I. She Catches Me
Needless to say, I was very embarrassed when my wife caught me at the computer—shorts down, Kleenex in hand to catch the incriminating evidence, dick hard and out in the open, and a woman on the screen forcefully making her man cum.
She said my name. "What the hell are you doing?"
I tried shutting the computer screen, but she put her hand on my shoulder. I felt like I was in the middle of a bad movie, caught doing something such as this. Caught by my beautiful wife on whom I would never cheat, but she, no doubt, saw this as just that: cheating.
"Keep it on," she said, and peered closer at the screen, ignoring my current position.
So I did, and she watched the rest of the video without speaking a word to me. Meanwhile, my hard-on evaporated in a smoke of shame, and I just sat there like a boy in the principal's office of some very open-minded school.
Finally, the video ended, and she said, "Do you like stuff like that?"
Unable to speak due to the huge knot in my throat, I could only nod.
"Really?" She seemed genuinely surprised.
See, we had a great sex life, but it was nothing unconventional, like the video she caught me watching. We had sex (a lot of sex) in just about every room of the house. Sometimes I was on top, but she didn't mind riding me, either. Sometimes I snuck up behind her, started kissing her, and then took her bent over the desk, kitchen table or bed. I went down on her occasionally—maybe I should have done more—but she didn't seem to particularly care for that. And, on very rare occasions, she would treat me to her otherworldly blow-jobs, which I constantly craved.
I had never been with another woman, nor she with another man. I loved every time we made love—or fucked, if you will—and so did she. Still, sometimes I liked to watch some videos that went to the edge.
Or jumped the hell off.
Which is what she caught me watching tonight: a naked man had his feet and hands bound together, and he lay on top of a table, with his penis dangling through a gloryhole. The woman—topless, wearing only a red thong and mask that covered her eyes and nose—spanked him for a while, and then knelt under the table, where she took her time bring him to climax, and then afterward, with his head no doubt sensitive as hell, continued to play with him, making him scream and beg for mercy. All the while, she smiled her sexy smile.
I have watched this video often, and often, wished I were in the man's place.
I nodded again, and my wife said, "What other videos do you like to watch?"
Looking at her, I arched my eyebrows. "Seriously?"
She nodded. "Show me," she said, and squeezed my shoulder affectionately.
Too confused by the situation to ignore her, I type up some other clips that I enjoyed.
In one, a fully clothed woman wearing gloves milked her tied-up slave to climax—and then beyond.
In another, a naked blonde bounced on her tied-up slave's dick, warning him not to come. Then she got off him and furiously jacked him off, warning about the consequences of climaxing. And when he did, she got mad, and jerked him off more, ignoring his pleas.
"More," my wife said. And I obeyed.
I showed her a couple more of the same, and then another favorite, one where two women in lingerie toyed with a man for a long time. One—a brunette—rode his cock while the other—a blonde—rode his face. The women stared at each other and kissed while they fucked the bound man.
Eventually, they each put on dildos and invaded the man.
"Whoa," my wife said. "You like that?"
"Actually, no."
"You skip this part?"
"I do. I mean...I'm not for a dildo being used on me, but a prostate massage..."
"Show me."
I pulled up another video and showed her what I meant.
Then she asked, "Any more?"
I don't know why, but I showed her one more.
It had been a fantasy of mine to cum on my wife's gorgeous ass. I loved looking at it when I fucked her from behind, and I loved holding on to it when my wife rode me like there was no tomorrow. Still, when she gave me handjobs—thankfully, not as much now that we're married—I always just came into an inviting palm or her perky breasts. I never finished myself on to her—she enjoyed making me come, and I wasn't going to stop her—but I always wanted to shoot my load on to that rockin' ass of hers.
The last video was something like that. Two women, both in black leather lingerie, tied a man's hands up to a ceiling, and then one woman jacked him off, and he came on to the other woman's ass, as she was bent over in front of his dick, awaiting the money shot.
I envied that man.
After that one finished, she said, "OK. No more," and then turned my chair toward her. I didn't know when, but she had dropped her pants and underwear. She sat on my suddenly rigid cock (when did that happen?) and said, "Think only about me, OK?"
I could only nod.
When I felt the warm stirrings in my groin, I let her know. She continued bouncing, and I continued holding on to her ass.
Soon, she let out a cry, and then I released, pumping her full of cum.
She slowed down, and then stopped, head resting on my shoulder. She whispered, "Don't watch anymore. Not tonight. Not ever. I'll make it worth it. I promise."
Again, I was filled with shame. "I love you," I said.
She kissed me on the forehead. "I love you, too."
II. She Tricks Me
Almost two weeks passed, during which my wife and I made love at about the same rate before The Incident. She never brought up my lewd act and I never mentioned the videos to which I introduced her.
In fact, I didn't watch anything, either. I stayed true to my word.
Everything seemed good—great, even. I didn't expect much else to happen regarding The Incident. I just thought life would go on as if it never even happened.
I worked that Saturday morning for about four hours, and while at my office, she called me.
"Tonight's going to be special," she said, with a hint of playfulness in her voice.
I smiled. "Sounds good. Any occasion?" I knew damn well the occasion: my birthday was that Monday.
"No," she said. "I just wanna have some fun."
"OK. I'm about done here. Will you be home when I get back?"
"Actually, I won't be. But I'll see you around 6 for dinner."
"Sounds good."
We said our I-Love-Yous and I went back to work.
When I returned home, I was more than a bit curious. But she was gone, like she said she would be. I retired to our living room to watch some college football and catch-up on the week's newspapers. Eventually, I dozed off, but awoke when I heard her shut the front door.
I went in to greet her. She had a bag of groceries and had bought a bottle of wine.
"Need any help?"
She smiled. "No, I'm good, but why don't you go put on something nice for tonight? I'll start dinner, and then you can take over after you change."
"Sounds like a plan."
I went upstairs to our bedroom and put on something similar to what I wore to work: blue dress shirt, slacks and dress shoes. I walked back downstairs and into the kitchen. My wife smiled at me and handed me a glass of wine.
"I'll be back in five," she said and went upstairs. I drank the wine and stirred the sauce and listened to the radio. About five minutes—and one glass of wine—later, she came down the stairs as I tended to the sauce.
"How's it all look?" she said.
"Great." I inhaled the aroma. "Smells great, too." I turned to her, and almost dropped my glass.
My wife is not a tall woman. (For that matter, I am not a tall man.) She stands 5'3"—maybe. But she looks great. She's got a pair of tits that are proportionate, and while her ass is a little big for her body, it's as firm as a rock, and I'm only slightly exaggerating. She has a mostly flat stomach, killer legs and flawless skin.
When I turned to her, she wore all black: thigh-high boots, stockings, thong, bra and elbow-length gloves—everything. Including the whip she held in her right hand. She smiled at my bewildered look.
"Like what you see?"
