tagLoving WivesMy Husband Let Me Date

My Husband Let Me Date



I don't know why I'm so anxious about tonight. It's not like I haven't slept with other men since I've been married. Maybe it's because the man I'm dating tonight is such a hunk and I can't wait for him to get into my pants. Or maybe it's because my husband Kevin helped arrange this date and plans to be here when this guy comes over to fuck me.

I barely know Carl. He's been here twice, for dinner ostensibly. I didn't understand why Kevin invited him, at first. You see, this whole thing is Kevin's idea, believe it or not. He sprung it on me right after our first meeting with Carl.

"What do you think about him … as a date?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, as a date. Do you think he's good in bed?"

"I don't know. Why?"

I have to admit, Carl is easily one of the brawniest men I've ever met. An older guy, but in excellent physical shape. He's got a rugged but nice looking face. Nice hair—a little gray around the temples, but healthy and plentiful on top. Kevin's questions about what kind of a date I thought Carl would make really confused me.

"If you weren't married, would you date him?" Kevin asked me.

"Maybe. Why?"

Well, like I said, he asked because he had this wild idea, a fantasy he called it. He said he knew how much I liked sex and he also knew that since we had patched things up about our marriage there was not going to be any more cheating. (That was the only way our marriage would work, we both agreed. Total honesty from now on.) Part of our honesty truce, he said, was to admit that he sometimes fantasized about in bed with another man. So, it turns out that when he was talking about Carl as a possible date, he was talking about Carl as a possible date for me.

"This is a fantasy, right?" I asked him.

"Well, yes. It has been a fantasy. But, it could be more than that, if you wanted it to."

And that's how tonight came to be. Carl's coming here to see me—to have some fun. With Kevin's blessing. Oh, and did I mention that not only does my husband want me to get laid tonight; he also wants to see me get laid? What's that all about? He claims it'll be fun for him to watch. I'll be damned if I want to watch him screw another woman. Hell, I don't even want to know about it, if it happens. But if Kevin's OK with me fucking another guy, especially one as good looking as Carl Bargsdale, well, who am I to deny him his fun?

Of course, I'm also not sure how Carl's going to react to Kevin being here. I was surprised that Kevin didn't tell him. Carl could change his mind when he finds out that his invitation to have sex with me has a rather kinky string attached.

"Why didn't you tell him that you wanted to watch?" I asked.

"I don't know. I guess I thought he'd chicken out it if he knew," Kevin said.

"When do you plan to tell him?"

"When he gets here, I guess."

Besides the unknown of Carl's reaction, there's the unknown of my reaction. Let's face it, during the days when I was cheating on my husband part of the excitement was in the misbehaving--you know, the cookie jar thing: it's more fun getting into that jar high up on the shelf when you've been told to "keep out" than it is being handed the jar and given an open invitation to help yourself.

And then, it has crossed my mind that this whole date thing might be a test. Maybe Kevin's hoping I'll back out at the last minute. All I can say about that is if that's what he's looking for, he should have hooked me up with some fat, ugly-assed pig, not a stud like Carl.

Kevin's downstairs now. I half expected him to pop in to watch me get dressed. He's been asking me what I plan to wear, which bra, which panties, which dress, which lipstick, how am I going to wear my hair, everything. Well, in a minute, he'll get to see what I've done with my hair (pinned it up). I think he'll like the way this pastel blue blouse fits me—it's almost too small—and this navy blue skirt—it's short and fits me close. And, if things go right, he'll get to see my choice of underwear tonight: a lacy little maroon bra and panties set. The panties are not much more than a thong, and the bra is cut so low, it nearly shows my nipples. Sometimes I buy exotic underwear, but generally nothing this naughty. This, and a couple of other pieces of lingerie in my drawer, was a gift from a guy I dated a couple of times [see Party Girl]. I never had the heart to tell Kevin about the gifts. He likes them on me and I like the way I look in them, so it seemed silly to throw them away.


I never dreamed that I'd ever give my wife permission to date another man. I once asked her to have dinner with an important client who was in town on business, just to chat with him, show him some of the city, that's all. I wouldn't call that a date. Of course, it was a mistake. Angie's too attractive. What could I have been thinking? She showed him some of the city. And he showed her his hotel room. I don't know if he got her liquored up first, or what, but she didn't exactly holler ‘rape.' In fact, after that, he invited her to fly to the West Coast to attend a big party his company was throwing. She couldn't jump on that plane quick enough. I knew what was going on. I'm not an idiot. But I'm also not a screamer. I'm more the get-even type. So, while Angie was out in San Diego having herself a good ol' time, I jumped the bones of a cute young thing with the prettiest knockers you'd ever want to see.

But that's all behind us now. Somehow our marriage survived all that. We've made a truce—no more cheating, for either of us.

As for this new thing, well, I'd heard about married couples whose bedroom doors are open to …others, but I never thought that I might one day be one of those husbands who opened the door to let someone get in bed with his wife.

At our company's annual holiday party this year, Warren Albright, an outside sales rep I know, cornered me over a couple of drinks and began extolling the merits of an arrangement he and his wife had. He said he lets his wife fuck other men, as long as he can be present.

"I don't believe you," I said.

He assured me it was true. "She's an over-sexed person, by nature," he explained. "So, this way, she doesn't have to cheat … and I get the show of a life time."

"You mean if I fucked your wife, you wouldn't care?"

"Well, it's not like that," he explained. "First of all, she's not a whore. It's not like you get to fuck her just because you want to. Only she decides who she shares her bed with."

"OK, let me rephrase the question. If your wife wants to fuck me, you don't care?"

"It's not that I don't care, Kevin. I do care. In fact, one of the primary reasons I let her fuck other men is because it's such a turn-on."

"A turn-on for who? For her or for you?"

"Well, hopefully for her too, but definitely for me. I love watching her fuck a guy!"

"You watch her fuck other men?"

"That's right. I let her fuck other men as long as I can watch."

"That's sick!"

"Call it what you want, but don't knock it if you haven't tried it. Unless you've experienced it, you have no idea how hot it can be to watch your wife give herself to another man—right in front of you."

"It sounds crazy to me."

"I know. That was my first reaction when a friend of mine told me what I'm telling you."

"So what converted you?"

"Seeing it."

"Seeing your wife screw another man?"


"Was she cheating on you?"

"No. I saw how she looked at Martin, this guy we both knew, and I just came right out and asked her how much she liked him. And then I told her about my friend who likes to watch his wife with other men."

"Did she think you were nuts?"

Warren laughed. "That's exactly what she thought, so I never mentioned it again."

"So what happened?"

"I guess she really had the hots for this guy. A couple of months later she asked me if I was really serious about what I said.

"I asked her if she was talking about Martin. ‘Do you want to fuck him?'

"She told me she fantasized about it, but she was clearly worried about how I'd react to even knowing that she had that kind of feeling about one of our friends."

"That was nice of her—to come right out and tell you like that," I said.

"True. Anyway, I told her was absolutely serious, but there were two conditions. First of all, it had to be a one-time thing. She'd have to make that crystal clear to Martin. I didn't want any on-going boyfriend relationships. Secondly, I had to be present.

" ‘Martin would never go along with you being there,' she assured me.

"But he did go along with it, and that‘s how we got started. And, I'm telling you, it's un-fuckin-believable--watching your wife strip for a guy, showing off her body for his pleasure, worshiping his cock with her tongue and her mouth, and then taking his cock in her hand and guiding it between the lips of her cunt. Mmmmm. Just watching her enjoyment is such a rush. You know when you make love with your wife, you can't really see how much she's enjoying it--not like you can when you are seated across the room. From that vantage point, you see things, things you never saw before, like the way she tosses her head back in abandonment the moment a cock sinks deep inside her, or the way her whole body shifts and slides with every thrust of his cock. You get to see the way her legs look wrapped around a man's back, as she urges him deeper inside her. And best of all, she is so thrilled to be cherished for that moment, not only by her date but also by you for giving her the present of total freedom, that she can't thank you enough later on when it's just you and her in bed. At least, that's how it is with us."

"How many different men have you seen her with?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess there's been six or seven since we started this thing about a year ago."

I had my doubts about Warren and his unorthodox extramarital arrangement, but I couldn't help wonder how I would react to seeing Angie with another man. Would it have the same effect on me that Warren says it has on him?

After mulling it over for a few days, I said what the hell; the worst that can happen is she tells me she thinks it's a nutty idea-- which she did. But the idea came up in conversation often enough that one night while we were making love, she pretended she was with another man. She called me by another name and even made cute little remarks about "her husband" being downstairs, and how he might hear us if we made too much noise. It was a turn-on, I have to tell ya. Afterwards, as we lay there in bed, she asked me how I liked her little game.

"Was that fun, honey? Pretending I was fucking someone else?" she asked me, her head on my chest, her fingers toying with my spent cock.

"It honestly was," I told her.

"And if it really was someone else? How would you feel?"

"I think it might even be hotter. But how can anyone know for sure?"

"Think about it," she said, as she slid her hand down to the base of my cock and then gently cradled my balls. "Think about seeing me lying here with someone else, someone else's balls in my hand. He's kissing me, and sliding his tongue into my mouth, and I'm moaning and getting wet for him. Wet for his hard cock. Think about me spreading my legs for him, honey."

She was deliberately testing me. Painting a picture for me, to see how I might react to the real thing. I could feel the blood starting to flow back into my cock.

"Maybe he'll want me to lick him, and suck him. Can you see me with another man's dick in my mouth, Sweetheart?"

I studied her lips and tried to picture them around a strange cock. She moistened them with the tip of her tongue.

"Think about it, Honey."

I was thinking about it, and my cock was thinking about it too. A brand new erection was unexpectedly arriving on the scene, a development that did not go unnoticed by my sexy wife. She began stroking me, slowly, up and down.

"Hmmm, so, this is your reaction, huh?

What could I say? There's nothing as honest as a penis, right?

"He might want to do things to me, honey—before we fuck. He might ask me if I want him to lick my pussy. Think about that, Kevin. Think about me with my legs spread wide so that my date can stick his tongue inside me."

Angie then lifted one leg in the air and held it there, exposing her partially-shaved pussy, as if to show me just where her date's mouth might be.

"Think about him eating me, Honey. Getting me wetter and wetter."

At that point I had an urge to devour the meal so deliciously spread before me, but I just lay there enjoying the expert hand job and the "dirty" show-and-tell.

"And when he's got my pussy all hot and hungry for cock, Baby, I'm going to be lying here, begging him to fuck me. Are you going to be OK with that, Sweetheart?"

My cock was literally throbbing. Angie's salacious story-telling was getting a standing ovation.

"Are you going to be OK with the sight of some guy's huge cock pushing its way inside me, Honey?"

She bent her airborne leg at the knee and lowered her foot to the bed, keeping her legs lewdly open for me. Her soft warm hand still sliding up and down me.

"I'm going to be moaning, Honey, moaning for him to stick it in me, all the way in me. You're going to hear me telling another man to give it to me, telling him to fuck me!"

With that, I scrambled quickly between her spread legs. "And then he's going to do this," I groaned, ramming my hard cock deep into her.

"Oh yes! Fuck me, fuck me! Deeper! Harder! Fuck me! FUCK ME, BAB!"

I stayed hard inside her wet pussy for the longest time, even though she tried to squeeze the cum right out of me. She seemed to have fun pretending that the cock inside her actually belonged to another man. And, I definitely enjoyed going along with the charade. We came together, hollering and laughing and sweating.

But like I said, you can't really know for sure how you're going to react to the real thing. So, you either drop it or you jump in with both feet. I was ready, I thought, and I had essentially challenged my sex-loving wife to jump in with me. Knowing how much she loves sex, I was hoping she'd agree to try it. But, to be honest, there was a part of me that was hoping she'd say no.


From my bedroom window, I see Carl pulling into our driveway. I watch him get out of his SUV. He's dressed casually, khaki trousers and a plaid sports shirt. I see him glance at Kevin's car and then start up the front walk, tall and confident.

I holler down to Kevin. "Honey, Carl's here. I'll come down and let him in."

Carl reaches for my hand when I meet him at the front door, looks me up and down and makes a muffled guttural sound like he's clearing his throat, but which I know, having been around a few horny men, means he likes what he sees. And then he kisses me.

"Oh, my. Don't you look scrumptious?" he says, his eyes still taking me all in.

"You look pretty hot yourself, sweetie," I tell him, taking the opportunity to check out the way his over-sized biceps and broad chest fill out his shirt.

"Where's your husband? I noticed his car out front."

"Oh, he's still here. I think he's running late or something," I fib, not sure just how to explain Kevin's presence.

Carl seems a little bothered by the fact that Kevin's still home. I try to get him to relax. I take him downstairs to the family room, fix us some drinks, and then join him on the sofa.

He has trouble keeping his eyes off my tits and my legs as we talk. Seated, my skirt seems even shorter, showing off even more of my stocking-covered thighs than when I was standing. My stockings are black, the kind that don't need a garter belt, they just cling to you, high up your thighs.

Carl keeps looking down at my legs—like he wants to touch them.

"Your husband is one lucky man, Angie."

"Thank you, Carl. I feel lucky too."

"What do you mean?"

"How many men are confident enough about their relationship to let their wife … date … other men? I think I'm very lucky."

"Yeah, I guess you are," he says, scooting closer to me and reaching his arm around my shoulders and planting a short kiss on my lips.

As we talk, he keeps looking over at the stairway, like he's wondering when Kevin's going to show up.

"Do you like to dance, Carl?" I ask, jumping to my feet.

"I'm not much of a dancer, honey," he says apologetically.

"Don't be silly. I don't really care if you can dance or not. It's just an excuse to get to know each other a little better," I tell him, turning on some music.

"C'mon. Get up and come over here and dance with me."

He protests meekly, but I pay that no mind and pull him by the hand. Soon, we're in the middle of the room, standing, our hands on each other's waist, taking in the music and each other's eyes.

"You don't even have to move, Sweetie," I say, slowly moving my hips from side to side, my breasts brushing against him, ever so slightly, as I sway.

"See, I told you I couldn't dance, he tells me with an embarrassed chuckle."

"Oh, you're doing fine," I tell him. "See how I'm moving … from side to side? Why don't you try it?"

"I'd rather just watch," he says, which gets a laugh out of me.

"You silly, boy. C'mon, put your arms around me … yes, like that."

Our bodies touch now, in lots of places.

"Now just take some slow steps ... with me. Good … very nice, Carl."

I like the way my titties feel pressed against Carl's hard body. He's definitely getting more comfortable with being alone with me, and I'm starting to believe that this date thing might actually work out. I'm especially encouraged when I feel Carl's hand slide down to my rear end … and stay there, as we dance.

Carl's back is to the stairs, so he doesn't see my husband approaching.

"Hi, Carl."

Kevin's voice startles my dance partner. He starts to pull away from me, but I hold him tight.

"Relax, guys. I just came down to tell you both that my card game was cancelled."

Carl looks at me, but says nothing.

"This shouldn't change anything, Carl. I've got stuff to do upstairs in my study, so I want you both to just act like I'm not even home. OK?"

"OK, Honey," I say. Then, and as soon as Kevin turns to go upstairs I take Carl's face in both hands and turn his head toward me.

"Carl, I hope you're OK with Kevin being upstairs. He's not going to bother us, besides … I was just starting to enjoy our little dance lesson."

I don't wait for a reply. The music is still playing, so I just go right back to letting the music take control of my hips. Then, taking Carl's hand in mine, I return it to my ass, my gently swaying ass.

"C'mon, Sweetie. Dance with me."


I only knew Carl indirectly, through a mutual friend. He's divorced and lives across town. He's a couple of years older than me, probably about 45, I'd guess, but he does some kind of home improvement work that keeps him in great shape. I knew Angie would love his body and his movie star good looks. If she was going to go along with this dating thing, he'd be a great first date, I thought. So I invited him over for dinner, just to get acquainted and break the ice. We all had a good time, and that night in bed Angie and I made love and talked about the possibility of her and Carl … doing it. Angie told me she still thought I was crazy, but admitted that Carl would probably be a lot of fun.

The next day I called him and told him that Angie liked him.

"That's nice. I like her too," he said. "She's a real fine woman."

"Fine enough to fuck?"

He was sure I was putting him on. He laughed and told me I shouldn't joke about that kind of thing. I told him I was serious. It took a lot of talking before I got him to even accept the possibility that the offer might be real.

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