Penny's Promiscuity - 2 - Persuasive Partners free porn video

The kitchen was bright with sunshine that Sunday morning as I checked the laptop screen one last time before taking a deep breath and anxiously clicking on the ‘submit’ button. There was a pause, the cursor span in little circles and then the ‘thank you’ message appeared.

I breathed a sigh of relief. It was done; the fruit of two weeks’ work would, I hoped, soon be published and after that my new online friends would increase in number helping me further along the journey I had so recently undertaken.

If I had known then how far that journey would take me and my husband Pete, or how quickly we might get there I might not have been so free with my writing and sharing my emotions.

But at that moment I had no idea – and the first few steps had certainly been fun.

*

After my fuddled mind had adjusted to the extraordinary realisation that my attractive husband of twenty years was actually serious about watching me having sex with other men, my next thought was that I had to learn a lot more about what I could only consider a very strange and unnatural fetish.

Shared fantasies were one thing; actually having sex with another man; actually cheating on my husband for the first time since our marriage was another thing altogether. At the time I had no real thought of doing what he had asked but I loved my husband very much and wanted to understand what strange thing was happening to him to make him want this.

After all, men do have midlife crises, don’t they?

I had expected the idea to revolt as well as shock me - after all, it’s not the sort of proposal you expect from someone you have been married to for so long – but to my surprise I found myself more curious than repelled and thought about it at first in an oddly detached, almost scientific rather than a passionate or lustful way.

I had always been dimly aware of the ‘swinging’ scene and over the years had seen many TV programmes in which wife-swapping had featured, though more in comedy than in drama. Indeed at least one village not far from us had a reputation for this sort of thing dating back to the 1960’s but in my naiveté I hadn’t really imagined that it was still going on.

I had had even less idea that it involved the affluent, professional classes to which my husband Peter and I belonged at least as much, if not more than ‘those kind of ’ families living on the ‘problem’ estates.

I had so much to learn.

I suppose Pete and I had lived fairly sheltered lives. From School we had both gone on to University in the Midlands where he had studied Medicine, I had studied Biological Sciences and we had met through mutual friends in the hospital.

Pete was and still is slim, handsome and athletic. Neither tall nor short and these days somewhat thin on top of his head, nonetheless he is still fit, confident and attractive, not least to me.

I’m as tall as my husband to the inch – taller when I’m in heels - with dark eyes and dark brown hair (most of the time). I’m still slim and fit though I have to work hard to stay that way, and have always had very small boobs, even when feeding our two kids.

Our eldest, now in his mid-twenties, lives and works in London and our two younger children were away at University at that time so Pete and I had been living the life of a couple again for nearly a year before these events took place. It had, I must confess, been a lot of fun being a couple again with evenings out, evenings in, weekends away and, of course, a great deal more sex thanks to vastly improved privacy.

Pete’s vasectomy some years ago had helped too, removing the need to worry about my long term use of the pill. Neither of us liked condoms and my menopause was only beginning so some form of protection was still needed.

We have both prospered in our careers too. Pete is a Consultant at a major hospital in the city near where we live. I work in a senior role in a medical-related field in a city nearby but I’d better keep the details of that to myself or it would be far too easy for a persistent reader to work out who we are!

But back to Pete’s astonishing proposition.

As a trained researcher, my first instinct was to find out much more about what I had originally considered an exciting fetish, but definitely one for the fantasy zone alone. The idea of turning that fantasy into reality was both frightening and exciting at the same time but not something I was taking seriously. If I’m honest, the idea of my own husband not just accepting me being unfaithful but actually trying to persuade me to have sex with other men though unthinkable in practice was highly arousing in principle.

But there was no doubt Pete was sincere about it. This was something I found deeply unsettling and at first my number one concern was for my husband’s mental health.

My first port of call for research was of course the anonymous internet so, with feelings of misgivings, I trawled the net for some time, looking for anything remotely scientific about a man’s desire to allow or even watch his wife having sex with another man – the desire to become a Cuckold.

There was plenty of porn of course, much of it badly written and entirely unbelievable, but there were a few genuine studies out there too which I analysed assiduously. I even joined a forum or two under false male names and tentatively joined in a few threads, but soon discovered most participants were either frauds or fantasists or both.

Overall I learned a number of things that both worried and reassured me:

That cuckoldry was a surprisingly common fetish in the western world, affecting perhaps a fifth of men in the USA in some form. One report suggested up to half of all American men had at least fantasised about their partner being with another man. British men couldn’t be all that different, I reasoned, rather shocked.

That it is a form of masochism – I hadn’t imagined that - in which the pain of a wife’s infidelity was offset against powerful feelings of arousal and, in widely varying degrees, a desire to be humiliated.

My athletic, attractive husband, a masochist? Who would have thought it?

Even stranger, I learned that deliberate cuckoldry is most common among educated, affluent middle class couples. This would certainly describe Peter and me. Wow!

I also learned to my surprise that it is not the same as a desire to ‘swing’ – there was not necessarily any need for the cuckold husband to have a reciprocal right to have sex with other women. Again this fitted in well with all Pete had said to me.

Maybe it wasn’t so strange a fetish...? Maybe he didn’t need therapy after all.

There were plenty of videos too, most of them obviously fake, but after a while I stumbled on a good few that appeared to be genuine. These I watched with fascination when I was alone in the house or early in the morning while Pete slept upstairs.

Despite their universally low quality, in many cases I could feel the real, genuine enjoyment being experienced by all the participants. To my considerable surprise, the identity of the ‘bull’ in these encounters seemed almost irrelevant; he was often just ‘a cock’, usually a black cock but not necessarily a huge one. He didn’t even need to be handsome and was often quite overweight!

What was more surprising was that the ‘bull’ appeared to get less pleasure from having sex with another man’s wife than either the unfaithful wife or even her cuckolded husband got out of the event.

I had not been expecting this at all and have to confess that on more than one occasion I was aroused enough watching the video clips to wake my sleeping husband up for a passionate pre-breakfast copulation straight away.

So it went on for weeks, the new knowledge significantly heightening my arousal and dramatically improving our sex life to a degree I hadn’t expected at all. Our fantasies grew more detailed and more intense so that I now only had to fake some of my orgasms rather than almost all of them.

Pete kept asking me if I had thought any more about his idea of turning our increasingly vivid fantasies into reality. I kept telling him that I was still thinking about it but wasn’t ready to give him a definitive reply yet. When he tried to press me harder, I shamelessly put him off by suggesting too much pressure would make me not want to do it at all!

Meanwhile I continued my researches on line but it soon wasn’t enough for my anxious, inquisitive mind.

Guided by some of the techniques I would use to investigate a hypothesis at work, I felt I had to find a way to test out all I had learned in real life, as I would with a medical theory. I needed to keep myself safe and anonymous but at the same time needed to find out more about my own, mixed-up emotions. The online forums I had joined helped to some extent but many of them were so obviously inhabited by imposters as to be useless.

I resolved to find at least one genuine, real life cuckold to explain the increasingly appealing desire to me on a one-to-one basis. More would be better, but one real example was essential.

So I started to write again.

*

I had originally discovered the pleasures of online erotica nearly ten years earlier when Peter and I were going through a ‘dry period’ in our marriage. It had also been around the time of my first ‘near-miss’ with Tony, as I now thought of it.

Coincidental? Maybe!

At that time I had investigated erotic stories on the internet as a way of addressing some of the sexual frustrations that the problems in our marriage were causing. Back then there were no ‘Fifty Shades’ books easily available to a married woman approaching middle age. I quickly found that, although there were plenty of erotic stories on the many websites out there, the bulk of them were disappointingly crude, unrealistic, often misogynistic and almost exclusively male-oriented.

After a frustrating week reading wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am stories in which ten inch cocks seemed to be the norm and were all that women obsessed about, I decided to see if I could do better myself.

Almost immediately I found writing to be both arousing and cathartic; allowing my deepest fantasises free rein as I wrote was extraordinarily arousing. I gradually grew bolder and eventually found the courage to submit my first work under a pseudonym.

Within a week it was live on screen; I could hardly believe my eyes! To be honest, seeing my own words actually ‘in print’ in public was both terrifying and amazingly satisfying at the same time.

Of course it wasn’t all plane sailing. Although I knew to expect some unpleasant comments, I was shocked and hurt by some of the extraordinarily offensive comments posted and messages sent by the horrible trolls who inhabit the internet and who also seem to lie in wait, preparing to attack unsuspecting authors.

The attacks I suffered then and still suffer now could and still can reduce me to tears with their viciousness but when the praise began to arrive a day or so later, I felt a new pride in myself, a pride strong enough to over-ride the hate mail – although there is no way to prevent it hurting.

At first I wrote as a woman but received so many unwanted and unpleasant messages that I quickly switched to a male pseudonym which I stuck with for several years. But eventually as the kids grew older and I had less and less time to myself, the writing slowed to a standstill until I found to my surprise that I had published nothing for over three years.

Now however, the timing of Peter’s extraordinary suggestion had been fortuitous. With all my children either at University or working in London, I had much more time on my hands, especially early in the mornings when I habitually rose an hour before my husband and had the house to myself – time to work, think, stretch and, importantly to write again.

And this time through my writing, I needed to deliberately explore the unfamiliar world of infidelity that my husband apparently wanted the two of us to enter.

A few weeks later a new series of erotic stories began to appear on various websites written by a woman describing herself as ‘middle aged and middle class’. The stories followed several themes but one in particular stood out in terms of the number of stories and their popularity – the emotive and controversial idea of wife sharing . Mostly were written in the first-person and, unusually for a female writer, were almost all written from the Cuckold Male point of view.

My previous years of writing as a man were beginning to pay off.

My first attempt was enjoyable, if slightly off target. At the time I hadn’t quite grasped the important difference between ‘swinging’ and ‘cuckolding’ so had written a story based on an incident that had actually happened to a close friend and her husband and which I had learned during a drunken hen party. To my surprise, I really enjoyed the writing and the closeness it had brought both me and my friend as we collaborated rather drunkenly on the details.

The story was well received but the feedback taught me of the existence of the ‘one-way’ swinging or ‘wife sharing’ world which I suppose I had suspected existed but had never explored. My next story went into this much more deliberately and deeply. Feedback for this second story was much more revealing and brought me into contact with a handful of trolls, a good few outright liars but also several real life cuckolds with whom I began to correspond regularly.

Richard was the most influential – I have his good counsel to thank for much of what took place the following year - and through their open and honest conversations I gradually began to understand the attraction of ‘planned infidelity’ to the cuckold as well as to his wife or girlfriend.

And with that understanding, my husband’s fantasies began to feel less and less perverted and, to my surprise, I found myself unexpectedly becoming more and more interested.

*

I turned and looked at the kitchen clock. Just after eight. Plenty of time, I thought as I filled the kettle and switched it on. I smiled inwardly, guessing that my husband of over twenty-five years would be in bed for at least another hour - possibly much longer, given the amount of red wine he had drunk at the dinner party last night.

I had been the nominated driver as usual so had remained nearly sober all evening; a good thing as it turned out, given the way Tony’s hands had wandered when I had dropped him off at his apartment on our way home.

Tony had been my husband’s partner in crime over dinner, at least as far as red wine consumption was concerned. Although not nearly as drunk as Pete, he had certainly been tipsy enough to push his usual ‘goodbye hug’ quite a bit further tonight. Once again I had been forced good humouredly to move his fondling hands away from my buttocks and up to my back as we kissed our goodbyes on his doorstep.

Tony and his wife Jane had been two of our closest friends ever since our children were born. Indeed Jane and I had first met at a nursery school Christmas party. Their two children were much the same ages as our three and we had spent many enjoyable evenings, weekends and even a few holidays away with them over the years.

The only fly in the ointment – if it was a fly – was that Tony had become a little too forward when hugging me goodbye after a day out or especially after a wine-fuelled dinner party. He had always been very tactile with the wives of his friends but as far as I knew had never actually either been slapped in the face or taken to bed by any of us. The general view was that it was ‘just his way’ and that he didn’t really mean anything by it but it was noticeable that the way he touched me was considerably bolder than other women and was getting more so.

I had tried to hide this mild groping from my husband – after all, we’re British and don’t like ‘scenes’ – but as I learned more about the ‘cuckold mindset’ it started to cross my mind that perhaps my husband was not as ignorant as I had imagined; perhaps he had known this was happening all along but had chosen not to intervene. Perhaps he even got a thrill out of seeing another man’s hands on his wife’s body.

I was never entirely sure how to react to Tony’s attempted groping. On the one hand it was an outrageous invasion of my personal space which as a confidant, professional woman with a decidedly married status I absolutely should not tolerate.

On the other hand, Tony was a very close friend of us both who I was increasingly finding extremely attractive and with whom I had come very close to ‘inappropriate contact’ on at least two memorable occasions in the past.

Extremely close and very inappropriate on one memorable occasion a few years ago; the closest I had ever come to cheating on my husband. This was an important reason I usually chose to drive and not drink if I knew Tony would be present.

Besides, he had been a bit drunk too, and who could blame him? After all, his wife of over twenty years had only months before started having an affair. I still couldn’t quite believe it; Jane had been my closest friend for nearly twenty years. We had first met at the kids’ nursery and our two families had been on holiday together nearly a dozen times since then.

She was nearly the same age as me but just after the previous Christmas, had been foolish enough to embark on a very public affair with her Personal Trainer, a man almost young enough to be her son. It was obvious to all her friends, including me that this relationship could never last long but she appeared oblivious to the fact and seemed to be revelling in her new notoriety.

So far this mid-life crisis had resulted in Jane and her husband separating and Tony living for the past six months in a new three-bedroom apartment near the city centre.

If I am totally honest, I was also rather envious that a fifty-one year old mother of two could attract and so far keep so young and beautiful a boy. Pete had rather leeringly suggested that she must be very good in bed and from what she occasionally told me about her new relationship I suspected this was probably true. She was certainly still extremely pretty, I had to admit and over the years had spent long hours in the gym keeping in shape but it had still been quite a surprise when the two of them had gone public with their affair.

Tony had moved out of their home shortly afterwards.

Since then, on several occasions and especially after a few drinks, Jane had made suggestive comments about what it was like to be in bed with her young lover compared with her husband and by implication, what it must be like for me in bed with mine. Her eyes were bright and animated and her face looked a good ten years younger as she described how incredible he made her feel. Sometimes when tipsy she would even hint at some of the things they got up to which, she once confessed after a very drunken girls’ night in, now included frequent anal sex.

The image of this china-doll-pretty mother of two on her knees with a young man’s cock in her rectum was almost more than my imagination could handle but the profound and exciting effect on my friend was undeniable and impossible to dismiss.

What spoiled the image was her rather bitter attitude to her husband Tony, who even then would seldom comment publically on her behaviour. Jane on the other hand would often make subtle and occasionally extremely unsubtle hints at his performance in bed, suggesting that his erection simply wasn’t long enough or that, unsurprisingly, he didn’t have the energy of a gym instructor more than twenty years his junior.

But whatever the reasons for her infidelity, Jane was paying a high price for the sexual gratification she was now receiving. Apart from me, many of her older friends now tended to shy away from her as if the illness might be contagious. Certainly she and her boyfriend were very seldom invited out as a couple. Worse still, her children refused to stay at the family house she still occupied when they came home from University. If her boyfriend was there, they preferred to squeeze into their father’s apartment rather than give any suggestion they accepted their mother’s young lover.

The radio beeped the hour, brining me back to the present. Frowning at my inner thoughts, I pulled my dressing gown around me and made another cup of tea before returning to my laptop to check my emails. Not my ‘real life’ emails; they came to my phone and iPad. No, I wanted to check the new email account I had set up specifically for correspondence under the new online persona I had created for my writing.

There were two new messages, both feedback from one of the sites I had chosen to publish my stories. As usual I opened them anxiously, fearing another Troll attack but to my relief this time they were both positive – very positive in fact.

One was anonymous, the author praising the story and to my delight, the style of writing, hinting that he had personal experience of the cuckold lifestyle himself. The writer of the other feedback offered to tell me all about his own history as a cuckold and added a few sentences as an example of his experiences. I noted the email address. Unlike many of the messages I received, this one had at least a ring of legitimacy about it. I dashed off a quick reply, accepting the offer. After all, I could always learn something new.

My replies sent, I refilled my mug and re-read the previous day’s message from Richard. I looked forward to receiving his messages; Richard had been a godsend, proving more than just helpful in helping me understand what made a man actually want to have an unfaithful wife. Although he hadn’t done it himself, he could understand why a man might even want to watch her being unfaithful in the way my own husband Peter seemed genuinely and increasingly to desire from me.

As I read once again how Richard’s wife Barbara had met and chosen her various lovers; how she had told him all about them; how he was allowed to veto them only for reasons of safety or sanity; how honesty and openness was so vital in a cuckold relationship, I wondered more and more about Pete’s fantasies.

Would he really derive pleasure from my infidelity in real life as well as in our fantasies? Certainly his pressure on me to at least consider taking a lover and eventually let him watch us ‘in flagrante delicto’ had become relentless. Even last night, his performance seriously hampered by alcohol, he had tried to begin a sex fantasy about me with our apparently hugely-endowed Jamaican window cleaner. If I’m honest, the fantasy had had quite a strong appeal for me too but, as I had expected, Pete had fallen asleep before we could get properly started.

But even if he was genuinely interested, apart from the obvious disturbing issue of infidelity, there were so many other questions:

What might it be like making love to someone new after more than twenty years of monogamous marriage?

What might it feel like to have another man’s cock inside me, his mouth on mine; his hands on my body?

Might I actually reach the orgasm that had been denied to me for so long?

How would I feel coming home to Peter afterwards? Overwhelmed by guilt? Deeply satisfied?

Or would he insist on being there all the time, watching?

How would it feel to have sex in front of someone else?

But for every exciting positive there were so many negatives:

Who would I want to sleep with anyway, given the choice? Did I even have a choice at my age?

And would that man want to sleep with me, a fifty-plus year old mother of two grown-up kids?

And even if he did want me, would I dare expose my middle-aged post-childbirth body to him?

And most importantly, could our marriage possibly survive if I did take a lover – or more than one as Pete’s fantasies seemed to demand?

There were far too many questions and not enough answers, despite the best efforts of Richard and my other pen pals.

The sound of Pete moving about upstairs stirred me from my reverie and I quickly closed the e-mail account on my laptop, replacing the page with an on-line recipe and deleting my browsing history. I had no reason to think Pete ever spied on my internet use, but I wasn’t entirely sure and didn’t want to take any chances – at least not yet.

As I boiled the kettle again I wondered what was going through my husband’s mind at that moment. I smiled; with him nursing a red wine hangover, whatever he was thinking was unlikely to feature me at all!

I placed two steaming cups of tea on a tray and carried them up to the bedroom.

To my surprise, the room was full of the sound of running water as I placed the drinks on my dressing table. The bed was rumpled and empty so it didn’t take a genius to work out that Pete was in the shower and I nervously crossed towards the door to the en-suite bathroom to see how he was feeling. Given his wine consumption the previous evening, I was expecting the worst but when he saw me through the shower’s steamed-up glass wall, he greeted me cheerfully, his voice raised over the noise of the rushing water.

“What?” I asked, unable to hear him properly and immediately annoyed with his demeanour. How dare he not have the hangover he deserved after being so drunk last night?

“How’s my little Hotwife this morning?” he repeated jokingly, wrong-footing me for a moment.

“What do you mean?” I asked slowly, not hearing the name properly and adding “I’m as tall as you!” in an attempt to sound less cross.

I heard Peter laugh as he turned off the water, opened the shower door and stepped out onto the mat.

“I mean that you looked absolutely stunning last night,” he explained quickly and, it seemed, honestly.

He took the fluffy white towel I was holding and began to dry himself. For a moment I was struck my how good looking my husband still was for a man in his mid-fifties; his face was still handsome, his body toned, tanned and fit, if perhaps excessively hairy everywhere other than on his head.

“That new Paul Smith dress looks even sexier than I hoped,” he continued, wrapping the damp towel around his waist. “And it really showed off your shape.”

Despite being slightly embarrassed I felt more than a little pleased. The new dress had been a very recent birthday present from Pete and I had felt very good wearing it at the dinner party. Quite short, close fitting and colourful, it was intended to highlight my long, slim legs but I had been concerned that it also drew attention to my exceptionally flat chest, made even flatter by our recent extra visits to the gym. I could feel myself blushing a little but he hadn’t finished.

“And I wasn’t the only person to notice, was I?” he asked as he turned to face me, a rather smug, knowing expression on his face.

“Don’t be silly,” I chided, wondering what he was driving at and silently praying he hadn’t noticed Tony’s wandering hands as we had said our goodbyes.

“I’m serious. At least two men in the room couldn’t keep their eyes off you all evening – three if you include me!”

He sipped his tea as he paused, looking me up and down. I involuntarily pulled my robe tighter around my body in a defensive gesture a rookie psychology student would have recognised.

“Does it make you feel good? Feel attractive, knowing that you’re being admired like that?” he asked, apparently honestly.

“Don’t embarrass me, Pete…” I began, staring uncomfortably at the floor but he interrupted me.

“Because it makes me feel good knowing other men are looking at you and finding you as stunningly attractive as I do!”

I raised my eyes to look at his, looking for evidence of irony or teasing. I found none but he still hadn’t finished.

“Knowing they’re undressing you with their eyes right in front of me and thinking what they’d like to do with you. It’s a real turn-on, Penny!”

“Pete!” I exclaimed, “Don’t say that! I’ve never done anything to encourage…”

“I know,” he insisted. “That’s what makes it such a turn on. You’re becoming sexier and sexier without even knowing it. Ever since we started our fantasies you’ve been getting more confident, holding yourself taller, dressing more daringly, moving more sexily. And you don’t even realise you’re doing it!”

I just looked at him blankly. Could this be true?

“Look at last night’s dress. It’s tight fitting and comes less than half way down your thigh.” I began to protest but he held up his hand. “Yes, I know you were wearing tights too but think about it! A year ago you’d never have dreamed of wearing anything that revealing. Now, you wear it happily and look incredible in it!”

I was thunderstruck! Was he right? My mind rushed to all the other clothes I’d worn recently, whether I’d chosen them myself or Pete had bought them for me. Perhaps he was right! Certainly they were different – shorter, tighter, classier than the rest of my wardrobe. But if it was true, what could it mean?

Had I been sending out the wrong messages for months without even knowing it? And were they wrong?

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled as he came closer to me. “Have I been making a fool of myself? Have I... Oh Jesus!”

I stepped back from him, my eyes fixed on the front of his towel which had tented out to an almost comical degree, forced away from his legs by what could only be a massive erection. Always long and slender rather than short and thick, the slimness of Pete’s cock had at least partly contributed to my lack of orgasms over the last twenty years but to be honest the main culprit had been the looseness in my vagina I had suffered ever since I had torn badly ‘down there’ giving birth to our younger children nineteen years before.

Whatever its dimensions might be, Pete’s cock was now making its presence very obviously felt. He glanced down at himself, then looked back at me and laughed.

“See? You’re having that effect on me now and you’re not even dressed! Just think what effect you were having on poor Tony last night!”

He pulled me closer, opening my robe until his towel-covered erection pressed against my lower belly through my nightie. It felt large and hard against my skin as I slowly put two and two together.

“You weren’t really drunk at all, were you?” I stated rather than asked.

“Perhaps a little tiddly,” he confessed, kissing me on the end of my nose. “I couldn’t have driven home but I thought you might feel a bit less inhibited if you thought I wasn’t in any state to object.” He laughed and kissed me again. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, a dull feeling in my tummy meaning I suspected I knew the answer.

“I mean that a certain gentleman pushed his luck even further than usual last night, didn’t he?” I felt my robe being slipped off my shoulders and fall around my ankles. “I mean that a certain pair of hands spent rather a long time around here… and here.”

Pete’s hands were on my buttocks, raising the hem of my short nightie to expose my bare flesh, then squeezing my cheeks gently, kneading them firmly before teasing them apart to let his long middle finger run the length of my cleft, forcing my body against his.

“Pete, I’m not in the mood…please….” I tried to say but my body was already giving the lie to my words as his searching finger found the base of my slit from behind.

"Jeez Penny, you’ve not been as wet as this for a long time!” he whispered in my ear as his finger slid along my slit and delved inside my body. The angle was awkward, restricting his movements but it felt surprisingly good for such a crude attempt at seduction.

“Is it because you’re thinking of him doing this?” he hissed.

Pete removed his hand from my bottom and moved it round to my lower belly from where access to my vulva was so much easier. His palm cupped my pubic mound and a single finger slipped the full length of my slit. Instinctively I opened my legs a little. He stroked my swelling, moistening lips in long, slow strokes, dipping between the folds of flesh into the dampness that was oozing from my body.

“Mmmm. Pete, no I... Mmmm!”

But it felt so very nice! My legs began to tremble a little and I realised that unbelievably after so many years of familiarity, I was becoming incredibly aroused by my own husband’s rather crude fingering.

“Did you want Tony to touch you last night?” he asked, his voice low and hard. “Did you want him to lift up your new dress? To lower your tights and panties to your knees? To slip his finger into you like this?”

Suddenly my husband’s finger was deep within me, moving rapidly against the inside of my mound. My trembling knees buckled for an instant before I caught myself again.

“Oh Pete,” I heard myself moaning as my arms rose around his shoulders to steady myself. “I’ve not washed, I’m not clean.”

My protests were weak and were completely ignored as he backed me to the bed. My knees bent, my legs lowered me down until I perched on its rumpled edge. I didn’t resist.

“I don’t care,” he whispered. “Just like Tony wouldn’t have cared last night. He’d have stripped you like this!”

Before I realised what was happening, Pete had pulled my nightie quickly up and over my head leaving me naked.

“He would have pushed you to the floor like this!”

He suited his actions to his words and a moment later I was lying on my back on the bed with my husband’s strong body looming over me.

“He’d have spread your thighs like this!”

His strong hands were on my knees, easily parting my skinny legs, spreading me wide open until I could feel the cool air in the room on my dripping wet vulva.

“He’d have taken out his cock.”

I could feel the head of his long, thin erection parting my outer lips, then my inner lips, then pausing with just its tip inside my body.

“And he’d have got you ready to fuck, Penny; hard, right in front of me whether I objected or not.”

But to my frustration he didn’t thrust into me. Instead, he held himself still with just half the head of his cock in the entrance to my vagina. I felt so aroused, so turned on that the torment was almost unbearable.

“Please…” I began to whimper, thrusting my hips forwards as if to swallow up more of his wonderful cock but he moved back a little to keep himself tantalisingly poised at my entrance.

“Tell me how you feel Penny!” he commanded. “Tell me how much you want him to fuck you!”

“Pete! Please!” I protested weakly but the heat within me was growing all the time.

“Tell me Penny! Admit it! Tell me that you wanted him to fuck you! Tell me how badly you wanted his cock inside you!”

“Oh my God!”

“You wanted his hands inside your panties, didn’t you? When he was groping your bottom, you didn’t want him to stop, did you?”

“Pete…”

“Did you?”

“Oh God! No I didn’t!”

There! I’d said it! And deep down I suddenly understood that it was true; I really had wanted to let him go further – much further than my sense of propriety would ever have allowed.

“That’s my girl!” Pete said triumphantly, wriggling his hips so the head of his cock moved quickly back and forth in my sensitive entrance. “I knew you wanted him last night. You wanted his hand deep between your sticky thighs, didn’t you?”

He pressed himself the merest half inch further into me. My body jumped. It felt wonderful, almost as if it wasn’t my husband inside me at all; as if it was my seducer taking me for the first time.

“Yes, I wanted it!” I cried back.

“You’d have sucked his cock too if you’d had the chance, yes Penny?”

“Mmmm... Yes!”

“Yes what?”

“Yes I’d have sucked his cock!”

“Good girl! Now what would his cock feel like, Penny? In your mouth?”

A clear, vivid image filled my mind as I replied, “Long and thick, choking me...”

“As big as mine? Tell me, Penny!”

“Bigger! Much bigger!” I hissed, guessing the answer he wanted to hear.

I must have guessed correctly if the sudden tensing of my husband’s body was anything to go by followed by the sharp thrust of his long slim cock deep into my vagina and its rapid withdrawal back to my entrance.

“Oh yes!” I gasped, feeling the base of his cock stretch me slightly, then withdraw.

“You like big cocks, do you? You want to feel a huge cock inside you, do you?”

“Oh yes!”

“You’d have laid back and spread yourself for him, wouldn’t you?”

“Pete, please…”

“Wouldn’t you Penny? Despite the ring on your finger you’d have spread your legs for him?”

He thrust deep into me again then pulled back to my entrance. It felt so very, very good!

“Yes! Yes I’d have spread my legs!” I croaked, loving his teasing yet desperate for him to take me properly.

“Right in front of me?” he asked, his voice hard, dipping a third time deep into my vagina.

“Yes! Oh God! That feels good! Yes, right in front of you! As if you weren’t there!”

I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into the fantasy, the images before my closed eyes getting more and more vivid as I listened to the hard voice.

“He’d have mounted you in front of me, wouldn’t he, Penny?”

“Yes!”

Pete’s cock, still stationary in my entrance was driving me half mad with arousal.

“His body over yours, forcing your legs apart!”

“Mmmm!”

“Open for him, Penny. Spread your thighs for your lover!”

Without hesitating, I opened my legs as wide as I could. Pete’s cock dipped deep into me again then pulled back. I gasped then whimpered.

“Christ Penny! I’ve not seen you this turned on for years!” he hissed. “You want him to fuck you now, don’t you?”

Almost beyond speech now, I just nodded.

“Say it, Penny!” he growled. “Tell me how badly you want him!”

To my delight I felt his long, slim cock begin to penetrate me slowly and smoothly and repeatedly.

“Oh yes!”

“Tell me, Penny! Tell your cuckold husband what you want!”

“Mmmm… I want you to…”

“You want who?” He half yelled over me as his strokes increased in speed.

“I want him to…”

“You want him to do what?” The strokes were now regular, long, deep and rhythmic.

“Oh God! Please… I want him to… I want him to… FUCK ME!” My voice was barely recognisable as my own.

“But you’re married, Penny! What about your husband?” His strokes were growing faster and faster.

“I don’t care! Fuck my husband! Fuck everything! Just keep fucking me!”

In my extreme arousal I was lubricating like crazy. I realised to my horror that this was making my already loose vagina even more slippery and threatened to deprive me of some of the sensation I craved so badly. I tried to improve the situation by clamping down with my pelvic floor on my husband’s shaft and was briefly rewarded with the thrilling sensation of his ridges rubbing against my inner lips. In response, Pete’s thrusts became faster and deeper still.

“Oh yes! Yes! That was… fucking great, Penny!”

His thrusts began to grow more violent. I began to moan.

“Moan girl! Moan as he fucks you! Tell me what it feels like to have his cock inside you instead of mine?”

“Bigger! Better!” I gasped, hoping it was what he wanted to hear. It seemed to be just that.

“What do you need?” he asked harshly, “What would you beg for?”

“Pete… Oh God! I need cock!”

“What sort of cock, Penny? Tell me!”

“Big cock! Thick cock!”

Dimly realising the truth of this, I clamped down on him again, tightening myself as hard as I could and holding on as long as my pelvic floor would allow. Pete grunted in delight; his smooth strokes became shorter, sharper uncontrolled thrusts.

“Oh my God!” he exclaimed coarsely, “I’m going to cummmmm!”

A voice inside me yelled ‘No! Not yet! I’m not ready!’ but it was too late. Within seconds my husband’s handsome face directly above mine had become ugly and contorted as his climax began in earnest. His thrusts, already violent became wild and painful as his powerful body slammed repeatedly into mine and his ejaculation began.

For what seemed an age, his cock throbbed deep within me as his thrusts slowed to a halt and his spermless semen filled my body. I had come much closer to orgasm than I had for a long time but still hadn’t made it all the way.

Was it my fault for having torn in childbirth? Did I simply need more detailed and more vivid fantasies to help me get there? Or did I really, actually want and need another, bigger, thicker cock inside me?

“Penny, that was simply amazing!” Pete gasped as he rolled off and onto the sticky sheet alongside me. “I can’t believe how you turned me on like that!”

I smiled at his bright, beaming, exhausted face, astonished that he could have derived so much pleasure out of imagining his wife and the mother of his children having sex with another man right in front of him. Despite my researches, seeing that genuine, unmistakeable desire glowing eyes of the man I loved and had lived faithfully with for so long was still a shock.

“It was good for you too, wasn’t it?” he demanded. “Admit it, Penny! You really are turned on by the idea of being fucked by another man!”

It was true, I had to admit it. My words and my body had given me away to my husband in ways which were undeniable. But was he thinking of the same man whose image had been before my eyes as his cock had plunged deep into my body? Was he thinking of any specific man at all?

We lay side by side for a long time as we recovered our breath. I watched the morning sunlight travel across the bedroom ceiling as my mind span. It had been a long time since I had been so aroused during sex with my husband and there was no doubt what the reason had been; the extraordinarily vivid images of being fucked by another man. There! I’d used the word. I wanted to be fucked! Not ‘made love to’; not ‘seduced’. No, I wanted a strong, handsome man to fuck me, and if he had a huge cock then so much the better.

“It would be ok, you know,” Pete said so softly I didn’t hear properly.

“Hmm?”

“I said that it would be ok if you wanted to do it for real. With someone else if you promised to be honest and tell me all about it. It would be ok, you know!

“Pete,” I began. “Don’t spoil the moment by getting weird again.”

“You said you’d think about it,” he said almost accusingly.

“And I will... I am thinking about it,” I replied truthfully but not wanting him to know just how attractive the idea had now become. “Just don’t put pressure on me. Please, Pete.”

He went silent for a while but I could see the smile on his face broadening.

“Wouldn’t you worry that we’d split up? That you’d become cold and resentful or that I’d fall in love with him?” I asked as casually as I could, as if not intending the question to come out loud. “I know I would if you did it. I couldn’t handle it if you cheated, Pete.”

He paused before answering as if thinking hard.

“If we were open and honest about it, I could manage,” he said thoughtfully. “And I’m not asking to fuck other women in return. I’m not saying we should become swingers.” He thought for a moment. “I suppose it would be different if you had a one night stand with a stranger or an ongoing affair.”

“Which would turn you on the most?” I asked. He quickly turned towards me, his eyes bright and excited.

“You mean you’ll give it a try?” he demanded eagerly.

“No!” I quickly replied. “I’m just trying to understand you a bit better. It is a weird thing to ask, you know. I’m trying to get my mind around it.”

He rolled back onto his side of the bed and started at the ceiling, obviously disappointed.

“I’m not sure it would matter,” he said after a few moments, “if the man turned you on enough to let him fuck you, it would have to be ok with me.”

I stared blankly at the bedroom ceiling. Oh my God! Was my husband really, honestly trying to persuade me to take a lover? And was I really, honestly considering doing it?

What on earth was happening to me?