Real Lives, Imaginary Lovers

I've been married for five years to a woman that I love dearly. We're both thirty-five years of age and we don't have children. You never know what the future will bring, but I suspect that we may have missed that boat. Sex has always been good, but it has become less regular over the past couple of years. I suppose, like many couples, after the first flush of excitement, our love life has dwindled.

We make love once a week at best now, it's pleasurable but predictable and not usually as intense and exciting as it once was. It's not that I fancy my wife any less than I used to; I still find her sexually attractive. She's shapely, has blue eyes, tousled light-brown hair in a long bob style and she looks hot when she dresses up to go out in her heels, stockings and a tight dress. That happens less often than it used to; we tend to stay in more at weekends than we did previously. We're reasonably well off, so we could afford to go out much more often, but I suppose we've got ourselves into a bit of a rut.

I think we both still enjoy the idea of sex; we often flirt with each other. I wear a suit and tie to work and she still looks well turned out and attractive each morning when she dresses for the office. I watch her sometimes as she walks out of the front door in her heels; a slow, measured, sensual stride on the way to her car. If I get the chance, I'll stand and watch her as she opens her car door and slides elegantly into the driver's seat, her tight knee-length skirt clinging to her hips and thighs and riding up provocatively as she lifts first one leg, then the other, into the footwell.

She knows I'm watching her, that's when I always think to myself that I must fuck that woman when she gets home tonight. But then nothing happens; we both get home at about six and fall into the usual routine of cooking a meal, a glass or two of wine, watching TV, then going to bed and reading for a while before turning the bedroom light out and falling asleep.

Sometimes, I wake up early with a throbbing erection; usually around five o'clock. When it happened in the first year or so of our marriage, I'd 'spoon' her from behind and press my hardness into the cleft of her buttocks. She'd murmur her approval, peel off her knickers, open her legs wide and feed my cock into her warm, wet pussy. After that blissful first year of sex on demand, she started to groan tired disapproval and push me away. Now I don't bother her, and if I'm feeling extremely aroused, and sure that she's sound asleep, I wank secretly into a tissue.

In fact, I masturbate quite a lot. Sneakily into the toilet while she's out in the garden; and into a tissue in the bedroom if ever she goes out alone anywhere without me at the weekend. Sometimes, I take a pair of her soiled knickers from the laundry basket and sniff them while I come. I've even worn them, or wrapped them around my cock, while I spasm and gasp as my semen ejaculates beyond the confines of the tissue; I end up having to wipe the residue off the bedroom carpet with a damp cloth.

The thing is, she's always there, front and centre in all of my masturbation fantasies, usually with another woman, but, sometimes I imagine her fucking her male boss, or going down on the cock of the young office junior. Sometimes, she talks about them when she tells me about her day at work. I like to wonder if she's fucking one or both of them; the feeling of arousal mixed with jealousy can be exquisite, the arousal usually wins out and I want to take her upstairs and play with her pussy while I tell her all of my fantasies about her. I imagine her coming time after time, begging me to tell her more about how I like to think of her being fucked by an assortment of men and women.

To be completely honest, It's the idea of her in bed with a woman that really gets me going. It can be almost anyone: her friends, her work colleagues, my work colleagues, her hairdresser, our neighbours, a woman that works in the local shop, the postwoman, and this is really kinky, her sister-in-law and my mother's younger sister. I draw on all of these fantasies when I'm fucking her; if only she knew what I'm thinking about while my cock is inside her, would she be turned on I wonder? What does she think about when she comes? She must surely be fantasising about something or someone as we screw each other. Not always perhaps, I don't fantasise every time I fuck my wife, but when I do, my God it can be so fucking erotic.

Lately, I've begun to think about this more and more, almost to the point of obsession; it turns me on to imagine what her fantasies might entail. Then, something happened last week that brought all of my idle thoughts and sexual musings about her into sharp focus. I'd got home from work a little earlier than usual and the house seemed quiet. As I climbed the stairs, I thought I could hear muffled sounds coming from the bathroom. I couldn't quite make out what I was hearing, so I stopped dead halfway up the stairs and strained my ears. I couldn't believe it when I realised that it was the unmistakable sound of my wife having an orgasm. There was no doubt about it; the urgent but stifled, sexy little gasps and groans were definitely the sound of her reaching a climax.

Without thinking, I crept silently back downstairs, opened the front door very quietly, then closed it noisily and shouted 'Hello.' She called out a greeting in return, trying hard to keep the surprise and shakiness out of her voice. I wanted to give her time to regain her composure, so I went into the lounge to wait for her to come downstairs. I heard the toilet flush and the bathroom door being unlocked and opened. She said that she'd be with me in a minute after she'd got changed.

That was clever, she clearly wasn't ready for me to see her guilty-looking demeanour, so she played for time. My cock twitched as I imagined her in our bedroom, wriggling out of her tight skirt with pussy juice dribbling down the inside of her thighs. I remembered that she was wearing hold-up stockings; I'd seen her put them on as she was getting dressed for work; the memory did nothing to quell my sudden ardour.

I decided to play it cool and pretend that I was none the wiser about her pleasuring herself in the bathroom, but my eye caught sight of a women's magazine lying open on the coffee table. I picked it up to see what she'd been reading before she'd gone off to play with her pussy; it was an article titled: "Why should men have all of the fun?"

The article was about female masturbation, how common it was becoming and how normal it ought to be. There were tips about how to go about it, why women should not feel ashamed and how it could open up a whole new world of private sexual fantasy, that could be savoured and called upon, to delight yourself and your partner whenever the opportunity arose. Several women had been interviewed about their experiences of masturbation, and what they thought about when making love to their men.

We live in enlightened times after all. It's May 1997, and I'm delighted that many women have reintroduced stockings to their lingerie collection, as several photographs accompanying the article have rather nicely illustrated. The article piqued my interest and it was obvious that it had given my wife an idea or two about self-induced sexual satisfaction.

I heard her coming downstairs so I closed the magazine and put it back on the coffee table. When she came into the room in tight jeans and a close-fitting top, her cheeks were still slightly flushed and she was pretending a little too much that everything was normal. She had no idea that I had caught her masturbating, but she must have known that I'd seen the article that she had been reading because she'd left the pages of the magazine open; now they were closed.

I decided to probe a little to see whether she would crack and confess to masturbating. I was beginning to wonder whether, like me, she regularly pleasured herself when she got the chance. To my knowledge, she'd only played with herself in bed when I'd asked her to because it turned me on so much, but for all I knew, she might be as prolific a wanker as I was. Somehow I doubted it, but it was an arousing thought, and I was keen to find out.

"I haven't seen you with a copy of that magazine for a very long time, anything interesting in it?"

"Oh! Mandy at work gave it to me; I was just flicking through it, there's not much of interest in it though"

"Oh, okay, I'm sorry, I picked it up and I've lost your place now; what were you reading about?"

"Like I said, nothing really, just skimming through."

Her face coloured again, she turned away from me to hide her blushes; she tried to escape into the kitchen but I followed her.

"I'll get tea started while you go and get changed," she said.

"Actually, don't throw it out just yet."

"Don't throw what out," she replied innocently.

"The magazine, an article on female masturbation caught my eye, I'd like to read it."

"Oh, I didn't notice that."

It was such a blatant lie that I expected her bum to burst into flames. I embraced her from behind and pressed my growing erection into her shapely buttocks.

"You should read it too; you might learn something useful."

"Do you think so? It's not something that's ever really occurred to me."

"Well there's always a first time; maybe we could read it together in bed? You never know, we might come up with a fantasy or two of our own."

"Don't get your hopes up, lover boy."

She shrugged me off and made herself busy preparing a meal. Despite feigning indifference, I could tell that she was interested. When you've lived with a woman for five years, you know when she's giving off signals that she might let you fuck her if you play your cards right. I went upstairs to change into jeans and a T-shirt; when I got back down to the kitchen I opened a bottle of wine and poured us both a glass. She looked pleased and relieved, as though she really needed a drink to get her through the rest of the evening.

After clearing the table and loading the dishwasher, we watched TV together and quickly finished the bottle; I opened another one and filled her glass. We didn't usually open a second bottle, but I sensed an opportunity; there was a mild erotic tension in the air, and I wanted her as uninhibited as possible in the hope that she might open up about her fantasies and confess to being in mid-orgasm when I'd arrived home from work.

By ten o'clock, we'd watched the latest episode of the drama series that we were following. It had been quite racy; there was an erotic lesbian scene this week; very tastefully done and incredibly arousing; at least I thought so, and so did my wife; she didn't say as much, but she was sitting in an armchair sideways on to me. I wanted to watch the scene again; she didn't object to me playing it back. I saw her nostrils flare, a vein pulsed on her temple and her breasts heaved slightly. I knew not to suggest that she'd been turned on by the thought of two women making love, she'd only deny it, and it might spoil any chance of getting intimate with her later on in bed.

As soon as the TV programme finished, I asked her if she thought she might be in the mood for sex. She could tell that I really wanted it; the combination of too much wine and the erotic scene that we had just watched must have overcome her usual weekday evening reticence because she said yes straight away. For the past couple of years, we'd only indulged in sex on Sunday mornings or special occasions like birthdays and valentines.

I couldn't help wondering if the magazine article, and her obvious delight at making herself come in the bathroom, had each played a part in arousing her libido. In bed together, we started kissing and fondling; it quickly became steamy and physical. With our tongues in each other's mouths, I had my fingers inside her; she had a tight grip on my cock. She whispered that I was big and hard, and she wanted me inside her. I eased myself up ready to lay between her thighs and enter her, but she pushed me onto my back and straddled me.

She had a sultry look of arousal on her face as she slid her wet cunt slowly over my erection until she was impaled, up to the hilt; she gasped and closed her eyes. At first, she sat upright and gyrated her pelvis as she fucked me. She was very wet, but she still put the middle finger of her right hand in her mouth before using it to massage her clitoris. It was a deliberate act of sexual provocation, done for erotic effect; it aroused me enormously. I felt my balls tighten; she rode me slowly and sensuously; I reached up and squeezed her nipples; she threw her head back and began to massage her pussy vigorously with her right hand.

Her breathing became shallow; she murmured and moaned her obvious pleasure and then took hold of my wrists and pinned them down on either side of my head; she had a dreamy, intoxicated look in her half-closed eyes as she did so; it was as though she was somewhere else, somewhere in her imagination. With my wrists pinned to the bed, she was leaning over me; she started thrusting her pelvis hard enough to make the bed creak. I knew that I could break her grip and force her onto her back but, just as I contemplated doing so, she let go of my wrists, dropped to elbows and lay herself on top of me. I decided to take the risk of asking her what she was thinking about as she fucked me. I only managed to get three words out, "What are you," before she clamped a hand over my mouth and silenced me.

With her head resting on the side of my neck, she started to fuck me hard. She grunted and groaned as her buttocks rose and fell rapidly, thrusting at me in a way that overwhelmed me and my cock. By now, I was certain that she was arousing herself with a sexual fantasy that involved a person or persons that were not currently present. She fucked me vigorously for what seemed like a long time; I kept absolutely still, my passivity seemed to turn her on, and it helped me avoid coming too soon. I loved the thought that she might be imagining that she was fucking someone else; it was incredibly erotic.

With her face buried in the side of my neck, her feral grunts and groans of satisfaction became louder. Her hips thrust her cunt up and down along the length of my cock; she was fucking me like the was no tomorrow; I couldn't last a moment longer. My balls contracted and I shot my load into her tight, muscular hole; growling with intense pleasure as I did so. She usually found it difficult to come through penetration alone, this time was no exception, so I reached down between her legs to finish her off with clitoral stimulation. This time though, she slapped my hand away and finished herself off; the message was clear enough, she was in control.

I stayed hard while she stroked my cock slowly up and down with the walls of her vagina. Her breathing was heavy, her face wet with sweat, but she looked triumphant as she pinned my wrists again and slowly rode me to a standstill. Eventually, she collapsed on me again and lay for several minutes with me still inside her. I tried to tell her that she was magnificent but she clamped her hand over my mouth again.

A few minutes later, with my cock slowly subsiding inside her, she lifted herself off me and went to the bathroom. When she returned to the bedroom, she put on her sleepwear, skimpy shorts and a T-shirt, and got into bed. I went to the toilet and by the time I got back into bed, she was asleep. I was left alone with my thoughts; I couldn't help feeling that something had changed between us. I had to know what she'd been thinking about as she fucked me so vigorously; she must have been fantasising about something or someone.

I was determined to find out what had got her into such an aroused state and made it my business to do so. Unable to fall asleep straight away, I went downstairs to find the magazine article that she'd obviously been reading before she locked the bathroom door and pleasured herself earlier on. The magazine passed itself off as a sophisticated read for the modern professional woman but, in reality, much of the content was salacious and titillating. The piece was loosely based on research into women's experiences of masturbation and what they said they fantasised about when they made love to their sexual partners.

The main message of the piece was that women were becoming more aware of their own sexual needs and more adventurous in fulfilling them. Nancy Friday's books from the seventies were referenced, and the article made the argument that women were just as likely to be aroused by sexual fantasy as men, if not more so. It also pressed home the message that masturbation should not be the sole preserve of men and that it was perfectly normal and healthy for women to play with their pussies; Amen to that.

The text was full of examples of how individual women had discovered the art of masturbation and how it had changed their sex lives for the better. Sex aids featured heavily, particularly vibrators, and women were encouraged to make a point of owning one. The article finished with the words:

"So, if you have not yet discovered the pleasure of the self-induced orgasm, if you are curious about what it will feel like and you are somewhere private and alone as you read this, why not let your mind run free, conjure up a hot fantasy and enjoy yourself? You never know; it might be the beginning of a lifelong love affair."

Those words must have been ringing in my wife's ears as she climbed the stairs to the bathroom earlier this afternoon. My cock twitched as I wondered how she went about it. She must have decided that she needed to be somewhere secure with a lock on the door. Did she sit on the toilet with the lid down? Did she sit on the edge of the bath, or was she standing with her legs apart? Was the gusset of her little lace knickers already soaked with her pussy juice? By now I was semi-erect, I had to know about the knickers so I sneaked back upstairs to the landing and opened the lid of the laundry basket.

I remembered that she was wearing white knickers and nude hold-up stockings when she got dressed for work that morning. She usually wore tights for work, so the sight of her in stockings was a bonus and was still etched in my memory. When she got undressed in the bedroom before she fucked me, she was wearing black knickers. Both pairs of knickers, together with the stockings, were on top of the pile of dirty washing. I took the white knickers and went back down to the lounge with a feeling of arousal spreading through my groin and chest.

Holding them to my nose, I could still detect the damp scent of her pussy; it was scintillating, I felt lightheaded. Despite it being just twenty minutes since she'd drained me of semen, my cock was soon fully engorged. I started playing with myself in the certain knowledge that I could easily come again. Breathing in the lovely scent of her sex from the gusset of her knickers, there was no question that she'd been turned on and had become very wet while reading the article.

As I began to stroke my cock, I pictured her with the top two buttons of her blouse undone, her hand inside, cupping her breasts, arousing herself by squeezing her nipples before feeling the urge to touch her pussy. Her hand moved up underneath her stretchy tight skirt and over her stocking tops, the hem of her skirt riding up over her thighs, her fingers pressing into the gusset of her knickers. She would be gradually more aroused as she contemplated masturbating before I came home. She would be thinking of erotic scenarios involving people that she found desirable.

Eventually, she would get to the last paragraph and she would read it almost like an instruction. She'd be so far gone that she'd hurry upstairs to the one room in the house where she could lock herself in. She'd hurriedly pull up her skirt to her waist and pull down her knickers until they fell to the floor, laying on top of her high-heeled feet. She would free her right foot and open her legs wide, leaving her wet knickers draped over her left foot and its four-inch heeled shoe. She would prop herself against the bathroom wall with her left hand and reach between her thighs to massage her pussy with her right hand.