tagLoving WivesMetamorphosis of an American Wife

Metamorphosis of an American Wife


We had been married for several years when I first came to realize that I was intrigued with the idea of my wife making love to another man. As time went on, my fantasy became an obsession. However, the probability seemed remote because Stacy, my beautiful wife, the mother of our children, was a virgin when we met as teenagers. During the twenty years of our marriage she had remained a respectable and faithful wife.

Let me describe Stacy so that you can picture her and better understand what I would feel if she were ever to share her charms. She is stunningly beautiful with big blue eyes and luxurious dark brown hair that falls below her shoulders. Standing five eight, her great pair of incredibly long legs seem even longer because her small waist is high. She works out ever day and weighs a trim 125 pounds. Pink nipples centered in silver-dollar sized, pebbly areola crown her full, firm perfect breasts. Her elegant hands and feet are kept well-manicured and pedicured with finger and toe nails usually painted glossy-red. She's bright, has a fabulous personality and, as perfect as I knew her to be and as well as I thought I knew her, I would learn that she was far more adventurous and daring than I could have imagined.

Like many couples, we came to share our deepest thoughts and secrets. My favorite fantasy was always to watch, or hear about, her imaginary, wild sexual experiences with many different well-endowed guys who would bring her to high plateaus of prolonged ecstasy. I often told her that if we were to actually make my fantasies come true it would be neither wrong nor damaging. She thought this an absurd rationalization.

Had we never traveled to Europe, I'm sure that my dreams of her with other men would have remained only in the realm of fantasy. After a typical, hectic week as first-time tourists, we arrived at the exciting French Riviera looking forward to two days of sunshine and a needed break from cathedrals, museums and castles. In our rented car we drove west to the former fishing village of San Tropez. Stacy wore a modest one-piece blue bathing suit to the famous beach. Of course, we knew that French beaches were topless, but we were still astonished to see two totally naked, deeply tanned men casually strolling along the water's edge. Curiosity got the best of us so we followed them. They stopped at "Neptune," the most crowded beach of all, where all of the hundred, or more, sybarites soaking up the sunshine were totally naked.

Because we were thousands of miles from home and on vacation, we daringly decided to stay at "Neptune" and rented mats and an umbrella for the day. I implored Stacy to, at least, lower her top. She told me that she had no intention of going topless and would never go nude. Disappointed, I asked if she wanted to go for a walk? She wanted to catch some sun and read her book so I went by myself. After exploring the long beach I returned to "Neptune" shocked to discover that Stacy had obviously, and suddenly, changed her mind. Her suit was rolled down forming a brief bikini bottom with her bare full breasts aimed to the azure sky. The very next day, almost immediately after we arrived at "Neptune," Stacy was laying on her mat at a crowded beach in the south of France without a stitch. Late that afternoon she rose from her mat and, though nude, confidently strolled through the rows of naked sunbathers to frolic in the sea. The men lustfully gazed at her breasts, pubic patch, long legs and cute ass.

Our maiden trip to Europe ended far too soon. However, we vowed to return to this exciting continent and to "Neptune Beach" the next summer. Somehow, I knew that Stacy's first step in her transformation would never have happened in America.

Before our departure for our second European trip, Stacy spent a week at a spa in a large city two hundred miles from our home. By the time we boarded the plane for Hamburg, Germany, she was as physically perfect as a female could be.

From Hamburg, we flew to Nice, rented a car and once again raced to "Neptune Beach." My beautiful wife was soon laying naked on her back at our favorite beach. That very afternoon we met a friendly American couple whose names were Bill and Joan. Joan was a very attractive blond about our age with a golden body. Everything about Joan suggested that she loved sex and was available. The day before our departure for Paris, I asked Joan if she knew of any "special night-life" in the French capital? She was smiling as she took her address book from her beach bag, scanned it and made a list for me of eight "very private clubs." She asked where we would be staying because they were coming to Paris a day before their return to America and planned to visit their favorite private club on Friday night. She hoped we would join them so that she could personally introduce us to Andre, the owner.

Two evenings later we met them in the lobby of our hotel. After a forty-five minute drive to the small village west of Paris, It was dusk when we drove through the open wooden gates set in the thick, high rock wall surrounding the club. Perhaps twenty attractive, fashionably dressed couples, whose ages ranged from about thirty to more than sixty, were scattered throughout the old, but magnificently preserved, large two-story building. Very dim, flattering lighting, large bouquets of fresh flowers and classical music playing softly in the background created an incredibly romantic atmosphere. At exactly ten o'clock we sat down to a sumptuous, candle-lit meal. At the stroke of midnight the soft mood music that had been playing during dinner was abruptly replaced by a loud powerful disco-beat. This seemed to be some kind of signal for all the party-goers who quickly left the table and walked through the great room.

We had no idea what to expect next as we hesitantly followed Joan and Bill to a crowded area in the rear where everyone was hurriedly undressing and placing long white cloths over their nakedness creating revealing, make-shift gowns. The women kept on their high heels, the men were barefoot. When Bill excitedly told us that it was time to change, we declined and returned to the relative safety of the great room. We noticed that during the long meal the end tables and coffee tables had been quietly removed and the entire floor area between the horseshoe-shaped sofas had been completely covered with mattresses with immaculate, white fitted-sheets. People who had dined at our side the previous two hours were soon naked and making love with partners who we knew were not their spouses or dates. For me it was indescribably thrilling and I secretly wished that Stacy was one of these lusty wanton women.

After changing into her robe, boldly leaving her round, tanned-breasts exposed, a very excited Joan suddenly disappeared. When she returned nearly two hours later I thought that she had that dreamy "freshly-fucked" look. Indeed, she told us before we left the club that she was very tired because she had been upstairs getting fucked by four different men. During the early morning drive back to Paris, Joan told Stacy that she too had been a virgin when she married and a faithful housewife until three years ago. Bill, however, had other ideas about monogamy and repeatedly begged her to sleep with other men. She resisted for many years but, at first just to please him, she gave in to his wishes. Soon, she grew to love and need the attention of other men. She urged Stacy to give it a try and promised her that if she did she wouldn't be sorry. In the faint light of the car, I glanced at Stacy to gauge her reaction to Joan's revelation and suggestion. I saw her brow furled in disapproval and, I thought, confusion. Bill and Joan returned to the U.S. the next day. We never saw them again.

For the next several days, while we discovered and fell hopelessly in love with Paris, Stacy and I discussed the club almost continuously. She said that she hated the place and would never go back. A day or two later, she admitted that what we saw was exciting but, nevertheless, wrong. I reminded her that she had been naked at Neptune and stripped in front of a German photographer. She argued that being nude at a beach and posing for pictures was beyond comparison with having sex with someone who wasn't her husband. She became very upset when I told her that as I watched the women at the club accept different men I wished that she had been one of them.

By Wednesday, we had agreed, she very reluctantly, that it wouldn't hurt if we visited the club again just to watch, nothing more. Though, we knew that we would have to change into the club's trade-mark white robes.

The next day Stacy listened nervously as I telephoned and made a reservation for the following night. Friday afternoon we went shopping. She bought an elegant but very revealing, very short, black dress and a pair of very high black pumps. While we were buying a refill of her favorite perfume she caused my heart to skip at least one beat when she asked the clerk for a tube of scented bikini-line depilatory.

Before we dressed for the evening she laid on the bed and presented her naked body to me. I applied the scented cream to the top and sides of her triangle of dark pubic hair reducing its natural size. Then I rubbed the cream on her outer pussy lips covering the sparse, thin hair. Five minutes later I gently removed the cream with a warm washcloth leaving just a small perfect arrow of curly dark hair above her cleft pointing the way to her buried treasure. As I examined the opening to her mysterious depths and the moist, pink surrounding flesh, I couldn't help but wonder if the next time that I looked this closely at the inner, dew-covered petals might they have surrounded and lovingly caressed another cock?

Stacy seemed to be lost in her private thoughts so we didn't talk much as she bathed, shaved her legs and underarms, took special care and spent extra time with her make-up, lipstick and brushing her long lustrous hair. She very carefully applied a fresh coat of glossy, red polish to her fingers and toes. After the polish dried, she smoothed lotion on her long, brown legs then slipped on a pair of wispy, black bikini panties. I was thrilled as she boldly stared at me in what seemed to be an unspoken challenge, then pulled the crotch of her panties aside and sprayed perfume on her pussy.

Two hours after our arrival at the club, the segue to the loud pounding rhythms signaled the end of dinner and the beginning of revelry. This time, knowing what to expect, we nervously got up from the table and walked to the changing area. I quickly arranged the white cloth over one shoulder of my naked body creating what I thought looked like a roman toga. I passed through the arch to the great room to anxiously wait for Stacy who had taken a white cloth into the restroom.

My heart was pounding, my throat was dry and my feelings were mixed as I waited for her. Finally, she appeared at the arched opening and posed. She had taken the long white cloth, slipped it around her neck barely covering her breasts, and tied it tightly at around her waist. It was obvious that she naked under the robe by the way her hard pointy-nipples, ass and spongy tuft of the freshly trimmed pussy hair pressed against the clinging white fabric. Like all of the women at the club she was wearing her high heels. Her long, sun-browned bare legs flashed through the slit of her white, incredibly sexy, make-shift gown split all the way to her hips, as she glided to me and sat on the large horseshoe-shaped sofa.

Several couples were already naked and frantically making love on the mattress covered floor so close to us that we could have reached down and touched them. A swarthy Italian was vigorously fucking a beautiful blonde. We watched enthralled as his long, thick wet penis pistoned in and out of her clasping pussy for what seemed like a very long time but was probably just a matter of minutes. Finally, his brown body stiffened as he shot his load of semen. After a few minutes they disengaged, slowly stood and presumably went into the bathroom area to freshen-up.

I felt Stacy shift on the sofa and I thought I heard her moan. I turned her way, stunned by what I saw. She was kneeling on the seat facing the back of our sofa which was connected to the back of a sofa behind it. Facing her, separated only by the sofa backs, was the handsome, dark- haired Italian we had just watched fucking the pretty blonde. Stacy and the Italian were kissing intensely. His large hands gently roamed over her bare back, shoulders and the white cloth covering her full breasts. Sometime during the marathon kiss, the Italian, without breaking mouth contact, vaulted over the backs of the sofas removing the barrier that had separated them.

Kneeling on the seat, still facing each other, their bodies seemed welded together. Then, they slowly settled down on the huge sofa. He took his time. First, rubbing her body through the material, then gently he slipped his exploring hand under the loose cloth which was soon hanging from her shoulders completely exposing her breasts and pussy. Her stiffening nipples responded to the rubbing, rolling and tweaking. As he touched the hot skin of her bare thigh, she spread her legs opening herself to him. Soon, his long brown exploring fingers were inside her glistening with her juices as he slowly pumped them in and out. She thrust to engulf them to the knuckles. Her hands left his neck and, with seeming trepidation, went to his swollen, still-damp cock. I watched as she tentatively caressed the penis of the man who would be her second lover.

Somehow they shifted until he was laying on his back. Stacy slipped-off her shoes leaving her as naked as the moment she was born, except for earrings, the large, glittering Marquis-Cut diamond ring and the plain band of gold on the third finger of her left hand. She knelt over him with her pretty ass sticking high in the air, kissing his stomach and massaging his big, hard penis. He moaned as she opened her mouth wide and took in the first cock, other than mine, as if she had known it intimately for years. She must have sensed he was about to cum and apparently decided that she had waited too many years for this moment and didn't want him to shoot in her warm wet mouth but in her warm wet vagina. She rolled on her back, spread her legs and bent her knees in one smooth motion forming an inviting, warm cradle of flesh. The Italian, accepting the invitation, loomed over her and positioned his dripping cock-head between the lips of her soaking vagina. He then pushed slowly forward and entered her steaming pussy as she sighed and lifted her ass to meet him.

I knew that the wrinkly surface of the cunt that was so familiar to me was being stretched far more than I had ever stretched it. His engorged cock was bulging against her pussy walls, nudging the mouth of her cervix and being gripped by the moist, tissue-covered vaginal muscles that had experience gripping only one size and shape of cock, mine. I looked at the tell-tale vein on the side of her long neck and, sure enough, it was swollen, as it always was when she enjoyed an intense, convulsing, non-stop orgasm. After what seemed like forever they increased the tempo. Finally, the Italian broke their long kiss, raised up on his arms, stiffened, shuddered and let out a loud "oooohhh" as he emptied his load of freshly-produced semen deep in Stacy's swampy vagina.

After disengaging, she arose gloriously naked, grabbed her tangled cloth and shoes, smiled sweetly at me and padded barefoot toward the bathroom to clean her lover's cum from the depths of her wet, just fucked pussy. As she passed me she turned and discreetly asked me to bring her compact, comb and lipstick to the bathroom? In the bright light I saw that she was radiant. My fingers examined her slick swollen pussy lips. Her clit, which had never been larger than a small pea, was now hard as a rock and double its usual size. Her trimmed pubic hair was matted with gobs of thick, gray Italian semen.

Saturday, we awakened recalling the exciting night and were soon fucking passionately until I came in the pussy that had now received a huge load from a stranger. At noon, we decided to drive to the Riviera for a week. However, by Thursday, we both knew where we wanted to be Friday night. The next day we raced North on the auto route to the small village outside Paris.

She once again changed into her robe in the privacy of the bathroom as she had the week before. I decided to check on the action in the party room while I waited for her. When I returned she wasn't there. I climbed the grand staircase expecting to see her on the king-size bed in the beautiful bedroom. She wasn't there either. I backed down a ladder to a landing off of which was a low-ceiling, very dark room that seemed like a "cave." I crouched and looked in but it was so dark that I couldn't see anything. I did hear the unmistakable sounds of several people engaging in wild sex. At the entrance to the "cave" I noticed a pair of hastily discarded glossy- black high heels. They were Stacy's. There was only one pair of high heels, but certainly more than two people in the "cave."

After nearly an hour I approached the rear staircase but had to wait as a large, naked disheveled man lumbered down the stone steps. He looked to be Spanish, or Italian and was soaking with dripping sweat. His gargantuan, still swollen, penis was semi-erect with drops of semen falling to the stone floor. I thought that he might have been with Stacy, although I didn't see how she could possibly accommodate him. Yet, I did wonder if the massive, wet shaft between his legs had been inside my wife's pussy just moments before? I didn't have to wonder for long because, in perfect English, he told me what I already knew, that "my beautiful wife was the most incredible lover he had ever been with."

I climbed the stone stairs and knelt at the entrance to the cave and saw that her shoes were still there. I heard bodies thrashing and a chorus of moans, groans, sighs and the squishy, wet music of love making. After eavesdropping for a few minutes, I worked my way back down the spiral staircase. The Spaniard who had been with Stacy was toweling himself vigorously and talking excitedly in Spanish with another man who said "gracias," turned and rushed to the stairway. After a few seconds I followed him arriving at the entrance to the "cave" just in time to see him rip off his robe, throw it aside and scamper naked into the dark cavern to the woman who had been so highly recommended, my life-mate Stacy.

When we returned to our hotel that morning we dropped our clothes and made intense love. Before we fell to sleep, she told me that she had climbed the grand staircase and ready for a different adventure, sensed that the "cave" was empty. She kicked-off her heels, crawled in the dark chamber and, with her heart pounding, laid down on the mattress. She waited expectantly until a shadowy form blocked the dim light that glowed softly from the stone staircase. She had no idea who the hands belonged to that gently touched her bare feet, rubbed her legs for a long time and slowly removed her robe as if unwrapping a precious gift. Naked, they kissed and touched and were soon joined by another man who concentrated on her bottom with magical fingers and a tongue that quickly brought her to orgasm while the first man concentrated on her face and breasts. As if choreographed, they alternated without pausing between her mouth and pussy. Each fucked and ate her and she sucked each man.

She told me that she was so turned-on that she didn't even know that one of the original men had left and been replaced until she reached down to caress the cock of the man kissing her and discovered that her hand couldn't encircle its unfamiliar girth. Even though Louis, from the week before, and her two previous lovers in the "cave" had prepared her for large cocks, she seriously doubted that she could take him in her pussy. Excitedly, she told me that when he began to enter her it hurt as he stretched the lips and the mouth of her vagina farther than ever before. When he hit bottom it made her wince. Reaching down between their joined bodies, she felt that several inches of the monster were not yet inside. However, with each determined thrust she accepted more and more of the giant penis until the excruciating pain was replaced by indescribable pleasure and the massive cock had been totally consumed in her depths.

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