A Favor for My Wife

My wife loves to come. I love making her come. A match made in heaven. Recently, though, there's been trouble in paradise. Surgery rid me of cancer but left me with a dysfunctional cock. I could still get her off with my fingers and tongue, and we own a couple of vibrators that do the job nicely. Like the majority of women, thrusting doesn't make her orgasm, much as she enjoys it. So, she keeps telling me she's okay.

I wish I could say the same. I'd never realized how much I love the sheer act of fucking her. Ploughing my hard cock in and out of her wet pussy feels great for me, but what I miss even more is watching her tits bounce, hearing her gasps and moans, seeing her face flush with pleasure. My doctor said my erections might return, eventually. She made a point of taking her birth control pill in front of me each day, saying it was because she has faith I might be back at any time.

I'm not sure I share her confidence, but it gave me an idea.

We've never had what you'd call an open marriage, but a few years ago, my wife did have an online affair. What made it hot instead of threatening was the way she kept me informed at every step. Her virtual sexcapade started with a work assignment to do a project via email with a guy in the Midwest. After a few weeks she told me, somewhat sheepishly, that they'd been flirting, and she hadn't exactly mentioned that she was married. I smiled and shrugged. A week later she said he now knew she was married, but they were enjoying it so much neither wanted to stop. I smiled again. The next week she asked if I was okay with them doing a virtual hookup session. That meant they'd email back and forth about exactly what they were doing to each other. "Fine with me," I said. "And in case you're worried it bothers me...." I grabbed her hand and held it to my crotch so she could feel how hard her mere suggestion had made me (those were the days).

That weekend she brought me a printout of their session. It turned us both on so much we spent the afternoon fucking our brains out. I figured that, if he got to jerk off over my wife's emails, no harm done.

Last week, I pulled the printout from the drawer of my bed table (I liked to jerk off to it, too, back in the day) and got his address. I contacted him and explained what was going on and the favor I wanted him to do. I capped it off by offering to buy a plane ticket.

On Friday I was cooking my wife's favorite dinner and pouring champagne when she got home from work, wearing a constricting, conservative business suit and clunky heels. She ducked into our bedroom and a couple minutes later padded out barefoot in skinny jeans and a flimsy t-shirt with nothing underneath. She sipped champagne as I plated the crab cakes. After we ate, we kissed. Then we sank to the floor, making out. I stripped her t-shirt over her head and sucked on her erect nipples. She sighed and moaned. When I put my hand between her legs, I could feel her wetness through the denim. She purred and reached down to unbutton her fly. "Go down on me," she whispered, urgently.

I suggested we go into the guest room. She looked a little confused but I swiftly helped her up and led her through the door. I stepped aside, revealing her surprise: her email friend stretched out on the bed, naked as a Playgirl centerfold.

I watched her face move from surprise to recognition. They hadn't met IRL but had traded photos. The first ones had been clothed. He'd replied with an admiring comment about her "blue-jeaned ass," so she sent him another, a mirror selfie, sans jeans. (She only told me after, but I would've given her a thumbs up.) What could he do but respond in kind? Now she had no trouble placing his gym-toned muscles, curlicue tattoos, and healthy-sized cock.

My wife looked at me, questioning. I placed my hand on her famous blue-jeaned ass and walked her over to him. "I love you," I said as I kissed her. "And you need a cock that works." I stepped back. He sat up. She had a bewildered but happy look on her face. He took her cheeks between his palms and pulled her in for a kiss. Their hands explored each other's bodies. He skillfully massaged the muscles of her back, eliciting sighs that sounded as if they were already having sex. She whispered, "I can't believe we're doing this," then grasped his semi-hard cock and squeezed. It sprang to life quickly (sigh). He finished unbuttoning her jeans and slid them down and off. She pumped his cock, causing him to groan. Then she took him into her mouth.

I could fully appreciate the smile on his face, having enjoyed her skills so many times. He laid back. Her moist lips kept working his cock as she climbed onto the bed beside him. He guided her ass onto his face and started eating her pussy. She sucked him noisily. A perfect 69. The were soon both moaning and gasping. Who would come first was a toss-up. Then she took his cock out of her mouth. With a quick glance at me -- definitely not asking permission, just checking you might say -- she said, "I wanna feel you inside me." They flipped over. She spread her legs. He got on his knees, the tip of his cock just touching her glistening pussy.

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you," he said.

"Oh, yeah, gimme that dick," she replied.

I recognized those lines from their email. Only this time, instead of his typing "I thrust my hard cock deep into your wet tunnel" and her typing "I gasp as you plough deeper into me than any man has ever gone," they simply did it. I watched, entranced, as she writhed on his cock.

Everything I'd been missing was on display. Each thrust he launched into her brought a cry or moan or gasp, even the occasional giggle. She wrapped her beautiful legs around him and locked her sexy feet behind his butt to draw him deeper. "Oh, fuck," she said, sounding nearly delirious. "Shit, shit that feels good."

Her eyes got wide, then shut tight. Her mouth stretched into in that pre-orgasmic grimace that looks equally like pain and pleasure. She gasped out the words I loved: "So big! So deep!" She wasn't saying them to me, now, but they still hit me in the gut like a bass guitar note in a heavy metal banger.

Watching them fuck was the most erotic thing I've ever seen. I was weirdly aware that I had a better view of her pleasure when I wasn't doing the fucking myself. I felt deeply turned on, yet my cock got only barely tumescent. Whether I was experiencing pleasure or torture, I still can't say.

My wife's face showed only pure bliss. Then she opened her eyes, looking suddenly worried. She made eye contact with me. "I wanna come on his fucking cock, honey," she gasped. (I should mention she never swears much unless she's either pissed off or aroused. It wasn't difficult to discern which it was this time.) "Can you deal with that? Can I come all over his fucking cock?"

I smiled. She was caught up in a passion I couldn't match, but I tried my best. "It would be fucking beautiful. You're fucking beautiful."

She spread her legs wider, letting his dick probe her pussy even more deeply and allowing her to reach down and rub her clit while he continued to thrust. After a few minutes, her whole body tensed and quivered. She threw her head back and screamed out an orgasm that seemed to roll on and on. Her toes curled and locked together as she clung to him. He could barely move, but he managed a couple of rough hip thrusts that triggered his own orgasm. His ass cheeks squeezed repeatedly as he moaned and cursed and pumped what I could only assume was a massive load of cum into her pussy.

They stayed like that, sweaty bodies fused, for several minutes. Finally, he slid off her. As his dick plopped out, a stream of white cream ran out of her pussy and dribbled down her leg. She swung her feet onto the floor and stepped over to me in a wobbly gate. Steadying herself with her arms around my shoulders, she planted a kiss on my lips. Her tongue explored my mouth as I reached into the warm sauna between her legs. I slid my finger into her sopping pussy, oozing with her cum and his.

Finally, she leaned back and caught her breath. "Jesus, babe, you're the best husband ever." I could only smile like an idiot. "I have two questions. First," she said, looking at me, "Did you love it?" She got her answer in the look on my face. "I can't tell you how glad I am to know that."

Then she turned to her friend on the bed. "And for you: How long can you stay?"