Monterey

It wasn't something that began slowly, gaining significance and momentum over a long period of time, but rather, it was like an epiphany of sorts. One day—actually, it was at night—the notion suddenly occurred to me: Of all the sexual fantasies that had ever inhabited my brain, the one that excited me the most, by far, was that of my wife being fucked by another man, while I watched.

I knew at the time of this thoughtful revelation, that such a fantasy was much more commonplace than people readily admitted; it was hardly something most husbands would be sharing with pollsters. I had read and heard of such fantasies in magazines and other media, so when the concept occasionally crept into my head during times of sexual arousal, I chalked it off to flights of fancy that people often take to stimulate their flagging libidos, or enhance the ones they already had. It wasn't really so different from the widely held suspicion that women stereotypically fantasize about being taken forcibly by a stranger, or getting soundly banged by a black man with a large penis. These were fantasies that, by their very nature, were forbidden thoughts that provoked a sexual response, but rarely had any foundation in reality. Not that it couldn't happen, just that the fantasies were only that, like the momentary urge to murder someone that has violated your world in some way. It felt good to think it at the time, but that's as far as it ever went.

I suppose I can attribute the actual moment of epiphany to the night when the fantasy of sharing Lisa was for whatever reason more stimulating than usual for me. Without intending to elicit any particular response from her, but simply to enhance the excitement I was feeling at the moment, I happened to broach the subject for the first time when we were actively engaged in a Mister and Missus.

"Honey, do women really fantasize about other men when they're doing it with their husbands?"

"Huh?"

"You know, do wives secretly imagine that it's another man doing it to them? Right then?"

She was concentrating on getting off, and I had interrupted her focus, I guess.

"Uh, yeah, I guess some do. I don't know. Come on, I'm almost there!"

I went ahead and brought her off, not wanting to spoil the mood. But I then dropped down to administer a little oral stimulation so I could continue the conversation.

"I just wondered if women would really enjoy having sex with other men, if they knew it wouldn't jeopardize their marriage."

"Oh, God, Bill. The thoughts you have sometimes."

"I just wanted to know, that's all."

"Just keep doing what you're doing. It feels so good."

I did, but I also kept the subject in play.

"Everybody has fantasies when they're having sex, I was just curious if women . . . wives . . . think about other men. If it turns them on."

"Probably."

"What, like getting fucked, or getting eaten out, or . . .?"

"Damn it, Bill, how would I know what they think about?"

"Well, do you . . . ever think about it?"

"Think about what?" She was becoming agitated . . . or was it stimulated? Her body was reacting to our exchange. I couldn't seem to let the matter drop, not when I was getting a response.

"Another man fucking you, or eating you. You know, just as a fantasy."

"Maybe. But that's my business, not any of yours!"

"Honey, it doesn't bother me at all if you do. I just wanted to know, that's all."

"Well, now you know. Maybe sometimes I do. But it's not anyone I know, or you know. It's just a body without a face. So please forget it and make love to me."

"Okay. But it does turn me on knowing that you have those kinds of thoughts. It really does."

Lisa soon climaxed against my mouth. And when I resumed fucking her, she came bigger than usual. As did I. It was then that I knew it was more than a flight of fancy just for me: it was a very possible maybe.

Once the significance of it sunk in, it became deeply etched in my brain that there was no greater stimulus for me than the goal of transforming the maybe into a real possibility.

I didn't want to risk alienating Lisa by hounding her with my new-found obsession, so I didn't bring it up at every opportunity. But I did mention it every so often, at strategic moments, and more often than not received a positive and encouraging response. I knew it turned her on to think about it, it was just a matter of bringing it closer to a level of acceptability.

After so many times subtly broaching the subject with her when we were having sex, I had it down to a near science, as to what to say and when to say it, to yield the greatest response. Even so, I was a little surprised, pleasantly, when her response this particular evening was far more positive than ever before, as I murmured the usual words while eating her towards her first orgasm. Perhaps the three glasses of wine helped her to be more open.

She was moaning softly when I said, between oral applications to her wetness, "Do you really think about someone else doing this to you?"

"Mmmm."

"Well, do you? Some good- looking guy that knows how to do it?"

"Mmmm, maybe," she murmured back.

"Does it make you wet when you think about it?"

"Sometimes." She wasn't real verbose at times like this.

She was working up to a pretty good pop when I asked, "You ever think about it when you're alone, touching yourself?"

"Uh, uh . . . don't stop . . . keep . . . yeah, like that."

"Answer me, and I'll keep doing it."

"Oh, God, yes . . . I sometimes think . . . unh . . . about . . . it . . . unh . . . unh, unh ,unh . . . Oh, shit!" She spasmed, her lower body and legs shaking through her first of the evening.

I waited a few moments before I resumed my licking, knowing that she's a little sensitive down there for a minute or so after coming. She continued to purr softly, but said nothing.

"Do you come good when you think about it?" I said as I began mouthing her again.

"Sometimes. Does that surprise you?"

"No. In fact, it excites me."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. A lot."

She giggled softly, then continued breathing heavily.

"Is it anyone we know?"

"Who?"

"The guy that's eating you and making you come."

"Nobody in particular. You know, just a faceless guy that makes it feel real good. I've told you before that my fantasies . . . those kind . . . that the guy doesn't have . . . a face . . . I can see."

"You like getting eaten out, don't you?"

She began to squirm. "No shit."

I held off further Q&A for the time being, allowing her to buck through another one, this time a little more intense and loud.

The next stage in our routine was for me to lie back on the bed and she'd give me some oral attention in return. She was on her knees next to my left hip, leaning over and sucking up and down over the head as her right hand stroked the length, while her left cradled and fondled my balls.

After a minute or so, I resumed my patter.

"You ever think about doing that to your faceless guy, you know, to return the favor?"

She took her mouth off it briefly to answer. "Yeah, sometimes."

"Do you make him come? Doing that to him?"

She giggled again, "No silly, I want him to fuck me first!"

I sat up, pulling my throbbing boner from her lips. "Like this?" I flipped her over and buried myself in her in a pair of seconds.

I was fucking her missionary style, which was the easiest position to carry on a conversation. The next easiest was her on top, facing me, but that usually came later.

"You know, you're getting me really hot," I said.

"Oh? Why?" She teased me to the point of distraction with her feigned innocence.

She was building up to another orgasm.

"Hearing about you getting eaten, then blowing some guy, then having him fuck you. I mean, jeez, what do you expect?"

"He's not real, though, just someone I fantasize about."

"So it's always the same faceless stranger?"

"No, not all the time."

"Christ, Lisa, you're gonna make me come just talking about it!"

"Oh, yeah?" Some more teasing, and it was working.

"Oh, shit, I gotta stop before I come!"

"Hey, what about me?" she protested, as I climbed off and lay back alongside her.

"I'll give you some more, but first let me rest a little; otherwise it'll be all over."

I reached over and played with her wet and open pussy, just to keep her in the mood. Once she started squirming a little, I started talking again.

"You have no idea how turned on you make me."

"Is that so bad?"

"Of course not. So, you fantasize about different guys on occasion?"

"Yeah, a few."

"Anyone we know?"

She paused far too long before saying, "No comment." At least she was being honest. She could have said they were all faceless, but with different bodies and skills for the specific need at the moment. But she didn't. That was a positive sign.

She looked at me for a few moments, then said, "You're not going to lay there and tell me you don't fantasize about being with other women."

"Of course I do. But . . . look, can I be honest with you?"

""You'd better be," she said with affected menace in her voice and expression.

"Actually . . . most of my fantasies are about men . . ."

"Bill!"

". . . with you."

She laid there speechless for a few beats, probably thinking about what I said and enjoying what my fingers were doing to her. Then she sat up and reached for her wine glass from the nightstand, draining it.

"Here," she said in a half-serious tone, "fill it up. I think I need it."

I returned with full glasses for both of us, then laid back down. I returned to the vaginal caresses I'd abandoned two minutes before.

"Honey, you know I've mentioned how the thought of you with other men is a turn-on for me."

"Yeah, but I didn't realize it turned you on so much. Plus, I figured it was just some good old healthy fantasizing, something to put a little extra oomph in our lovemaking."

"Fantasizing about situations like that when you know it could never . . . would never happen, is one thing. But my mental scenarios are more real, like it could happen. And that's what excites me so much―imagining, even hoping that it will happen."

"Bill, I know you too well to believe that you'd ever let me go out and screw some guy behind your back. You'd never forgive me for it."

"See, that's not what I'm saying. I want to watch you do it!"

"Watch me . . . watch . . . some guy . . . fuck me?" Her protestations failed to hide the fact that she had gotten noticeably hotter and wetter under the caresses of my fingers.

"Would that be so bad?"

"I could never do that!"

"Why?"

"Well . . . for one thing, I love you, and you take good care of me in bed. I don't need anyone else."

"Don't get me wrong, but don't the fantasies about other guys give you a little boost when we have sex?"

"Well, yeah, but . . . but they're just that―fantasies. Ooh, now I'm sorry I ever said anything to you about it."

"Look, if you knew without a doubt that I would enjoy the hell out it, and wouldn't be jealous in the slightest, wouldn't you at least admit that it would be a turn-on for you? Having some guy coming unglued as he's pounding the shit out of you?"

"Maybe, but I just can't believe you'd sit there and watch him do it . . . watch me do it, and not be pissed."

"Lisa, I haven't even scratched the surface on how much of a turn-on it is for me to imagine you horny and wet and squealing with excitement as some guy is between your legs giving you exactly what makes you come big."

She lay there, not talking, the topic spinning around in her head.

I withdrew my finger and replaced it with my own fully erect example of how turned-on I was. She responded slowly at first, then with greater zeal.

"Honey, I mean it. I want it so much I can hardly think about anything else. I've felt that way for quite a while now."

She was not as quick with her responses now, letting my comments sink in before opening her mouth.

Finally, "And just who would this other guy be, might I ask?"

I poked her a few good ones, getting a physical reaction.

"Remember the spa at the hotel in Monterey? And the one in Scottsdale? You didn't take off your suit just because the water was too warm. You didn't sit there with your breasts and pussy bared for anyone to see who happened to walk by. How about how hot the sex was for us in the spa, and when we got back to our room?"

"Yeah, okay. I had too much wine, and I was feeling a little frisky. So where does this other guy come in?"

"Okay, just close your eyes and imagine this." I continued to bang her as I spoke.

"You and I are in the spa, naked, with our glasses of wine within reach, and you're feeling frisky, which we both know means horny. Some good-looking man walks up and asks if he could join us. He slips off his suit and he's already beginning to swell. You can't help but to look. And he's checking you out, too. With the spa light, and no jets or bubbles, the water is as clear as glass. Even as we're making small talk with the guy, you can see him getting bigger. He's still not looking at your eyes. And you're getting wetter, and I don't mean your skin. You reach over and have another healthy sip of wine. Your face is getting warmer, and you suddenly become aware that your nipples are erect. Follow so far?"

She answered by firing off a very large orgasm and a stifled shriek. I think she consciously tried to stifle it because she didn't want her response to give away the fact that what I was saying was exciting her. I didn't wait the customary minute or so before continuing.

"At the same time, I slide a little closer to you and begin to play with your breasts, as though the guy wasn't even there. But we both know he is, and he's getting harder by the minute. You can barely keep your eyes off it. I kiss you very deep as my hand goes to your legs, which part slightly to allow me access. All the time he's watching . . . and wanting."

"Wanting?" she said with an underlying hunger in her voice, barely louder than a hoarse whisper.

"You. He wants to eat you, and fuck you."

"Oh, God, Bill, you're making me so horny!"

"Imagine how horny you'd be at that moment, in the spa, with a man already stiff as a board, he wants to fuck you so bad."

"And . . .?"

"I whisper in your ear, and you whisper in my ear. I tell the guy that we both have to use the bathroom in the worst way, but we'll be right back. I ask him if we can bring him back a glass of wine, to which he probably says yes. You climb out of the spa, still nude, and wrap a towel around you, and I do the same. We leave our suits laying there and walk back to our room."

I saw her expression turn quizzical. "Huh? I don't get it."

"Once we get to the room, we can see if we're in agreement that he's the one. If so, I walk back down to the spa and tell him that we'd like him to join us in our room for some wine."

"But won't he know that we're . . . you know, what we're up to?"

"Of course. If he didn't, he'd have to have shit for brains. That's the whole idea. As he walks with me back to our room, he'll know that he's gonna get lucky. And if he plays dumb, I'll simply tell him flat out that you want to fuck his brains out."

That was all it took for both of us. We crested at the same time, shuddering, shaking and groaning with unprecedented explosions of naked lust.

I knew that I'd have to bring up the subject again in the days to come, but waited until Lisa had her glasses of wine and we were in a mood for lovemaking. It might have been several days after the momentous occasion when we had discussed it, but when I broached the subject, it was as though it had only been minutes.

"So, have I convinced you that I wouldn't be pissed, or in any way show any jealousy?" I said suddenly, right in the middle of tonguing her clit.

She paused before replying, her hips squirming slightly in reaction to my tongue and my question.

"I don't know. I have a feeling that you'd be bringing it up later, you know, throwing it in my face . . . what I did. And that bothers me . . . a lot."

"All I can say is, you have my word that I wouldn't, no matter what. Look, let me ask you—do you like to get eaten out?"

"You know I do."

"And do you enjoy a stiff prick inside you?"

"Bill, I don't understand what . . . "

"Answer the question," I said rather sharply.

"Okay, yes, I enjoy a stiff prick."

"Do you remember how it felt when you had sex with some guy for the first time? Like when you were in high school, or college, when you were dating before you and I got together?"

"Uh, yeah, of course."

"How it was ten times more exciting that first time, knowing that some guy was going to fuck you that you'd never been with before?"

"Okay, I'm beginning to see where you're going with this."

"What I'm saying is you are going to get eaten and fucked by some guy that you've never been with before, and it's going to make you hornier and wetter than you've been in a long time."

"You seem pretty sure of that. How can you know for sure?"

"For one thing, it will be someone you agree beforehand is someone you would like to have sex with. Unless you agree, it'll never happen. And . . . and the sex will be preceded by you being naked in front of him in the spa. Now you can't deny that that would be a turn-on for you, in and of itself."

"Well, I suppose, but . . . "

"But nothing. Whether you want to admit it or not, when you've had more than a few glasses of wine, and we're away from home with a nice sparkling spa beckoning to you, you suddenly grow horns!"

"You complaining? I mean I seem to recall you got pretty excited by the whole thing."

"Exactly. That's what I'm trying to get across to you. It excites me to see you get naked like that, where others can see, and how horny it makes you while you're doing it. And it's not just because I like to see you naked, which I obviously do, but rather it turns me on to have you do it so other men can see you. Don't forget that each and every time you've gone naked like that, it's been your idea, not something I had to talk you into. To take it a step further, it turns me on to imagine what affect it has on the guys looking at you. If it was me doing the looking, at some other guy's wife who was naked like that for me to see, I can guarantee I'd be getting hard."

"You would, huh?"

"You better believe it. Look, remember that couple that joined us in the spa that night in Scottsdale?"

"Of course."

"Tell me you didn't notice that the guy was getting a boner sitting there."

She giggled at that. "Yeah, it was kinda hard to miss, don'tcha think? And I seem to remember you sitting there with your own woody for all to see."

"As if you didn't tease the hell out of me later because of it. Anyway, he wasn't getting hard because of his wife. It was because of you. Despite his wife sitting there right next to him, he was still getting erect. Now can you imagine what a single guy sitting there would have done? With no wife to answer to? Huh?"

Lisa sighed and squirmed a little more under my tongue and fingers, which had continued to caress her throughout our little exchange.

"Come on, Lisa, what do you think his response would have been to you, just sitting there a few feet away, looking at your body, your breasts . . . your pussy? Not to mention the effect of your looking at him, as well."

"Well, I guess he might get a little excited."

"And why would he get excited?"

"Well, duh."

"No, I mean, other than looking at a naked, beautiful woman sitting a few feet away, why would his body react like that?"

"Because I am sitting a few feet away . . . and I'm naked! What are you trying to get at?"