"I want to see you being fucked," John grunted returning to a theme we'd discussed several times as we'd had sex over the years.
"Why?" I asked.
"I want to see how you react to having it with another guy."
"Oh God that's so good," I groaned slightly lifting my stomach from the bed, hoping that would divert him from asking more questions.
As he arched his back, he grabbed my hips and lifted his chest up. That gave him more leverage so he was able to push harder and deeper into me which was lovely. I opened my legs further, pulled my knees up a little and raised my bum. He surged in and out of me several times making me grunt and moan with the lovely feelings that came from the depth of penetration that gave him.
"Wouldn't you like this from another bloke. Another bloke fucking you, another bloke's cock up your hot, wet cunt as I looked on?" he mumbled through my short blonde hair in which his face was buried.
"Stop it John, we've been here loads of times, just leave it please."
He did just leave it but went on fucking me until we had a lovely mutual climax.
Usually, I managed to avoid fully answering John's questions. It wasn't that they annoyed or revolted me, for they actually intrigued and, in many ways, excited me. It was that I didn't want to confront the situation with him in the cold light of post orgasmic sex. I didn't want to discuss it, didn't want to find out more or hear precisely what he meant. I didn't want to address the idea myself for, deep down I knew that if 'push came to shove' my answer would be yes. The idea of being fucked as John watched, turned me on.
After a session like that where we had made great love and had cum together, I didn't like to think of being with another guy but, like many women approaching, well in really, middle age, the idea appealed. But at the same time being unfaithful, having a fling or an affair didn't. The eternal conundrum, I guess.
*
I'd been to the gym and having forgotten the urgent work before I went out, I didn't change when I got home, but settled down and started working. I hadn't showered, so my yogas and white with black edging tank top and my short, blonde hair that clung to my scalp were slightly damp with perspiration.
At times, I amazed herself when, for instance, I was supposed to be reading a book, but was actually miles away thinking of something entirely divorced from the project in hand. I had a creative yet very flittering mind. Today was no exception. The only difference being that what was in hand was not the project, but my rounded D, almost DD cup breast. The full boob, which I had eased out of the white sports bra. It wasn't the extremes of copywriting that was going through my mind, it was the thought of being fucked by another man, albeit a faceless one, as John looked on. It was not the problems confronting the advertising message that filled my mind, but having a stranger's cock in me. It was not completing the copy that concerned me; it was completing my masturbation that was uppermost in my mind. All thoughts of some clever sentence construction were pushed to one side in just the same way that my singlet was pulled up so that I had full access to both my breasts. I had yanked them out from the big, tight sports bra. My hands no longer held the brief and my fingers no longer fluttered across the keys of my new laptop. Instead, my hands slid my tight, black yogas down my thighs and my fingers found the folds of my wet, ready and so demanding cunt.
It didn't take me long to make myself cum but then it rarely did these days.
Since John had once more raised the subject of watching me with someone else, I'd been confused. I was sure that I loved my husband as life without him seemed unimaginable and was the reason I had forgiven him when he had been unfaithful the couple of times I found out and others when I suspected that he was 'playing away from home'. Deep down I suspected that he was looking for sex whenever he was away on business. I didn't dare, though, raise it for fear that he would leave me. He had threatened that several times and the thought of being a single mum scared the life out of me. It was that fear that had made me promise to think about going with another guy so he could watch. It was that plus the excitement it gave me that was making my life so confusing these days.
*
"So will you think about it?" John asked as I lay in his arms in the large bed on the thirtieth floor of the St Regis Hotel in New York where he was on business and I had accompanied him as a few days holiday.
"Oh John it's silly."
"It's not silly Jayne. It's a fantasy. Yes, it might be unusual and it might be something that your friends at the fucking golf club wouldn't like, but I bet your many fancy friends in advertising would love the idea."
Jayne knew he was right. Many couples I knew and even more I had heard about needed diversions as the tedium of fucking the same person for twenty years or so hits home. Affairs, swinging, orgies, threesomes, both combinations, photographing one another, exhibitionism even trying S & M and other slightly deviant practices had all been mentioned in conversations and not just at the ad agencies either. And several times I had heard of girls whose husbands had asked for precisely what John was proposing or even more extreme, with another woman.
It had taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that deep down I was game for it and that he was quite willing to 'sacrifice' me to another man. I'd had other men before John and, occasionally when he was away, I was tempted to add to my list, but I knew it would all be just too complicated. The lying, the excuses, the making sure his aftershave hadn't lingered on me, the meeting him, whoever 'him' was, in places where we wouldn't meet anyone I might know. And all the other considerations of an affair, which were bad enough with a single guy, but got multiplied many times if he was married. So, I didn't take up the opportunities offered to me at the gym, the tennis and golf clubs and the ad agencies I visited to be briefed on work projects.
But I did want other men. No, that wasn't quite true, other men were all too messy. It was the difference I wanted. And wanted wasn't even really true for it was more thoughts than actions that I needed. It was something different to John I thought about; the alternate ways of doing things, the different feels on my hands and body and inside me. That's what I thought about and often imagined as the difference to my husband was my hands and fingers as I brought herself off, usually when he was away. When he was home there was no need as we had sex frequently. Now though it was dawning on me that his suggestion could enable me to have that without all the lying, cheating, guilt trips and sheer messiness that the other options, an affair or one-night stands would necessitate.
But I didn't want to appear too eager. I didn't want John holding that over me in years to come, maybe when one of his exceedingly clever and even more ruthless lawyers he retained was negotiating our divorce, I imagined with dread. So, I had held out. John had taken it to be sexual naivety on my part and that was how I wanted him to feel. I thought that was rather clever of me.
"Would it really, really please you if I did?" I asked as I started to lick my way down his body.
We'd reached an agreement far easier than either would have thought possible. But then three nights in New York, letting him cum in my mouth and a bloody great diamond from Tiffs, tends to 'oil the wheels' of negotiations.
I wasn't completely sure that he would actually make me go through with it for he was quite a 'flavour of the month' sort of guy and could be obsessive about something for a while and then forget it completely; this could well fall into that category I knew. Just in case, though, I went on a crash diet.
My typical 'fighting' weight was just under one forty pounds, but I was prone to piling it on at times, holidays were normally a nightmare. I would usually go away to Barbados or wherever having trimmed down under my fighting weight, but come back with seven or eight extra pounds. This excess always seemed to go to two places my 'tits 'n ass.' During my weight on times my boobs would swell up to a good double D. However, as I was also able to lose weight quickly, they would deflate to a comfortable D during my weight off times. When I returned from New York alone, for John had more business meetings in Houston and Dallas, places I didn't like, I was somewhere between D and double D, say a D plus!
*
