horny?” I asked her, somewhat out of breath as I finally rolled off her.
She grinned. “All the time,” she said. “But that’s not really fantasizing, is it? It’s more like looking forward to the next time I get to have you.”
“You can still fantasize about me,” I insisted.
“Do you fantasize about me when you’re horny?”
“Sure,” I said, and as far as I could remember it was true — though just then, my memory of fantasizing only stretched back as far as that bombshell moment when Nina had started checking out that other guy right in front of me.
“Well, I suppose I do fantasize about you sometimes,” she said. “Especially when you’re away on business.”
*
Well, that was the background, I guess — why the two of us came to be sitting out on sun loungers in front of a hotel pool overlooking a wonderful beach, and my new wife Nina was pointing out all the guys she could imagine herself sleeping with — and I was actually enjoying it all.
After our evening out watching Star Wars, our foreplay had generally started with Nina revealing guys she’d quite like to get her hands on.
We’d be sitting on the couch watching TV on an evening after work, and she’d sigh and casually lust after McDreamy or McSteamy or McWhoever from Grey’s Anatomy or Game of Thrones or Daredevil, or whichever shows were flying by.
And I might comment on it, too. “Seriously? He’s just… sweaty, like, all the time.”
And she’d go all dreamy-eyed, “Sweaty is good sometimes… and a guy like that…”
And maybe things would get more and more heated, particularly as we watched her shows rather than mine, and her conversation would get more and more x-rated.
“No, he’s wearing tight trousers for a reason: he’s obviously huge. It keeps us girls watching.”
Or perhaps:
“I would go down on him in a heartbeat.”
Or:
“OMG I want him inside me right now.”
It was even more interesting if there was any kind of a sex scene on the show we were watching. But regardless, if Nina was in the mood, eventually her hands would start wandering over my body, and find myself being manhandled, perhaps stripped and jumped on, or simply sucked while we continued to watch the rest of the show — and then once there was an appropriate break in the TV schedule, I’d be dragged away to bed.
It didn’t quite work the other way — she’d sometimes point out attractive women, and I might agree with her assessment, but that never descended into me extolling the virtues of actresses or strangers in the mall, or fellow diners in a restaurant or whoever. And I didn’t end up suggesting how it might be for me to sleep with any of them.
I just sensed that Nina wasn’t really so interested in thinking about me being with other women. I think she liked to know my opinion about women I found attractive, from an intellectual point of view, but it didn’t arouse her to know I found this woman or that woman attractive, or that I might fantasize about sleeping with them.
As we progressed, she didn’t try to pry into sexual fantasies I might have regarding other women, and she didn’t try to turn me on by pointing out other attractive women.
On the other hand, it seemed to me that Nina believed I was mainly turned on by how sexual she became from checking out other guys — not by the thought of her actually wanting to sleep with those other guys. The truth was, though, that my fantasies developed strongly around the idea of Nina getting to live out her fantasies, and sleep with whoever she wanted before returning to me.
It was something about the ecstatic joy that completely took hold of her when she told me about some guy she’d been fantasizing about, and how ravenous she became when we were together and it boiled over into rampant sex. I wanted to see how it would be if she really did get to fuck someone else, rather than just fantasize about it.
Oh, I didn’t entirely understand my feelings, partly thanks to all of society’s programming to hate and fear adultery and the thought of losing my beautiful wife to someone else — even though my rational mind told me I could never lose her.
But along with the fear and the jealousy, the arousal that came from imagining her going off with another man, spending the night with him and not me, overwhelmed all feelings of negativity.
I wasn’t entirely sure about whether my new fantasy about Nina was completely appropriate, and whether it was entirely prudent even if we were stable in our relationship and, within a few months, happily married at a nice ceremony in Nina’s childhood church up in New Hampshire.
All the same, I’ll tell you that for both of us to share the details of my wife’s secret crushes on other guys really strengthened the sexuality within our relationship — and after that big day when we did finally state “I do”, our marriage.
We jetted off to our chosen honeymoon resort in the Bahamas, and we felt closer than we’d ever been — more in love and in lust than at any point.
Oh, it didn’t take fantasies of other men to get Nina all hot and flustered and ready to drag me into bed, it just helped. Likewise I didn’t need Nina to point out some guy’s tight swimming trunks — and tell me how she wished she could take him back to our room to explore his package — to get me hard and craving her body. But it helped, and forever more I now saw her in a different light than I had before our Star Wars night — naughty, insatiable, wild and so insanely sexy.
We avoided doing anything too strenuous on our honeymoon, like actually seeing any of the Bahamas other than our resort or its beach. We’d get up late and leisurely eat breakfast before swanning down to the pool to soak up some sun, or the beach if we felt the need of a little more ocean air and the calm crashing of the waves before us.
Nina would wear a bikini — she had a black one and a red one, and looked stunning in both of them — and I found myself enjoying the sight of guys walking past us and checking her out as much as she was checking them out. I’d notice her stiff nipples pushing against her bikini top, and the way she gazed dreamily at men wearing tight speedos, and it would give me a buzz, too.
I felt confident enough that she wouldn’t ever want another man instead of me — she didn’t have a finite amount of lust to go around — and spending those days under the sun only reassured me more and more that Nina being fully open about her little fantasies was a good thing — and that perhaps my own growing fantasy about her actually going off with a man like that might not be so dangerous after all.
“Foreign guys seem more open to tight swim trunks, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, I guess so. Hard to tell, sometimes.”
We’d sit and chat, and it seemed so wicked to be talking that way, that also boosted the adrenalin and steadily built the tension to the point where we’d have to run back to our room to defuse.
“Why would you wear trunks that small, unless you genuinely wanted the world to see what you’re packing?”
“Maybe they were the affordable option — you know, less material.”
“Yours are the affordable option, honey. And you have no shortage of material.”
True enough, I didn’t feel any compulsion to flaunt myself in any teeny tiny speedos, despite my wife’s clear enjoyment of them. Only, then she went and suggested,
“We should get you some tight speedos like that.”
And despite my protests that I was perfectly fine wearing baggy surfer-style shorts that fell all the way to my knees, Nina suddenly declared our need to go shopping for something else.
“Don’t you want to get a nice all-over tan?” she grinned while holding up the tiniest piece of lycra-and-polyester I’d ever seen in my life within a store in downtown Nassau.
“Don’t you get to see enough tight swimwear around our resort?” I laughed — I didn’t mind, so much. It was good to know she still wanted to ogle me, too, and there were so many guys around our resort wearing swim briefs instead of trunks that I’d hardly look unusual or out of place.
And what happened on vacation…
She replied, “Sure, but if I can look at yours and know that I can just play with it for real, any time I like… Mmm…”
She was like the cat who got the cream as we lined up to pay for the damn thing. Afterward, though, we came out of the store and I said, “Don’t you think we should get you something a little more daring, too?”
Nina laughed. “I already wear bikinis.”
“Uh-huh. But there are bikinis, and then there are daring bikinis.”
“Okay…”
“And think of all those guys looking your way if you were showing a little more, and how they’d be in those little briefs of theirs…”
Nina actually blushed, but there was a wicked glint in her eye. She grabbed my hand and steered us back into the store to look at the women’s section. And damn if it wasn’t a thrill to search through the tiniest of bikinis and imagine my pretty wife displaying herself in them, and all the other men who would gawp at her and want her for themselves.
We came away with a few pairs of really tiny string bikinis, which I was surprised that Nina would even wear — but somehow, this whole vacation seemed to only encourage us both. There was this feeling of being isolated from anyone we knew, of society’s strict rules no longer really applying.
Sure, I felt a little comical donning my briefs and leaving the security of our room, but I didn’t have too much to worry about in terms of my physique — and around the pool I did notice some female eyes straying my way here and there. After a day or two, I grew accustomed to it and hardly noticed what I was wearing — other than the fact that it seemed to draw my wife’s wandering hands a little more than my trunks had.
Nina, though, took to it like a duck to water — I suppose she had already been wearing bikinis that hardly left much to the imagination — and it only added to her sense of confidence, confidence that made her more and more gorgeous, I might add.
Now, the guys didn’t just walk past her and subtly check her out — they were actively smiling at her, saluting her, and when she was away from me — topping up our cocktails, for example — they were more and more bold about chatting with her and flirting with her.
I just lay back in my sun lounger, enjoying the sight of her flirting with them, the guys checking her out in that teeny bathing suit either surreptitiously or plain up front, and Nina doing the same with their well-built bodies and the bulges in their tight swimwear.
Sometimes, I told her I’d had enough sun, and I’d go up to our room to chill out on our balcony — and I’d watch her out there by the pool, staring at the guys in their speedos, occasionally chatting to this one or that one, whichever was bold enough to wander past her and say hello.
I loved watching her displaying herself for them — arching her back and pushing out her chest, making sure they were getting their fill of eyeing up her body in that tiny little swim suit. The broad smiles she gave them, the laughter I could hear all the way from our room.
It seemed easier for her to flirt while I was away, in no danger of making people think we were a couple.
I watched Nina asking guys to help her apply sun cream to her back and her shoulders and the back of her neck, and I’d get to see them touching her, running their hands all over her. Nina would allow them to rub cream over her lower back, their hands straying a little over her butt. She’s allow them to make sure the backs of her thighs were nicely coated, too, so their hands came tantalizingly close to her tiny bikini bottoms.
For a few of them, she lay their topless, on her front but allowing their hands to get breathtakingly close to her breasts as they coaxed the cream into her back and around her sides.
It was harmless, a little pleasant fantasy. A light flirtation for her, though I found myself feeling all light-headed to watch her, my hardness throbbing between my thighs. I also found myself quietly hoping that one of them would persuade my wife to go somewhere a little more private for a more extensive massage.
Then one afternoon Nina strolled up to me and told me,
“Julio wants to take me snorkeling.”
I looked across the pool to where Nina indicated a striking-looking black guy with a pair of green trunks that weren’t exactly the kind of skin-tight swimwear my wife had been drawn to during our trip — and yet what he kept within his trunks was apparently so sizable that it was obvious even though he was wearing trunks.
“Uh… okay,” I said, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck — and yet my pulse quickened, my manhood began to thicken. I’d have to be very careful in those speedos of mine.
“Do you mind if I go with him?” she asked.
Julio was looking over at us, his likable face breaking out into a broad grin. He gave me a quick wave.
I gave him a wave back.
“No — of course, go have fun,” I said.
“You don’t mind me spending time with another guy?” Nina was giving me a mischievous smirk, teasing me, but perhaps making the suggestion that this little adventure of ours could go a little further.
“If you like him,” I said, “then you can do whatever you want with him.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
She leaned down to kiss me. “I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too. Have fun.”
I watched her scamper away, rejoin Julio, and slip an arm around his waist. I mean, damn, from over here that bikini looked so small, she almost seemed to be naked with him.
Julio put one of his big, dark hands all over her pert behind, and then the two of them padded away.
They were gone all day.
*
I ate dinner alone in front of a gorgeous view, only made m
ore gorgeous still when a boat came in, and among the passengers was my stunning new wife, Nina, and her new friend.
They clambered out of the boat along with the other scuba divers on that particular tour, and scampered up the beach toward the hotel. Nina was hanging onto Julio as though he was helping her across a minefield.
The two of them had clearly bonded during the day spent together.
I waved at them, and they joined me at the table in the resort’s beachfront restaurant.
“Oh my God it was so amazing!” was the first thing Nina said as they took their seats at my table, and the rest of the meal was full of superlatives as she recounted the tour, the diving.
“You were really good,” Julio said plenty of nice things to her, flirting even though her husband was sitting just a few feet away.
He had the kind of natural confidence that hinted at having done this before.
As we ate, the cocktails came thick and fast, and it wasn’t difficult to spot how Nina was with Julio, how she touched him whenever the slimmest of opportunities arose, how she smiled at him, flashed her eyes at him, toyed with her hair in front of him. Flirting like crazy.
“I’m surprised they let you dive at all wearing a bikini like that,” I said to her at one point.
Julio said, “Oh, they all just wanted the excuse to get their hands on her.”
I laughed, and Julio gave me a knowing little wink and a smile that told me in no uncertain terms that he knew my secret, he knew how I felt about Nina.
At the end of the meal, the sun was going down and the three of us seemed to gravitate naturally toward the dance floor over on the pier. We were carried along by the music, but as the three of us danced and grooved, I found it more exciting to see Nina facing Julio than actually dancing with me. After a few numbers, I suggested getting some more drinks and slipped away — only to find myself a vantage point where I could see my wife and her new friend dancing together.
In that bikini, it looked almost as though she were entirely naked grinding up against Julio’s impressive physique, the man’s large, dark hands sprawling all over her body as they danced.
Wives with Benefits: Volume Two Page 17