"Hi, honey!"
It's undeniably her. My gorgeous Rubenesque wife lays on her stomach across the bed - our bed - clearly nude. She looks directly into the camera, propped up on her arms with her curly copper hair cascading over her freckled shoulders, like a caramel waterfall, framing her magnificent breasts that rest, nipples barely hidden, against our duvet. Her narrow, pinched waist exaggerates the mounds of her luscious arse, and she kicks her feet in the air behind.
Her face seems innocent - a sweet baby face smattered with freckles. But look closer and you notice that mischievous twinkle in her emerald eyes. Today she sucks on a lollipop, teasing her tongue over it before drawing it back between her pouting ruby lips. The analogy is not subtle.
"I tried to be a good girl this time, I really did... but once you went way, I got so desperately horny... I need to confess that I've been naughty. So very, very naughty... I checked your browser history, and saw how much you love cuckold confession videos, so I thought I'd make one for you."
It had only been a few days. Here I am, stuck on the wrong side of the Atlantic, meeting boring people and having dull conversations, while she's having all the fun back at home. I'd been idly browsing the porn sites, doomscrolling my way through endless parades of photoshop-perfect flesh, until I saw her. My wife, lying naked on our bed. I feel a stab of betrayal, but my dick is instantly hard. Oh babe, what have you done now... I'd clicked the thumbnail of her, pressed play, equal parts nervous and excited.
"Let me tell you the story.
"So, Erica invited me out on Friday. Just a girl's night out, she said, but wear something nice. So, I put on that sparking green dress you like, and called an Uber."
Oh god, she'd worn the fuck-me dress. It clung to her ample curves, shaping her, and presenting her lush bounty. Underneath, she would have been completely naked. Partly because underwear would have ruined the lines of the dress, but mostly because the lingerie didn't exist that could contain her. With each boob practically larger than my head, she hadn't been able to buy bras off-the-shelf since before she left school, half a lifetime ago. Her everyday wear had all of the sexiness of the Forth Rail bridge, such was the extent of the scaffolding required. So, when she went out, she went without.
I realise I'm daydreaming and focus back on her words.
"...no idea how many shots later, and this big Black dude is grinding against my arse as we dance. He was seriously ripped, almost busting out of his shirt, and oh my god the package he was keeping in his jeans..."
It was always the Black guys. I'm under no illusions, I know I don't measure up to her desires in that department. And those guys have a fascination for her. She has the body shape, the booty, that they crave. We often joke she was born with the wrong skin colour. Jessica Rabbit meets Beyoncé meets Kim Kardashian. What a woman. Every day I thank God, fate, and the stars that we were born living next door to each other in an era where kids were left to make their own entertainment, roaming the countryside carefree to find their own fun and stave off boredom in their own way.
And boy, had we entertained each other. We grew up together, best friends since we could both talk, absolutely inseparable. We took each other's virginity, tried everything in every way. That we would be married was inevitable, even before she developed into the sex bombshell she's become. But I knew I wasn't enough for her in the bedroom department. We have a lot of fun, but I can't keep up with her energy or match up to her needs. So, we have an arrangement; as long as we are honest, we are open. And we tell each other about it. But this was the first time she'd recorded her confession, uploaded it for the world to hear, showing off her voluptuous body as she did so.
I loosen my trousers, hand falling into my lap, as I listen to the rest of the story.
"...had me up against the wall in our hallway before the door had even closed, fingers buried in my dripping cunt as he kissed me. I wrapped my legs round his waist as he nibbled his way down my neck.
"'Bedroom?' he demanded.
"'Second door on the left,' I gasped, as his large hands cupped my arse and he carried me, face buried in my tits, towards our marital bed.
"He sat on the corner of the bed, my thighs still clamped around his waist, as he stroked the crease of my arse. He pulled at the zipper, and I spilled out of the dress into his waiting hands. He took the weight of my tit in his hand and drew the nipple to his lips."
She rolls the lollipop in her mouth as she speaks. I can see she's clenching and unclenching her thighs as she talks, gently rubbing herself off against the covers as she tells the tale. Her cheeks have started to flush as the excitement builds.
"He leant back on the bed, ordered me to dance for him. As I stood up, the dress slid to the floor so I'm standing there in the nude. He smiled at me and repeated his command. 'Dance.' So, I started to move, and he pushed his jeans over his hips and down his legs, started stroking himself as I bumped and grinded for him."
My hand does the same, as I listen to her dirty story. I imagine her sway, the scene perfectly realised in my mind. She's danced for me before, many times.
