Waiting At Home Ch. 01

Being with me was love and security and belonging where being with him was lust, adventure and fleeting. We both understood this. She would have the physical pleasure while I waited at home alone with my thoughts and imagination, and I was fine with that too. I had absolutely no desire to be with another woman unless it was in a threesome with my wife, and even this would be more to cater to her curiosity than my physical desires. She was totally fine with keeping the fantasy a fantasy, then she met someone who pressed the right button. Not intentionally. I believe her when she said that it just happened, just like that. She felt something happening inside of her, like a door opening for the very first time. She couldn't put her finger on what it was about him, and he didn't come on to her in any obvious sexual way. They had spent two hours working together and discussing the artists and then just like that they looked at each and they both knew. She tried to explain it but couldn't. She just knew that the slut in her that was unleashed when we started reading cuckold/hot wife letters wanted to be naked and uninhibited with him, and the fact that he would be moving on the next morning just added to the excitement.

So what was it about husbands who enjoyed having their wives go off to have sex with other men? I could understand and even appreciate the voyeurs who got off watching their wives having sex with other men. And I could understand if I was a lousy lay, or had a tiny cock, or couldn't get my cock up, but that was most definitely not our situation. My cock perfectly fit Camille's cunt. We knew each other in every way. So all right, our sex life became a bit routine. But after ten years of marriage and being exclusive that was to be expected. So we talked and we fucked, then talked some more and fucked again, and the only thing that was decided was that she would go on her date and then come home to share the details with me. We would try this once and see where to go from there, and whatever happened we would work our way through it together. More than anything else we would continue our life's journey together every step of the way.

At work the next morning my mind kept wandering to what Camille. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? It was so hard for me to concentrate on work but I was scheduled to leave for Boston on Tuesday where I hoped to close on a deal I had been working on for several months, and that meant getting all the right numbers and pieces together. There was a time that morning when I was needed in the shop but I made some excuse why they would have to wait but in truth I had a raging hard-on and didn't want anyone to see it poking against my pants. And when I did get there I wondered what my employees would think if they knew that their boss's lovely wife would be meeting a strange man at his hotel later that night, and what would they think if they knew that she was going to suck and fuck him dry with my knowledge and support? There were six men and two women, all of them married, working on the prototype of a new product we planned to put into production if things went well in Boston. I wondered if any of these husbands fantasized about their wives fucking other men, or if any of them had actually experienced anything like it. And I wondered if the two wives shared their fantasies with their husbands, or if they ever had sex with anyone with or without hubby's knowledge? They showed me the problem they were having so we put our heads together and for three straight hours we were absorbed with one "what if we..." after another until we came up with modifications that would not only solve the problem but make the product that much better. That kind of team effort and problem solving was always exhilarating, so much so that it took my mind off Camille and when I looked up it was already time to leave.

The plan was for me to leave work early, pick the kids up at school and take them to spend the night with Camille's sister, then hurry home in time to watch her get ready for her date. By the time I got home I was so filled anticipation, angst and sexual tension that my jaws were clenched. I called out for Camille but got no answer so I went through the house looking for her. Her car was in the garage but she wasn't home. The showing was from seven to ten but as one of the hostesses she needed to be there by six-thirty. It wasn't quite four-thirty, plenty of time left for her to get ready, but where could she be? And of course my first thought was that she had gotten too horny and decided to go fuck him that afternoon. Then I realized that was something she just would not do without first letting me know. There were too many things all racing around in all directions blind inside my one skin. My wife was going to fuck another man while I waited at home alone with my thoughts and feelings. That thought was on my mind from the moment I drove off the company parking lot. At one time I wondered how disappointed Camille would be if I asked her to not go through with it.

I had to chill out, that's all there was to it. But how? That's when I remembered one of Camille's yoga and meditation exercises. I sat on a stool at our breakfast counter, closed my eyes and deliberately controlled my breathing to long, deep, measured breaths, in slowly and out just as slowly. I kept it up until I felt my jaws and shoulder muscles relax and my mind slow down. And when I opened my eyes Camille stood four feet in front of me. She wore a pink sweat suit, white and pink running shoes and a pink baseball cap. Her shoulder length light brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, her skin glowed, her green eyes sparkled but it was her smile that said all to be said about what she felt. She put her arms around my neck and kissed me long and fully on the lips. She told me that she was so horny that she used her vibrator to get herself off three times and even that didn't do it so she went for a quick three mile run to work off some of her sexual energy. And now that she was mellowed out and in control it was time to start getting ready, something she wanted to share with me, after all, this whole thing was for us. The "us" that began the day we shared our wedding vows, when the "you" and "me" forever became "us," when the "yours" and "mine" forever became "ours."

She led me by the hand up the stairs and into our bedroom where she asked me to remove her clothes. When she was naked, with her tiny pink nipples standing fully erect and a look of raw sexuality in her eyes she led me into our bathroom. While the tub filled with hot water and sandalwood scented bath oil she pressed her body fully to mine and we kissed. Long, deep kisses. With our eyes locked together as solidly as our lips had just been she lowered herself into the water and just lie there absorbing the heat and sensations Then she slowly and sensuously washed every part of her body, including her hair. She took her time shaving her armpits, her legs and, finally, her pussy lips. And as I watched I felt so totally in love with her.

This pretty, loyal, good natured and well meaning, sexy woman had stood shoulder to shoulder with ever since we moved into the same bedroom during our junior years in college. She was with me every step of the way as I built our company and she built our home, a place I couldn't wait to get to at the end of the business day. And in all that time though we sometimes had our disagreements and different opinions we had not one cross word for each other, not so much as one, not ever. She was always clean and fresh for me, which included neatly trimmed pubic hairs and smooth shaven pussy lips but at the moment she was preparing herself for another man to enjoy. Seeing the excitement in her smile and lust in her eyes by far overrode my twinges of jealousy that were part of the yin/yang feelings waging war inside of me.

She stood in the tub, blotted her hair as best she could then wrapped the towel around her head. Again her eyes locked with mine as she stepped out of the tub into the towel I held ready. I patted her dry everywhere, especially her pussy which was already a slightly deeper pink than usual. She had already had her nails done so she stood there looking at me in the mirror as I blow dried her hair. Then I followed her into our bedroom where she retrieved three packages from her side of our closet. She removed the items and placed them on our bed – a lacy/silky pair of black panties and matching bra, a lacy/silky black garter belt and black hose, and a black linen dress. With me sitting nearby on our bed she took her time arranging her hair – a part down the center and brushed straight down all around. She was 39, the same as me, and her skin was still clear and soft, with only slight traces of lines near the outside corners of her eyes, so she needed very little makeup to enhance her natural features. And even that was mostly near her eyes. She very carefully applied lipstick to the lush lips I for ten years adored seeing and feeling around my cock. The same full lips that later that night would cater to another man's cock.

She stood to examine her body in the mirror. Her 34B breasts had a trace of sag, not much, and her pink nipples were still rigid. Her belly had only the beginning of roundness, her hips were a bit wider than they were a few years back, and her ass was still round and firm. She looked great, the result of taking good care of her skin and regular workouts. She fastened her watch on her left wrist and checked the time – just after five – so she came to me, pressed my face to her breasts. She said that all she ever had to do was look into my eyes and know how loved and valued she was and that was all she ever needed to keep her being and doing her very best for her husband and kids. She loved and respected me beyond what words could even begin to describe and as late as noon the day before the thought of actually having sex with anyone but me was beyond her grasp. She loved the games we played, and the sassy and nasty pretended "doings" that grew from our fantasy. And she loved how aroused I got, and the great sex we had that came from it. But it was fantasy. It wasn't real. But what lay before us was real. She knew with every fiber of her being that she truly, actually wanted to fuck another man. To really fuck him. To suck his cock and sit on his face. And to do so until her pussy was swollen, sore and purple. Maybe when the time came she would chicken out, though she doubted it.

Then she eased my head away from her fleshy little 34B tits just enough to look into my eyes and said that if this was something I couldn't handle all I had to do was say so, and that would be the end of it. My feelings and well-being were far more important to her than this ache in her pussy. I told her that I had jealousy and insecurity pangs and second thoughts as well as a very strong want for her to do it – freely and without guilt – to go for the gusto with this guy almost fifteen years younger than her. I told her that my cock had been rock hard and throbbing since fucking her before going to work. I knew that I was in for an emotional roller coaster ride from the time her car pulled out of the garage until it returned. I also reminded her that no matter what we would work through things together and that, deep down in my being, I had this sense that this would somehow make our marriage even stronger. Where that came from I had no idea but it was something I definitely sensed.

"Yes, my love, I want you to take this from fantasy to reality – for the both of us," I said evenly. She pulled my face back to her breasts once more and let out an audible sigh. I felt her rigid nipple and softness of her left breast but mostly I heard her heart beating wildly in her chest.

She eased herself away to fasten her garter belt around her waist, then sat next to me on the edge of the bed and eased her seamless black hose in place, first the left leg then the right. And as she did this she told me that she gave a lot of thought to sucking me off before she did her makeup, and that she decided against it so as to not dissipate my sexual tension. This had something to do with a letter written by a hot wife she read online, about how much she loved the freedom to fuck other men as much as she did the actual fucking, and how part of that pleasure had to do with knowing that her husband was at home dealing with his jealousy and insecurity which were key elements to his arousal and pleasure, so much so that by the time she got home he had her on the floor within feet of her getting through the door and fucking with a passion bordering on rage. Only then did they go to bed and make love as she described in detail what she did with the other man.

The woman would have the sex and the pleasure and enjoyment thereof. That was easy to understand. But the man's pleasure and enjoyment was too complex to understand by reading letters, especially since the great majority of these letters focused on the woman's activities and not on the man's time alone with his thoughts and feelings. Camille didn't pretend to understand it from the husband point of view any more than I did but what she knew for certain was that I would get a lot of pleasure and satisfaction from her pleasure.

With her hose fastened in place she stood and stepped into her scanty panties, the kind cut high up on the hip and covered a bit less than half of her cheeks, and as she did this she smiled at me and said I was in for everything that comes with being a cuckold. Also, at least hopefully, she was in for everything that comes with being a hot wife. Then she put her new black lacy/silky bra in place and fastened the hook. Her tits were not real small nor were they by any means large. They were simply the prefect size and shape for her 5'4' one hundred and forty pound body. Her sexy bra seemed so tiny, had only the one hook, but it covered just enough of her perky tits to uplift and keep them in place.

She went to stand before the mirror to look herself over. Then came the plain little black linen dress. It fit just tightly enough to hug her every curve and dimple, and was cut about one inch above her knees and swooped down across her chest to provide the barest glimpse of her cleavage. It wasn't the sexiest dress she could have bought but then she was a happily married and respected woman contributing her time at our community arts expo simply to help promote and support our local artists. Many of our neighbors and friends would be there and the fact that she ached to fuck a young gallery owner from out-of-town was not to be even suggested much less advertised. As I zipped her dress up at the back I realized that another man's hand would soon enough be unzipping it. Then I fastened the antique necklace made of small and delicate pearls that her grandmother left her around her neck and we stood side by side admiring what we saw in the mirror. She looked elegant and classy and, to anyone who knew what to look for, totally sexy. She would look and play the part of the proper and respectful volunteer hostess perfectly, and to the young man who so admired her in the worn and faded blue jeans and old sleeveless jersey blouse she wore to move pedestals, put tables up and hang paintings the previous day she would look simply delicious and totally irresistible.

We went downstairs and sat facing each other at the breakfast counter sipping wine, looking into each other's eyes, smiling. She asked if I was jealous and I said yes, but not because she would fuck somebody before returning home. I was jealous because she looked so beautiful and desirable that I wanted to have her in every way, right there and then. That wasn't about to happen, after all, she really was needed to work the art expo. But she would come straight home afterwards if that was what I really wanted. I told her that the wanton look in her eyes was altogether too intense to expend on something she could have any time she wanted at home, and that whatever it was going on inside her that created that look had to be satisfied in an equally wanton and taboo way. We already knew that three hundred tickets were sold for the expo and that more would be sold at the door. I wondered aloud how many of those husbands fantasized about their wives having sex with other men, and how many of the wives had sex with other men with or without their spouses' knowledge, and how many of the wives there would actually have sex with another man before the night was over. Camille had no idea about the first two but surely there would be some in each. She did know about the latter. She knew for sure that there would be one happily and securely married wife there who would have sex with another man, and that wife didn't have to cheat because she had her loving husband's knowledge and support.

We went to her car and as she got in I noticed her wedding ring. The simple gold band I bought for $80 dollars at a discount store back when that was an enormous sum of money for me. I since bought her a very expensive diamond ring but she never wore it. That plain ring I put on her finger the day we married, which she never removed, not for any reason, was worth more to her than all the diamonds in the world. There she was, my wife, wearing totally sexy/femmy undies beneath a dress that so nicely complimented her understated elegance, backing her car down the driveway. The car turned onto the street, she waved at me then drove off beyond my line of sight. She was on her way to do community service work and from there to a hotel to have a drink with a man fifteen years her junior and, judging by the intense sexual energy they wordlessly communicated to each other, to his room to explore and satisfy their desires.

I changed into a sweat suit, put some money in my pocket, put my running shoes on and left to dissipate some of the intense energy that left me with clenched jaws and a tossing feeling in the pit of my stomach. I ran then walked then ran then walked until seven thirty. I was out of gas but at least I felt more relaxed. The art expo would be in full swing and Camille would be working the room, so to speak. She had learned from previous showings that art buyers had to be "romanced" into putting their money in the till. That meant schmoozing and interpreting the meaning and essence of the art pieces. I thought it was pretentious and ego-massaging but Camille understood and appreciated these airs far better than I did. I went into a neighborhood sports bar that served cold beer and great sandwiches. There was a good crowd but I had no problem finding a small out-of-the-way table where I could be by myself. I ordered a beer and a corned beef sandwich and tried to get into the baseball game showing on the big screen TV.

I looked at my watch. It was twenty to eight, more than two hours before the showing closed for the night. Plenty of time to call Camille if the part of me that leaned toward backing out won over the part of me that wanted her to go through with it. I knew she would call it off if I asked but what would that disapointment do to her? To our marriage? In a way it was my fault, first for bringing that copy of Varieties into our home and, second, letting my fantasy of her being wanton with another man develop to that level of arousal and excitement. But then we both so thoroughly enjoyed and benefited from that fantasy, something that lasted for eight months before it began to wane. My mind went back and forth as I nibbled my way through half on my sandwich. I tried to get into the game but all I could think about was my wife. Was she flirting with the guy? Maybe I should go over there and sneak a peek? I looked at my watch again – only eight-thirty. Ninety minutes before it was time for her to take that first step toward becoming a hot wife. How excited was she? Could others see in her green eyes what I saw? This was our community. We were dug in here. People knew us. What if anyone found out?