Lusting after George Pt. 01

"It isn't him. It is me." Angela, my beautiful young wife.

I nod. Not saying much. Just listening to her admit to "impure thoughts". Her words, not mine rising out of a puritanical upbringing.

"I can't help myself. Every time I see him, I just...." Her words trail away, ambushed I suppose by the emotions I can see raging across her face.

Human emotions and lust were not something covered in the curriculum when the training of Sunday School teachers. And certainly not in the Angela's upbringing. Prayer and Bible reading do not help when your hormones start to demand attention.

I had known about her attitude to sex and sensuality, "vice" as she called it before I married her but I loved her all the same. I will admit to having peaked behind the curtain of purity and godliness and seen something totally different. On two occasions before we were married, kisses became fevered and she allowed liberties with her body to which she responded to with a great deal of enthusiasm. It was the next day that that saw her repentant and angry at me for leading her from the "paths of righteousness". The first time, she made me swear that I would respect her purity or else face banishment. The second time she was the aggressor taking a chaste kiss on the lips to the point where she had my cock in her hand. Fearful of pregnancy or banishment I dissuaded her from going any further. It did not stop her from blaming me for her "sin" the next day and refusing to see me for a week while she "prayed and asked for forgiveness".

It was this incident that almost caused me to break off the engagement and head for greener pastures. Was it worth it? Did I love her sufficiently to adjust to her principles, live with her controlled sexuality? I agonised over the question and finally decided that I could, with the hidden hope that marriage would undo the puritanical rules she lived by.

I was only slightly right. Once we were married our sex life was lively but kept strictly within boundaries. No doggy style, missionary only. No oral sex. Bedroom only. Mutual masturbation was out too except as foreplay so getting her to orgasm was a exercise in complex negotiations. She never even mentioned anal and I never raised the topic knowing full well the reaction would be fierce and we would mired in a fierce confrontation that would roll on for days.

All of which is seriously frustrating because Angela is a beautiful woman. Blonde hair that, when loosed from its tight bun hangs down to the middle of her back, a pair of blue eyes to drown in and a body curved and just built for sensuality. Perfect breasts and a sweet, plump pussy that begs to be eaten.

Two years passed and we had settled into married life with a carefully ring fenced sex life. Of major concern to her was the lack of babies. It seemed that the only reason for sex was procreation anything else was sinful indulgence but the procreation thing had not happened and she was hugely distressed by the whole issue.

Actually she had started to thaw a bit in the last few months for which I was very grateful. I had put it down to her desperate need to fall pregnant.

George, the object of our discussion is an old friend of mine we went to the same school, had the same hobbies and interests. We hiked and surfed together for years. We had also shared girlfriends and lovers. George was politely dismissive of Angela. Told me I was making a bad mistake marrying her and that I would regret it.

The current tearful confession was prompted by me very casually commenting on the way she watched George when he was visiting. To me it was not surprising. George has this electricity about him that seem to attract women. Problem is, George is a philander of epic proportions his first marriage lasted about 8 months and ended up because he was bedding the neighour. Right now he is dating a voluptuous red head with large breasts, flashing grey eyes and sexual energy that overflowed any room she was in. The idea of them fucking brought visions of over the top sensuality. I must admit to being a bit jealous and had a couple of times fantasised about spraying cum across her breasts and face, while George fucked her. Something we had done to others when we were younger.

So when I remarked about Angela "perving" over George, I was not jealous, just amused that my straight laced wife was having lecherous ideas about my best friend.

"But", said a voice in my head, "something must have triggered this situation." so I decided that maybe I could work a change in our sex life if I could get Angela to admit that she had strayed physically rather than just mentally so I asked, "George getting to you? has he been flirting with you?"

Which prompted the the confession that it was her, not him that triggered the obsession.

"You just want to drag him into a dark corner and ravish him?"

"Yes." A shuddering pause.

"What triggered that idea?"

Silence, then eventually. "It was his birthday party. I had drunk a glass of wine too many. He was in the kitchen alone and I decided, foolishly to give him a birthday kiss. He kissed me on the lips, then slid his hands across my body and I didn't stop him. It was so sensual. And then he slid his hand up my skirt and before I knew what was happening, I was grinding myself against him. I was wet and wanting him to go all the way. Then..."

"And then?" I prompted.

"Then he let me go, stepped back and told me that I should ask you before we went any further."

"And you didn't."

"No! How could I? I was shocked at what I had done. I was afraid you would divorce me. Leave me. and I couldn't risk that. So I didn't ask and I didn't tell you."

"Has he said anything about the incident since then?"

"No. He hasn't and he stays well clear of me. And I just want him to touch me again. I can't help it. I lust after him like a slut. I have even fantasized about him."

She sits there quietly, face in her hands, gently weeping.

Then:

"Please don't leave me. Please don't hate me. I am sorry. I am confused. This should never have happened. Don't leave me. Please. I will do anything to make things right."

I looked at my beautiful wife, tears running down her face and wonder if I can change our direction.

"You insisted that we follow your "rules" when it came to sexuality?"

A nod.

"OK, and how are those rules working for you?"

Silence.

"Hurting you?"

A nod.

"Maybe we need to change those rules to make life better?"

Silence.

"Lets take this slowly. Lets pretend that I am George the next time we make love. You call me George and you imagine it is him not me making love to you."

"You are mad! I can't do that!"

"You haven't been fantasizing about him when we make love? Especially after he touched you up and got you hot and bothered?"

She doesn't answer but the rising tide of blush is sufficient of an answer. I don't say anything. Just wait. It takes a few minutes when she starts to weep quietly.

"I am sorry. I cannot help myself. He just intrudes the whole time. It is awful. I don't know what to do about it."

"Personally, I would say do precisely nothing. In fact I insist that you allow those fantasies to run riot in your head."

"Why?"

"I wondered what had got into you just recently. Your enthusiasm in bed has gone into overdrive."

I didn't think that she could blush any brighter, but she achieved it.

"Oh, God!" she said quietly. "I am so, so sorry."

"I am not. I have been scoring big time recently, thanks to George and your fantasies about him. I had wondered what had fired your imagination."

"You bastard!" she snarls and storms out of the lounge.

For the next few days things are tense. I am super friendly, loving and attentive. Roses, compliments, gentle kisses on the neck which I know she loves.

Slowly she thawed and by Friday evening she was returning gentle caresses and mild intimacies.

This thaw continued for about a month and on pay day as was our usual habit, we went out on a "date night".

We had dinner at her favourite restaurant, had a bottle of her favourite wine and unusually for her, she had a sherry after dinner so by the time we got in the back of a taxi to go home, she was decidedly touchy feely. Halfway home we got into a clinch that I suspected might get really serious if we were not so close to home. As it was the driver managed not to leer at Angela, gave me a huge wink and drove off with a cheerful wave.

As I unlocked the door, I got the idea that now was the time to become George. George was always direct and would unabashedly grope a woman if she gave him any encouragement at all. He had been slapped a number of times too. Not as many as I would have expected though. The women loved George. Dirty philanderer that he was.

So I ushered my rather tipsy wife inside, locked the door and without any of my usual careful preparation, I grabber her round the waist, kissed her hard and slid my hand up her dress. Which is when I found out that things had changed. Goody goody Angela who had always lived a life of piety and restraint had no panties on which was interesting enough, but not only was she pantiles, but her pussy was wet.

Having take that much of a chance I decided to strike while the iron was hot or possibly while the woman was hot. One of the things about George that angered Angela was that he indites on calling her Angie and breaking into the old Stones song, "Angie." So taking a huge chance, I murmured in my best Jagger voice, "Oh, Angie! I still need yah."

To say that her reaction was startling would be to understate matters. Her one arm tightened around my neck, she tried to swallow my tongue completely and her other hand grabbed my cock. In a most unAngela voice, she said. "Fuck me George. Do it right here."

Right here was in the entrance hall but I was not going to argue. I slid my zip down, pulled out my cock and hoisted her up onto it, pushing her against the wall.

"George, George, George, fuck me." she almost chanted the incantation and on the third or forth incantation the "Fuck me!" disintegrated into an almost animalistic grunting moan. Then she spammed and said "Oh, oh, fuck! Cum in my cunt George". Being Georges stand in as it were, I did just that.

I lowered her gently to the floor, kissed her gently and then whispered, "I love you Angela. I am glad you are my wife."

I carried a gently weeping, extremely loving Angela into our bedroom and laid her gently on the bed expecting her to fall asleep immediately. Imagine my complete shock when she grabbed my by my still semi erect cock and whispered, "Now reclaim me! George is only for sex, you are for love and life."

I did reclaim her. As I made love to her, she whispered gentle words of love, murmuring my name and as I started to cum, she wrapped her legs around me and held onto me as if her very life depended on it.

We lay entangled in a lovers embrace for a while exchanging gentle kisses and caresses until we fell asleep.

Over breakfast the next morning she started to talk. Apparently she had found a sex therapist who had agreed with me, that fantasies about George were not sinful and that they could possibly spice up our sex life, save our marriage and potentially cause a pregnancy. The last outcome was the clincher so she said. The idea about being reclaimed came from Tumblr, a social media platform where you could see videos of cute puppies, decadent deserts and straight out and out porn all in a matter of about 5 minutes. The "hot wife" community was, she said sensible and sane and taught her a lot about the idea of having a lover other than her husband. It would seem that what she had read accorded with what I had told her.

We talked a lot about how we felt about the idea of her fantasizing about George, how it had turbo charged our lovemaking the night before and we agreed that it should be a regular part of our sexual repertoire.