Husband’s Wish Fulfilledbytoomuchinmyhead©
Don't misunderstand me, I love my husband, and he loves me, dearly. I know that there is a percentage of the population that could never understand that, and will think terrible and unkind things of us after reading this. The will claim that this is not love, and there is nothing I could tell them that would convince them otherwise. But it is love that makes him want me to be happy, to enjoy a beautiful experience that I did not know I wanted, and it is my love for him that makes me want him more, appreciate him more, desire him more.
Over the course of the last several years my husband had convinced me that I should experience sex with another man. He had been my only sexual partner; I had married young, and had not experienced intercourse before meeting him. After we were married, he was away a lot for his job, weeks at a time, and we would have great sex every time he came home. After several years of marriage he brought home a sex toy as a surprise for me, a dildo; a realistic skin, thick-veined fat crown toy dick. We had never used one before, and I was a little hesitant, but so excited to see him we had hot sex right away, as we always did when he came home. The next day he wanted to use the toy. I was a little nervous, and it hurt a little the first time, just at the beginning, but then it suddenly felt awesome, so big inside me; and I felt so stuffed, stretched and completely filled, and he made me orgasm with it.
After a few times I got used to the idea of being penetrated with a toy, and then started to really enjoy it. I have always cum easily, and the toy was wonderful. I liked it when he used it on me, but I liked it more when I used it on myself while he watched me. I was no stranger to masturbating, but it had always been with my fingers, alone; I was self-conscious about touching myself with my husband watching. But using the toy on myself was different, there was something between me and my hand, and it certainly felt different. It was slightly bigger than my husband and really filled me, but not big enough to hurt, just a little stretched, a little more full, more THERE. He loved watching as I slid it in and out of my wet pussy. I would close my eyes, and because it felt different, imagine it was a real cock, a different cock, doing me.
One of those times, while watching me, he asked me how it felt. "Different," I managed, concentrating on it stroking slowly in and out of me, wet and slick, touching places his cock didn't. "Different from you."
"It's so hot to watch," he said, "is it like another man? Is it like having sex with someone else?" He knew he was the only man I'd ever had.
Despite having imagined it, I was a bit uncomfortable saying it, but my passion talked for me. "Yes," I heard myself tell him, "Like someone else, like another man is inside me." I was close to cumming, and was pushing it in, hard and slow, enjoying it stroking my insides while he watched.
"Does it feel good? Does it feel real, like a real man inside you?"
"M-mm, yeah, it does." My orgasm was close, and I pushed it, rubbing my clit, and my breath caught as I tensed and started cumming, crying out.
He watched me, and halfway through my orgasm, said, "Would it feel better if it WAS real? Would you like another dick, for real?" My orgasm peaked a second time, and my legs shook as I came, hard.
We didn't discuss it further that day, but afterwards when we used the toy he would often mention it, telling me it was real, it was a another man, and ask me to tell him how it felt having another man inside me, how it was different.
Since he was gone a lot, he had always encouraged me to go out, to stay busy, not just work and stay home. I ran, I played some baseball, I joined groups. Then one of the times we were talking about what I do when he's away, he suggested that I might 'have the opportunity', and that if I did, I should 'go for it'. I asked him what he meant.
"You know, another guy. Sex." I looked at him, disbelieving. "If you have the chance, you should do it."
Now, I know he wasn't thrilled with being away a lot, and neither was I, but that was his job, and it kept us comfortable; we live in a nice house on several acres of woodland, near the lake with great views of the countryside. And we did have wonderful sex every time he came home. But was he really suggesting I do it with someone else? Sex was great for me; I loved it, and I loved him, but he was still my first and my only. Sex for me was very emotional, not an impersonal physical activity. He didn't press it, but he didn't let it go, either. He told me it was just sex, and I defended my position that it was an emotional connection.
We talked about it a little that day, and he would bring it up from time to time, and over time I started thinking about it, and then fantasizing about it. I started thinking that I had missed out on something marrying so young, only having been with one man. But once I allowed the thought some credence I began considering it as a possibility, even as I told myself I would never actually do it. As months passed I started imagining what another man would be like. As you might guess, once I opened my mind to the possibility, my imagination led me where it would, permitting me to think of things formerly forbidden or avoided. Slowly, over time, I accepted the possibility that it COULD happen, while never believing that it WOULD happen. I gradually began looking at other men, and thinking of how they would be in bed. And with my thinking changing, my behavior followed; soon I became more aware of the attention of other men, something I had not noticed before during my married life.
And I found that I enjoyed the attention, and subconsciously, I think, began to encourage it, becoming a little more flirtatious, and returning their glances.
He encouraged my thinking, and that helped me get my head around the idea, and after a while I found myself considering HOW it could happen, rather than if. Wanting it to happen? Who could I do it with? Someone in town, someone who knew us, seemed awkward and impossible. We live in a small community. A stranger? Too scary. But even as I considered that my options were limited the idea became real, as I had allowed for the possibility, and I remained open to the idea. I began to take more care to dress well when I went out, even for regular daily stuff, shopping and the like; not looking slutty, but making sure I looked good. I enjoyed the attention, and the looks I got made me feel more attractive, desired, more sexual. I bought nicer bras, sexier underwear, sometimes thinking that if it happened, I would want the man to see me as a woman who believes she's sexy. I started noticing men, in the supermarket or around town, and slyly checking out guys asses, or admiring a young man's build at the gym, and wondering. My husband's frequent reassurances made it easier, and I permitted myself to fantasize about experimenting.
A few months ago I was invited to a charity dance by Karen, a friend at work. I told her that my husband was away, working, and she talked me into coming alone. She was going with her husband, Paul. The dance was about thirty miles north, where Karen's sister lived; her sister and husband had invited Karen and Paul. I had not really gone out much our first years married, but in the last years, as my husband encouraged me to stay busy while he was away, going out without him had become more common. And I did like dancing, so I said I'd go.
I spoke to him on the phone that night and told him about the dance; I always try to let him know when I'm going to be out in case he calls the house. He told me he wouldn't be able to call for a few days, as they were off-site, but to go and have fun.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he joked. But in the back of my mind now was the possibility he had put there. I wasn't intending to have sex, but after all this time considering it, I think I was more open to the opportunity.
When Friday came Karen told me she and her husband would pick me up at my place, and we would drive the thirty miles north up to her sister's house to have a few drinks and snacks before hitting the dance. I got home a little early and started getting ready. As I said, I had learned to like dressing better, sexier, even when going out for day-to-day things, so going to a dance I took some extra care, to like the way I looked. Maybe get a few appreciative looks from some men. But thinking about that made me miss my husband. We'd been apart for a few weeks then, and I missed him, I wished he were home with me.
I selected clothes before showering; a denim skirt that hit my leg about four inches above my knee, and a white tank top, with sandals, and nice underwear. Thinking of my husband had me thinking about sex; I'd been alone for so long, so it wasn't too far from my mind. But thinking about sex those days also brought on thoughts of possibly allowing it to happen, no, making it happen, if I, as my husband would say, 'have the opportunity'. It was on my mind when I went to the shower, and I trimmed my pubic hair, making sure I looked nice, in case anyone other than me should see it.
After the shower I took my time doing the girly stuff, then dressed. I put on a toe ring with my sandals, then added a matching set of hummingbird necklace and earrings I loved. I checked myself in the mirror, then went back and added an ankle bracelet my husband had given me. Satisfied, and pleased with how I looked, I waited for Karen and her husband.
They were right on time, and we took the forty or so minutes to get to Karen's sister's. We met, said hello's, and I found out that Karen's cousin was also coming. We sat around and chatted, having a glass of wine, and Karen's sister had made some appetizers. After a little while there was a knock at the door, and Karen's sister let in the cousin. As he made his way around, he said his friend was coming, too, he was parking his truck. He made the rounds, saying hello, and I think he may have had a drink or two already; not drunk, but further along that any of us. And then his friend came in.
And, oh, his friend.
I was stunned by him as he entered the room. Tall, maybe six-two, short, dark hair and beautiful green eyes, clean cut, fit and well dressed. Just a beautiful specimen of man, and I was smitten instantly. In the past I would have identified him as nice-looking, even sexy, but that would have been all. The new me, the one with the open mind to possibility, who was aware of other men and their affect on me, took him in my sights. I watched as he went around the room, saying hello, calling everyone by their name as he met them, and I trembled a little as he came to me, saying my name, "Brenda," in his deep, but soft voice. He was well-mannered and polite as he greeted me, and our eyes met, and locked, ever so briefly. I don't think anyone else noticed the sparks flying, but I know I did, and I'm pretty sure he did, too.
As we all hung out, talking, he made sure to include me in conversation. God, I felt like a schoolgirl, hungry and appreciative of his attention. I forced myself to mingle, but my eyes kept drifting back to him, to look at him, drink him in, and to see if he was looking at me.
Conversations settled into smaller groups, spread through the kitchen and dining room, and I found myself sitting next to Duncan, and we talked. He told me of his job, selling logging equipment, which took him away to remote places, often for weeks at a time. I told him about teaching, and we traded stories, mine focusing on being with children all day. He told me of his son, who lived with his mother, and how much he missed him when he was away. I described my husband's job, and we commiserated about being apart from loved ones. He didn't like being apart from his son, but wasn't married to the boy's mom, and she wasn't thrilled with him being away so much. I told him I understood, as my husband left me alone quite a bit. He touched my arm once, as he spoke, and thrills ran through me, electric tingling that shot through my body, and I hoped he didn't see me tremble.
As we straightened up, getting ready to head out, I was helping out in the kitchen, and he caught me checking out his butt; a fine, solid man's ass. As I looked at him he turned, and I almost turned away, instantly embarrassed, but gave him an appreciative look before turning my head. A few minutes later I caught him giving me the once-over. Our eyes met again, and fireworks went off in the kitchen, although everyone seemed oblivious except for Duncan and me.
"I'll drive," Paul said, "who's riding with us?"
"I'll drive too," Duncan called out, "I'm meeting a friend down south later tonight, so I'm not drinking." Karen's sister and her husband went with Karen and Paul, leaving me and Karen's cousin to go in Duncan's truck. Enjoying my luck, we headed out to the cars for the dance. When we got outside I saw Duncan's truck sitting WAY up high, one of those elevated deals. I remembered him telling me of the remote places he goes for work, so it made perfect sense, but I was in a skirt. I stopped at the door, and looked at him. He grinned, and such a gentleman, helped me climb up. It was a bench seat, so I scooted to the middle and drinks-too-early climbed in after me. Again I felt like a high-schooler, getting in the hot guy's car with his friend who I wished would go away, but wouldn't. Duncan gave me a little grin as he climbed in, settling his tall frame next to me, and started the engine.
"Excuse me," he said, reaching for the floor-mounted stick. I smiled, and he smiled back, and shifted into gear. The three of us chatted nonchalantly, Duncan and I pretending that there was no chemistry between us, even as I relished the accidental brushes of his leg or arm against mine. My blood was heating.
The dance turned out to be a somewhat ordinary affair, and we got drinks and warmed up, talking over the DJ. I'd had two glasses of wine at the house, and now started my third, reminding myself to be careful not to get too drunk. I didn't want to lose control, or worse, get drunk and sick, so I paced myself. Duncan, true to his word, stuck with his soda, while Karen's cousin continued drinking. We pretended we were a group, but the married couples kind of separated off, and I chatted with Duncan, but for the life of me I can't remember a single thing we said; all I could do was steal sidelong glances at him, admiring his build, his face, or listening to the sound of his voice, and reveling in the effect he had on me. Every time his sparkling green eyes met mine I thought I would melt.
After about an hour I went to the ladies room. I spent a few minutes after washing my hands looking in the mirror, checking myself, in that crazy girl way, when you want to look good for your man. Realizing what I was doing, I corrected myself. He's not your man, half of me said silently, he's just a guy, and you just met him. Oh, but WHAT a guy, my other half answered, and you know you want him, admit it. I tried to still myself, feeling infatuated and silly and trembly all over; a delightful, wonderful sensation. I took a couple of deep breaths and went back out.
I found the others but didn't see Karen and Paul.
"They had to go," drunk cousin answered when I asked about them, "some kind of family thing." I was a little disappointed, as they were really the only people I knew there.
"I told them I'd drop you off," Duncan leaned in to tell me, and I smiled up at him. "I'm heading that way." He reminded me that he had plans to meet a friend of his down south of where I live. "We'll have to drop him off, though," he motioned to his friend, "he's in no shape to drive. He's on the way."
I fended off a couple of dance requests from strange guys, but danced with Karen's cousin. By now he was pretty far gone, and as much as I like dancing it really wasn't much fun. I kept stealing glances at Duncan as we danced, watching his eyes, and catching myself feeling a little jealous when he glanced at other women in the hall. The song ended and I excused myself, and went back to where Duncan was standing. We chatted for a bit, when Karen's sister came up and said they were leaving, they really weren't enjoying themselves. I have to admit, that if not for Duncan, the dance was pretty lame, and I didn't blame them. Duncan reassured them that he'd get me home safe, and they got a ride from someone they knew.
I'd lost track of my wine by this time, and told him I was going for another.
"Bring me back a club soda?"
"Sure," I told him, and headed for the bar. I got the drink, and as I returned, negotiating my way through the crowd, I saw a woman approaching Duncan. As I stepped up behind him she was finishing asking him to dance.
"Thanks for the offer," I heard him say, "but I don't think my wife would appreciate it." She made a pouty face and left. I waited a second, and then came around him and handed him his drink. We sipped and I put mine down on a nearby table. The DJ started a song I liked, and I felt suddenly bold. I put my cup on a nearby table and took his, setting it next to mine, and took his hand.
"Come on, husband," I joked, letting him know he was caught in his game, "dance with your wife." He grinned sheepishly as I led him out on the floor.
He danced wonderfully, so unlike my husband. My God, I thought, is there nothing he can't do? We swept around the floor, and every touch, every move he made, was a singular delight. We stayed out for three straight songs, talking occasionally, leaning in to each other for a sentence or two. We watched Karen's cousin getting turned down a lot. He'd had a few dances earlier, but the ladies were catching on that he was a little too inebriated, and we had an amused chuckle at his expense.
"You're pretty good," he commented, watching my legs. "You like dancing?"
"I love it," I told him. "I don't really do it enough. You're pretty good yourself." He smiled at the compliment.
When the third song ended, I was going to take a break, and stopped, but the DJ started a slow song, one I liked, and Duncan's eyes met mine and he pulled me back, taking me into his arms, and I molded my body to his and we danced together, slowly, feeling the heat from each other's bodies through our clothes. Suddenly my lack of recent intimacy took over, assisted by the wine and the undeniable physical attraction. I pressed myself against him, feeling his arm around me, touching my back, his other in my hand. I rested my head against his chest; he was a full head taller than me, so the height was perfect, and we moved, slowly, enjoying the closeness. The song ended too quickly; I could have danced like that all night, I think.
We went back to try and find our drinks, but couldn't, there were too many other glasses there. We sat for a while, talking again, watching the crowd, but we sat closer now, no longer pretending that we didn't feel something, not trying to hide it anymore. He touched my arm sometimes as he spoke, and once put his hand on my knee, and then pulled it back. I missed it as soon as it was gone. I pretended once that I couldn't hear him, so he would lean closer, and talk into my ear. My ears are sensitive, and I get really turned on when they are touched, and feeling his breath on them, knowing his lips were so close, just inches away, made me hot. I did it a couple of more times, feeling the tingle from my ears, down my spine to my pussy.
Duncan went up for drinks, but when he got back the DJ was announcing the last set. I grinned, thinking well, there's another drink I would leave on the table. He smiled back and took my hand and led me out onto the floor. I floated after him, watching his legs and his butt as he worked through the dancing couples to an open spot. We stayed up the entire set, until the DJ announced last song, and cued up "I Want To Know What Love Is" by Foreigner. We looked at each other, a long second, and silently agreed which direction this night would go. I slipped in close, and snuggled into him, feeling his chin rest on top of my head. I pressed my leg between his, my crotch on his thigh, and our bodies shifted to the music; not dancing, really, just swaying slightly, pressing our bodies against each other. My head was swimming, and I wrapped my arms tightly around his back, pulling him closer. I know he knew what I was doing, and he let me know it, pressing back, and softly singing parts of the song in my ear. Feeling his lips at my ear again, whispering the song, the electricity ran through me, tingling right to my pussy rubbing against his leg, and I felt my panties getting a little steamy. And then his hands confidently slipped down my back, over my ass, and he pulled my pelvis against him as the song ended.