My Young Wife with Another Man

"But we usually talk about this kind of stuff."

"I know . . . But Nathan's different."

"Different? In what way different?"

"Sometime he frightens me . . he can be too much."

"Why didn't you say. I would have told him to back off."

Her eyes widened in disbelief, as if I'd said aliens had landed in the back yard.

"That's why I didn't say anything. You know what he's capable of"

She had a point. I'd seen what he could do to a bloke when crossed. But it didn't matter now, that was the past.

"So were you never tempted?" I asked.

"Tempted . . . Yes.

"Did you ever . . .?

"No, never. I wouldn't. I love you, Martin. Only you," she said.

"What if I said I wanted you to make Love with him -- me watching."

I watched alarmed excitement re-configure every inch of her face, her features slipping from unbidden delight to sour suspicion, all in a matter if seconds.

I reassured, told her it was okay, that I wanted her let him have her. Immediately her eyes became wild with delectable anticipation -- then again, she caught herself, not wanting to seem too eager.

Gradually the sincerity of what I was actually saying registered and she seemed to accommodate my words, find a home for them in her mind.

I told her my dream again and again over the next few days, usually on waking. Then we discussed what the reality of her with Nathan might be, how it could come a bout. It took all my skill and charm to get her to lift her guard and admit that she wanted Nathan as much as I wanted to watch her with him. Finally she was reassured, said she would do it. Just for me, she said.

The first Thursday after getting back from holiday, Nathan called Abbi's phone. It buzzed as we ate our tea after work. When she answered he told her he wanted to come over later that evening. Just to chill and hang-out, he said.

She looked at me before answering, her apprehension rekindled; was all the talk we'd indulged in while we were on holiday just sex-talk, something to get us in the mood?

I nodded and mouthed, " Do it now. Tell him to come round."

Was there doubt in my voice that made her put the phone on mute and say in a whisper, as though he might still hear, "Are you sure?" The questioning sincerity in her look was profound

I stood up and went to her, pulled her to her feet and held her to me, "I want this to happen tonight."

Still in my arms, she took the phone off mute and said to Nathan, "Come at eight."

She turned off her phone and kissed me, then said. "Are you really still sure? it's not too late for it to be just his usual visit."

But the thought of what the coming evening would bring had me hard. I said, "More than ever. Go get ready for him."

"So you're sure then?"

I swallowed and nodded.

"What should I wear?" she asked.

I thought for a moment. "What about the long white see-through negligee, thing. Didn't he and Belinda get it for your eighteenth?"

"The one that nearly isn't?"

"Yeah, that's the one. I'm sure he was imagining you in it when they bought it -- in fact I bet he told her to buy it." I could see her thinking it through. I continued, "When you're ready, wait upstairs until I've brought him into the lounge . . . then you come down with it on under your robe."

She nodded and was about to turn away to go and prepare herself, but I put my hand on her shoulder and turned her to face me again and we kissed in a drawn-out kiss that I tried to fill with all the love I had for her. While our tongues curled and slid, I savoured the feel of her slightness against me. There was nothing to her really, her breasts and hips the only substantial flesh she carried. I could feel her breasts unmistakable pressing just below my solar plexus. The thought came to me of how she would be even more diminished in Nathan's arms, how their muscular girth would enfold her to become a fortification of flesh about her. How she would love that; she'd always said that to be held tight in a muscular and powerful arms was sometimes all she needed from a man, that alone could be enough.

I pulled down the tailored trousers she always wore for work, then tugged down her knickers too. She stepped out of her things and lay down on the sofa, naked from the waist down. She looked up at me and I could see her need to have cock inside her.

Without bothering to take off her top I fucked her, driven to almost madness by the knowledge that Nathan would also soon enjoy the clasp of her cunt. But my cum burst from me only a minute after I first slipped into her. I consoled myself for my premature eruption with the knowledge that in an hour or so his cock would be inside Abbi's cunt too, its arrival greased and welcomed by my recent deposit.

Afterwards, she went upstairs to get ready while I stayed and watched the six-thirty news. But I couldn't concentrate on world events, I kept thinking about what the was soon going to happen in our own little home.

At seven-fifteen I went up to see how she was doing. I found her sat at the dresser, busy with the finishing touches to her makeup. I asked her to stand and give me a twirl. She looked utterly ravishing in her long white, diaphanous negligee. Her fine, mousy hair curtained her shoulders. Her eyes now heavy with mascara had become temptress-dark. Then she returned to applying lipstick, darkening her lips to the shade of clotting blood. Her flesh was newly tanned from our Greek holiday and looked good enough to eat. I went to her and held in my arms and allowed the love I felt for her to well up again.

Then an insistent rapping at the door. We looked at each other and I saw her startled-fawn-eyes. "This is it," I said. "You Ready?"

She swallowed and nodded, then hurried back to the mirror to check her make-up one last time.

I went down the stairs to let Nathan in.

*******

Part 2.

I open the door to the stark reality of him as a flesh and blood male, no longer the fantasy figure he'd been when Abbi and I spoke about him in Greece. He is brutishly present, a monolith of muscle and bone. I stand on our front step with my feet six inches above his. Our eyes are dead level: he is six-three tall.

He seems taken aback to see me -- probably because it's usually Abbi who answers the door. I ask him inside and take him through to the back lounge. He looks around wondering where she is. He won't ask after her, has to pretend he's my mate and is here to see us both, though I know it is her he really comes to see. Of course he has no clue what is now expected of him, in fact -- or to put it another way -- what a treat we have in store up for him.

I tell him nothing.

He sits down and I get the chess board set out but he says he doesn't want to play. I'm annoyed. I want it to be like my dream.

"Got any beers?" he asks.

"In the fridge," I tell him, though I know he knows.

He's up and through to the kitchen. I hear the fridge open and then the tab-pull hiss. He returns sipping beer direct from the can while holding out another can for me to take. He does not walk the six feet to where I sit and I have to stand and fetch it from him. He goes to the back window and looks out while lifting the can to his lips and drinking. Perhaps he thinks Abbi is in the garden. While he is turned away, I eye his body and try to imagine how Abbi will cope with his mass of flesh between her legs, his torso-slab on hers. He's a muscular sixteen stone of brawn and bone.

He's restless, wanders around the room picking things up and putting them down again. Then he comes and sits opposite me in the place he occupied in my dream when we played chess. We sit in silence facing each other, each of us drinking from our cans. Then I hear the bump of her footfall on the top of stairs and a moment later the door opens and Abbi appears, looking sheepish and wearing her towelling robe.

He looks up and says, "Hi gorgeous." When he realises what she is wearing he says, "What's with the dressing gown-- you not well?" He sees she is wearing makeup and he asks, "Are you off out. You never said.?"

I am hard pushed to read his expression when she shakes her head coquettishly and smiles a smile that hints a precious secret soon to be shared. She makes one last check our scheme is still on by turning to me with a concerned questioning, do you still want me to go through with this look.

I nod.

"Well . . . Nathan," She begins trying to sound sexy, "Can you remember what you and Belinda gave me for my eighteenth?" She is a bad actress and I almost cringe.

He shrugs his shoulder and takes another swig of beer.

She walks closer. "Think hard," she says, beginning to loosen the belt of her robe. "It was something for me to wear."

He has not yet sussed out what is happening -- but is starting to realise things are not as they usually are. I think of him as a carnivore at rest unexpectedly catching the scent of prey.

Suddenly his face explodes in a broad smile. "The negligee?"

She continues: "Well . . . seeing it was probably you who paid for it, we thought it only right you should see me wearing it." She waits for his response. But when he just stares like the dumb-assed-fucker he is, she says, "Martin thinks you should see me in it too -- don't you, Martin."

My throat is dry, voice cracking. "It's only right he does." I say. "He probably chose it -- as well as paid for it."

He glowers at me, not sure if I'm taking the piss.

Now things move fast. When he turns back to face her he sees her robe has fallen open, the ties trailing. She eases it from her shoulders and stands quiet and motionless. In the dwindling light of the evening the silence is profound. She is illuminated by lamplight and looks almost like a heavenly visitor., the full length of her body and legs shrouded in the mist of her diaphanous negligee; the garment is ethereal, a mere film of fabric. Beneath are the dark shadows of her already stiff nipples. Although just a haze, the triangle of her pubes is unmistakable.

Nathan is agitated, looks from me to her. "What-the-fuck is happening here?"

She is as close as she can be without touching him. "Well, Nathan, do you think your gift fits me?"

"Jesus Christ!" he says, almost a groan.

Her legs are slightly apart, her arms dangle limply by her side. She is offering herself. A belated thank you for his historic gift.

She moves one step closer and his hands are reaching out for her. Her negligee slips across her flesh under the pressure of his palms, moving over her breasts, belly and thighs while he sits on the edge of the edge of sofa. His hands are all over her, refusing to settle in one place, as if he must touch as much of as he can before she is withheld from him. Soon his fingers are between her quickly parting legs, rubbing the filmy fabric against most intimate flesh. I imagine her moistness adhering to fairy-fine fabric

He pulls her onto his lap where she wraps her arms around his shoulders and they start to kiss. I am shocked by the passion they have for each other. Unmistakably, a thing long denied is now released and free to run wild.

I am so aroused -- but I'm also pulling at the tether that restrains my jealousy. It is bitter-sweet to see a thing like this in reality, harsher than when you picture it in your mind. Everything becomes stark and blatant, hard edged, angled. I manage to push down the jealousy -- just -- and stoke up the fantasy. I tell myself this is what I've wanted so bad for the last few weeks, tell myself it is my very own wish finally come true. I'm no longer wooden, at last have become "a real live boy".

He is a man long starved and presented with a banquet. His lust for her is palpable, fills the room. He is too eager, though, and roughly tumbles her out of his lap and onto the sofa and on to her back. He is on her in an instant, kissing her neck, gobbling at her tits through the fine fibres of her negligee, causing the fabric to darken where his mouth has tasted. Her legs are wide apart now, his palms working the gossamer-gauze into the gash of her sex. Again, I imagine the sensation he feels as it grates against a downy swell smeared by her sodden sex.

I think they look very sordid together there on the sofa. I'd imagined something more tender, him treasuring her like the princess he often called her. I need to slow things down. I say, "Darling, why don't you take Nathan up to our bed".

Nathan does not appear to hear -- if anything my voice has intensified his ravishing of her. She tries to push him away but he is intransigent. Loudly she tells him, "No!" This stalls him and so she whispers something in his ear, which bringing him back from frenzy.

She stands up and offers him her hand. He stands too but does not allow himself to be led, instead he pulls her to him and in one swift manoeuvre he has her over his shoulder like a rescuing fireman in some old movie. She squeals, then giggles as they disappear through the door. But I do not follow, I go to the fridge and get two beers. Only then do I make my way upstairs.

When I get to the bedroom, he is standing at the foot of our bed with his pants around his ankles and a naked Abbi kneeling at his feet licking his cock as if it were a popsicle. From base to tip her doggy tongue laps in long skilful passes. I am relieved to see his cock is not as enormous as the dream cock my subconscious created for him, but even so it is far more of a presence than my own; a tad longer, bulkier. The circumcised tulip head looks gross. My stomach churns each time her tongue passes over the tip. Then the entire length vanishes fully into her mouth. She has taken it deep -- it would need to be right at the back of her throat for it disappear so completely. I wonder how she manages not to gag. Soon it re-emerges, only to vanish again.

When I'd entered the room he'd looked over at me with contempt. A man who would let his wife do this has forfeited his respect, become nothing.

Abbi is aware of me now. While holding my gaze she takes the whole stem of him deep into her mouth again, but now her wide, dark eyes follow me as I move to the seat at the corner of the room. I read their meaning: Is this what wanted too see, Martin? Thank you, darling.

His expression broadcasts her skill. She goes all out to please him -- but I can also see just how much pleasure she has in tasting him, how having such bulk between her lips, under her tongue, is pleasure enough in itself. Again his entire cock fills her mouth and I imagine her wondering how it will feel when it is deep in her cunt.

His fingers intertwine among the strands of her long silken, hair. Then he eases her to her feet while reclaiming his cock from her lips. If she continues at this pace he will cum -- who wouldn't. But no man wants to be undone so quickly, especially with an audience.

Both standing now, he holds her to him tightly. Because he is so much taller than she, his cock is sandwiched between his own abdomen and her solar plexus. They look into each other's eyes: she up at him, he down at her. I am shocked by what appears to pass between them. The frenzied lust I had witnessed in the lounge is replaced by looks of tenderness, by an understanding of what they share in the moment; a mutual savouring of the actuality of the other. There is such reciprocated affection in that look that for a moment I want to throw myself between them, shield her from him and tell him to fuck-off, then slap her hard for giving herself to him so easily, so completely.

But that feeling soon passes when I see his hunger for her reappear. I watch it rise like a once banished devil returned from the depths of hell. His mouth is flesh-greedy, kissing and nibbling down to her breasts, then manically turning from one tit to the other in a frenzied sucking. While he gorges on her tits, she takes his cock in her left hand, and with her right she rubs his balls.

They fall onto the bed in a playful tumble, her palm and fingers gripping his cock, but hardly able to circumscribe it. He has her quickly on her back and she spreads her legs wide and guides him into her. He lunges against her with his entire body weight to lend his thrust irresistible momentum. A dense, winded, grunt escapes her lips when her cunt is breached. Her sex-sounds become obscene, almost the calls and bleats of my dream. A distressed cry of satisfaction betrays the sensations of barely endured pleasure his distended cock brings her as he barges deeper still. I imagine her inner tissues parting to accommodate him and then softly enfolding him. She raises her legs high and draws back her knees. She has both palms pressing flat against his back, pulling herself hard against him. She urges him deeper inside her with ankles-as-spurs in the small of his back.

He fucks her relentlessly and I cannot help but admire him -- the way his tight buttocks rise and fall like a over-wound clockwork manikin. And I am amazed how she endures his implacable rutting, the pounding rhythm of his hips are those of an adversary not of a lover.

Her legs and arms wrap about him until she appears to fully adhere to him like a limpet against a rock. I watch astounded as the proverbial beast with two backs forms before my eyes as he raises himself on arms straight and sturdy, bringing her entire weigh up with him, left to dangle beneath his arched bulk.

His continual thrust seem attempts to loosen her from him, as if he is a hefty savannah beast about to be brought low by a lioness's jaws locked on throat -- for indeed, that is how it looks, because in her passion her lips are on his neck. Or is it that she cling to him as if she were suspended from a great height, her life dependant on his support.

Her delicate frame fusing into his beef and brawn, her legs and arms climbing ivy about an old oak, she appears to cling as if for dear life. He continues to thrust into at her while his arms become pillars of flesh that support him and her both, though her slight frame is never likely to bring him down. When he cums, his orgasm is a detonation inside her. Their fused bodies quake in unison, rocked by the inner concussive repeat shocks that are their synchronised orgasms. Finally sapped of his lust he allows her to descend. He rolls from her and they come to rest facing each other on their sides, arms entangled their lips joined in a protracted kiss of completion.

This moment they share is bitter sweet. I am impelled to leave the room, unable to view such tender intimacy. Once in the kitchen I think about what I have just witnessed, how she had so gladly given herself to him. I feel numb inside, have pushed down the thoughts that threaten to unhinge me. I drink beer and cut myself a slice pork pie and dab it with English mustard. I sit and eat it in silence, my mind racing with all kinds of imaginings about my future with Abbi.

When I get back to the bedroom he is flat on his back, Abbi coaxing life back into his spent cock with lips and tongue. He gestures for me to pass him one of the beers I have brought up for them. I pull the tab and hand it to him. He lies back and drinks while Abbi continues to plead her case with his limp manhood.

But Oh! The skill of my Abbi. Little by little she coaxes funds back into the negative equity of his cock. Soon he is solvent again, ready to re-invest. She breaks from pleasing him to survey her handiwork. His cock is now fully primed, looking like the arm of a crane extending from his groin and balanced horizontal over his rippled abdomen, its one slit-eye staring at his distant chin. Unlike me, he is circumcised. I cannot imagine my cock always being so exposed, so raw. But Abbi cannot get enough of it. She strokes him from ball to tip, letting her nails scratch and grate. Her obscene Gene Simmons tongue wraps and curls -- for my benefit as much as his.