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It was around 10pm and my wife, Katie, and I were settling into our respective sides of the bed to what we refer to as “piddling for a while” which means play with our phones or computers before bedtime. She loves her phone, my thumbs are tired by the end of the day and I prefer the computer.
I had headphones on for privacy but my laughter made her ask, “what are you watching?”
“I’m listening to a podcast about swingers,” I somewhat reluctantly answered.
It’s no big deal to tell her but in some way I feel busted. Even though we’ve been married for over 20 years, and monogamous except for a threesome in our first year of marriage with a friend of mine (a seed I planted and nurtured to fruition), I’ve always had a fascination with deviant sex, sex clubs, swingers, prostitution, bdsm, fetishes, male chastity, cuckolding, hot wifing, and most of all two guys on one girl scenarios, etc.
“Well if we’re going to do anything like that we better get going while I still look good.” she comments.
At 5’6″, 108 lbs., shoulder length brunette hair, a body that could pass for her late 20’s or better, and a perky 32C boob job (best money I’ve ever spent), she’s hotter than when I married her – a confident, sassy, skinny bitch (in the best way).
I can still remember being totally turned on and simultaneously jealous when I shared her that first time, but she admitted later she wasn’t attracted to my friend at all and couldn’t wait for it to be over. I promised decades ago that if we ever did it again, she could pick the person. This got the discussion going of what we both wanted. I’m a voyeur at heart and have fantasized a 1,000 times of seeing her with another guy, usually as a spit roast threesome with me participating. I had it in my head that it was her fantasy too (probably due to so many replays) taking two guys at once, but she begged to differ.
“No that’s never been my fantasy, I just want to have a few flings.”
“What do you mean flings?” I asked slightly perturbed.
“Well in my whole life I’ve only slept with three guys, two were husbands and Randy, ugh. I want to find a guy that I actually I like and have a fling, just see what’s it’s like to fuck someone else, I’m curious.”
I was disappointed that her fantasy didn’t include me. One of my things is not being excluded, ouch.
“Well you asked me what I wanted” she says, “I always knew I could trade you something if it came up, you’ve always been negotiable”.
This sparked a whole new conversation about what we’d be really willing to put on the table. She was insistent she’d like to sow her wild oats while she still had the power and make up for jumping from her first husband directly to me and missing this phase of her life.
We were both turned on by all of this dirty talk and started having sex once a day, sometimes twice. I was enjoying the attention and connecting more. Her girlfriends showed her their Tinder accounts and when she came home, we created a mock tinder account with a sexy picture of her feet as her profile with some pithy copy for the background info. She was instantly getting 50 matches per hour and they couldn’t even see that she was pretty too. I realized she could get laid by snapping her fingers, but it would be real work for me to have a similar experience.
As discussions continued I wrestled with the idea of her going solo. She told me about a guy named Jake that she’d spotted a couple of times at estate sales that would be a good candidate. Ok so I know guys are easy, but she was expressing just how sure she was that he’d go for it if she wanted it to happen. She said he wasn’t good looking at all but he fascinated her.
“How could you possibly know he’d do it if you’ve only seen him twice?”, I asked.
“I can tell he has crush on me.”
It turns out Jake is an antiques freak like her. Katie is that rare middle-aged hottie and has plenty of guys fawning over her at work and about town, but something about the way she was telling me this raised my suspicions. I got up the next morning and scanned her emails to find a heavy thread of communication between her and Mister “I’ve only seen him twice”. There were over 50 email exchanges from the day before and plenty more in the days before that. The emails were filled with double entendre and sexually charged innuendo. I could tell she was ginning this up, it was already looking to me like an online affair.
Admittedly, part of the reason was all of the talk of this being a possibility, but she was jumping way ahead of getting any permission from me and being duplicitous about it. She was seriously downplaying and mischaracterizing what she was stoking here and the extent of a budding relationship. I was pissed and called her on it. She was sheepish and guilty. She promised to tone it down and to let the guy know that I saw the emails and was directing her to cool it.
They had already planned to meet at an estate sale the coming week and go to lunch afterward. She asked if she could still gaziemir escort go and just be friends, apologizing for getting carried away. My head and emotions were boiling like never before. I felt a genuine threat to our 20 plus year relationship that I’d always previously assumed would go the distance. Now I wasn’t so sure. There was no upside for me and all risk. It was obvious she could just snap her fingers and have her way.
What if she fucked him and liked it? He is a serious antiques guy, a savant, and they talk about things I don’t get. In her emails she was stroking his brilliance, his taste, his depth of knowledge. He’s a musician and a contractor who built his own cool house from scratch. I was intimidated. She was having fun and talking about stuff she’d never mentioned to me. Here she was asking for what I’m thinking is a handful of one-night stands, but what if she liked fucking this guy? Wouldn’t she want to do it again? How often? Once a month? Once a week? Would I have to contend that she might want to take on a permanent lover? What if I said no and she started to hide it and do it anyway? Lose Lose Lose!
Although she was offering a reciprocal agreement I realized I didn’t even want to screw another woman. I’m a one-woman man! I began to have to compete for my own wife in bed. We were fucking constantly. She was hornier than ever with her imagination running wild. I was doing my best to show her I could deliver whatever she needed without straying.
I told her, “You’re in heat!”
She promised, and I believed her, that she would never cheat on me or do anything without permission. That gave me a pause of relief, I trusted her word. With the next breath she admitted that she still wanted what she wanted, didn’t like to be told no, and realized she blew it by misplaying her hand with Jake and would have to go back to the drawing board on Plan B. I’m mentally shaking my head in disbelief as the relief instantly slipped away again. If there’s anything I know about Katie, it’s that she is relentless in getting what she wants. My foundation was shaken by the experience. It made me realize how insecure and jealous I am and how much my security is resting on the pillars of my happy and stable home life.
I trusted her promise enough to let her go on her “date”. I started referring to him as “your boyfriend” in jest. The morning of he texted her and said he was really sick and wasn’t going to make it to town. I had secretly signed in to her iMessages account on my computer several nights before and erased the verification text from her phone. That morning she headed out early on her own while I surreptitiously monitored their chat. She was taunting him by text to buck up and make the date. She sent him a smiling kiss emoji and said how disappointed she was going to be.
I was so happy it was getting spoiled from my perch on the sidelines. All of a sudden he rallied, “I’m coming.” Fuck! He lived about an hour away, but it was on. Now I was twisted in knots. The only thing I could be happy about was that he was sick and I doubted there would be any kissing. I know she doesn’t want to get sick. I was also tracking her phone location just to keep tabs on things and make sure her texts to me were congruent with her story throughout the day.
At some point when I knew they had met up, I sent a text, “you have the green light to give him a blowjob.”
She’d tell me later that when that came across her screen she exploded with laughter prompting him to ask “what’s so funny?”
A few weeks went by and things settled down. She said, in reality, this guy was really weird. This was not a turn off however as she likes intellectually weird. She’s a sapiosexual and could care less about looks as long as the guy is super smart, and he was. I’d personally feel more threatened if the guy was good looking, had a bigger dick, or richer than me. They ended up getting together a few more times to go antique shopping together and the more she told me, I felt that she wasn’t going to end up with him. Out of respect I quit spying on her communications and relaxed.
I love her enough that I started to feel bad for her situation. I counted up eleven sex partners before marrying her and she only had two other than me. I already knew there was nothing out there for me better than her and didn’t need to stray. I honestly don’t care if some guy sticks his dick in her pussy, I’m more jealous of the connection or intimacy they might have. In a moment of generosity, I decide to offer the green light.
“If you think you can still make something happen with him, go ahead. I’d rather you get it out of your system”.
In the back of my mind, I’m also thinking that this is going to give me a get out of jail free card to put in my wallet for the future. I’d dismissed any notions of ever being with another woman, one, because I don’t think I can get better than her, and two, I come from a long line of philanderers and wanted to break that cycle of being escort gaziemir a cheater.
For years we’ve had an occasional “hotel night” which usually included some form of light to medium bondage and spanking without having to worry about the kids hearing. I’d set up the toys and gear in advance, pick her up for dinner, and end the evening at the hotel with her tied up and fucked like she likes it – temporarily surrendering her power and taken advantage of.
Maybe once a year we’d switch for “pussy boy” week and she’d make me wear a male chastity cage, do her chores for the whole week with my prize at the end being unleashed for an explosive orgasm from my pent up lust.
We strike a deal, if I’m going to be a real cuckold then I might as well play the part. It’s going to be combination pussy boy week and Honey gets to go back to Plan A and have her fling after all.
The first order of business is to saddle up in my CB6000 hard plastic cock cage and give her the key on the lucky rabbit foot keychain. Now she’s the boss. She jumps right in and starts playfully ordering me around with some attitude. It usually takes a day or so before I can surrender fully and not feel silly. I love the feeling of restriction in my loins and she’s even hotter when I can’t have her.
She starts musing out loud about how she’s going to set things up with her boyfriend. Their relationship had simmered down to more of a friendship and she wondered exactly how she was going to ramp things up again to make it happen.
I assured her it wouldn’t be difficult, “just text him and ask if he wants to take you to dinner and a hotel?”
He’ll get it. It takes another day to work up her nerve and pull the trigger. He’s in. Surprise, surprise. They set it up for the coming weekend. No pun intended. Now I feel totally helpless and I’ve done it to myself. She’s giddy with power now and putting the screws to me, except I’m not getting screwed.
Her favorite thing is to toy with men. She loves being provocative and making them uncomfortable, making them squirm, saying something that leaves them not knowing how to respond. It’s a power trip. This is what she wants to exercise before she loses it, her power over men.
She has an amazing gift of knowing how to press my buttons when she wants to, and I’ve given her the perfect open opportunity. She gets in bed that night with only a racer back t-shirt on and scooching her ass horizontally in my direction pointing her glistening pussy my way.
She sarcastically thanks me, “for all your hard work today. I wish I could thank you properly but you know I’m saving myself for Friday”, as she tells me “goodnight” in a sing songish tone.
Normally I could jump right on that and have all I want, but now I can’t even touch without permission, which she’s not giving, and I’ve promised her off to a relative stranger who’s going to get what’s rightfully mine. My four a.m. hard-ons are becoming excruciating trying to back out of the cage that ain’t giving. My balls are aching, and she’s torturing me with her sexiness simply by laying there showcasing the lure of her bottom.
It’s a long five days of work, pithy commands, taunts, and good-natured humiliation. I’ve now melted into complete submission and obedience. Precum oozes at the sound of her text tone. I’m filled with lust and worship for this goddess. She makes it torturously fun, usually by ending the night letting me watch her masturbate with a pink acrylic ball at the end of a metal rod, plunging it in and out of her sweet juicy pussy while vibrating herself with a magic wand to an orgasmic frenzy. Her sounds make me envious of women and the completeness they can achieve. She’s totally satisfied, hands me the implements to clean and put away, and slinks under the sheets not needing me at all.
I respectfully beg, “would you like me to clean you up mistress?”
“You can lick the ball if you want, goodniiiight”, again in the sing songy voice.
A few nights she does the same thing but makes me sit on the cold bathroom floor in only my cock cage with the louvered doors closed to hear the amped-up sweet moans but not see. I’m imagining her receiving all of this pleasure from Jake, once again wondering why this turns me on so. My caged cock is purple, contorted, and bulging for a way out of its prison.
Friday morning arrives (thank God) and she looks hotter than ever standing in her shorty purple bathrobe getting ready for work. She had a pedicure yesterday and I love red toes. She commands me to sit on the cold edge of the tub in only my padlocked cage and entertain her while she gets ready. Just a glimpse of her landing strip would drive me crazy and it’s sheltered by a mere two inches of terrycloth. I can tell already she’s going to enjoy making me squirm today.
She rattles off my to-do list, “finish up your laundry project, make sure the house is picked up, come by the shop I have a few projects for you there that you can do for me. I’ll gaziemir escort bayan give you more instructions after lunch. And go get me a glass of orange juice.”
I return with her juice.
“You’ve been such a good pussy boy this week, I’m going to let you cream my legs.”
I pump a handful of cream and slowly luxuriate up and down her right leg on offer, savoring every moment. She shifts her weight and offers the left. She has beautiful legs, lean, firm, and with the softest skin from a lifelong moisturizing ritual. She sits on the edge of the tub so I can do her feet which reveals the magnificent sight of her untouchable pussy. I could be happy here for the rest of the day, bathing her feet in the cocoon of my hands.
She stands and steps into a bodysuit top and offers each boob toward me for a peck goodbye as she pulls up the shoulder straps and snaps the crotch closed. She slips into a pair of groovy overalls from the hippie boutique. I can see her tight shape outlined by the bodysuit through the looseness of the overalls. Who knew an outfit like this could be sexy, but it’s one of her favorite combinations and gets her a lot of looks and attention whenever she wears it. She looks more accessible and friendly in it which invites other men to feel like they can comment.
She heads out and leaves me to my list for the day, knowing I’ll be kept busy and hustling for quite a while.
Mid-afternoon I get a text that stops me cold, “I want you to go set up the hotel for a hotel night”.
What the fuck? I was imagining standard sex, and knew without her magic wand there was a good chance he wouldn’t be able to get her off, but now she wants the bondage gear too?
“Really?” I text back.
This is seeming like an invasion of our personal thing.
“You’re not sassing me are you pussy boy?” she zings back.
Ugh, this is going to take some time, work, and effort to put all of that together. Surely she is not going to spring this on a guy she’s never been with. She must have seeded this idea and discussed it with him. Now I wish I hadn’t disconnected iMessage prematurely so I could read their texts.
“Check in and get one key, I’ll meet you at the hotel door at 6:45, send me the room number” she instructs.
I do as I’m told, but I’m not happy about it. I run home, gather the suitcase filled with ropes, cuffs, and gear, Liberator sex cushions, what I call my doctor’s bag with vibrators, the pink ball, etc., and go set up the hotel room as if it was my lucky night.
I’m pacing and staring out of the window as the clock ticks past seven. Nine minutes later a black BMW pulls up to the building. It’s too dark to see what the guy looks like, but Katie’s legs emerge from the car wearing the Jessica Simpson heeled sandals I’d bought her. Oh my God, she’s all bare leg in a tight medium length black skirt. I quit peeking out of the window as not to get chastised and wait at the door for her to walk up.
She’s wearing a white “titty top” – a low cut thin body suit that crisscrosses in front like a halter. She’s braless with her perky tits showing off some nice side boob and cleavage She’s a masterpiece of feminine hotness. I’d love to call the whole thing off right here and yank her inside.
She’s extra flirty and sassy “key please” and blows me a kiss, “wait ten minutes, lock up and head home. I’ll let you know when to come back and pick me up.”
I run to the blinds and watch her ass shake back to the car, hop in, and pull off. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! Why did I agree to this?
I know they’re heading to a steak place less than a mile from the hotel. I also know in spite of her bravado she’ll be drinking Blueberry lemon drops to loosen up because she’s got to be nervous. She’s a lightweight and doesn’t drink often, with a two-drink maximum if she wants her window to remain open longer than 20 minutes. On the occasions when she does drink, it flips her inhibition switch and there’s no telling what’s going to happen.
I patiently wait at home for the signal. The clock is ticking, my imagination is running wild. Torture. She and I normally pack up around 10 p.m. or so for hotel night, but now it’s already 11 and I haven’t heard a word. I’m not feeling good about this, kind of hurt.
“Bing”, I get a text message. It’s a photo, she’s blindfolded with her back inclined on one of the sex wedges and looks like she’s laughing. Her arms are over and behind her head and cuffed to a spreader bar, legs are parted as they disappear out of the frame with her skirt hiked up and bunched like a band around her torso. She must be giving directions for Jake to take the picture with her phone and send it to me as a souvenir.
“Bing”, the next photo is a close up cunt shot with two of the camera man’s fingers stuffed inside.
“Bing”, then a shot with the same fingers are stuffed deep in her mouth.
I’m filled with mixed emotions, turned on, pissed off, wishing I could jack off, thinking that I’ll be treasuring these photos forever. Then radio silence. No more photos, no videos, no dick pics. Just me and my ideas of what might be happening. What the hell is going on over there? What could they be doing for this long? I’m tempted to jump into my truck and head back over there, but I resist. I’m a bit worried but know she’s ok.
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