For our 25th anniversary, I came up with an idea that posed substantial risk and potential reward: a trip to Vegas with my church-going wife with the intent that Sin City would live up to its reputation.
During our marriage, our sex life had been less than ideal. It needed some shaking up and I wanted Vegas to serve as a catalyst for change. When I revealed the Vegas trip, Rita's eyes grew wide and a sweet smile appeared.
But unbeknownst to her, I had a fantasy-fetish I wanted to play out: I wanted to watch a hunky, male masseuse rub and massage my wife to relaxation in our hotel room. I wanted to be a spectator as another man caressed her shoulders, hands, feet, back and legs and to hear her sighs of contentment. To feel my own cock hardening at the knowledge that another man can grant her pleasure, that she was powerless to resist his strong hands, eventually succumbing to sleepy bliss after a skilled rubdown. And after the session was complete and I tipped him handsomely, I would make love to my happy, limp wife, quite thankful for another man's preparatory work, and admit to Rita that I was sexually aroused watching him touch her.
That's something that could cause my wife to get very offended. Or, if the stars aligned, she just might be so happy with her massage that she'd permit her husband this dirty fantasy. A fantasy that I could perhaps over time develop into something much more erotic.
This Vegas fantasy seem tame to some of you, but it was dangerous ground for a man married to a deeply religious woman. I'm a realist. My little agenda was not going to play out like an adult film. But I could at least watch a strong man grant my bride physical pleasure. I wanted to see her melt with groans of satisfaction as he temporarily owned her body. I would get a delicious, albeit small taste of Rita getting man-handled by another, even if it was a meager 1 or 2 on the perfect 10 wife-sharing scale. I was hungry to move our sex life out of the doldrums having devoured true stories and amateur videos of couples engaged in wife sharing and I was intrigued.
Over the years, porn was a necessary and often delicious coping mechanism in the absence of regular, creative lovemaking and it helped expand my horizons while providing me temporary release for my own pent-up lust.
I can remember my heart beating excitedly when Rita left me alone in the house for extended periods. After weeks of no sex, I had a near delirious aching for freedom and gratification, heart pounding as I visited my favorite sex store. I took my time roaming the aisles lined with DVDs, magazines and toys, and walked out with a sampling of each, my mind reeling with arousal and hunger the entire drive back home. If only my wife were with me, I thought, to have a dirty play partner by my side. That would have been true pleasure, but it was not to be.
Amazingly, after all these years, Rita never once caught me with porn. My darling wife was blissfully unaware of her husband's primal outlet and how often he lay alone in their bedroom, watching DVDs of men shooting sperm all over pretty faces, happy ladies grinding shaven pussies against a man's hips, and compilation videos of hard cocks providing creamy pleasures and loud groans of excitement.
But as I grew older, I realized that using porn as a coping device wasn't enough. Although I satiated my lust to make up for periods of sexual drought, I was hungry for something new. I wanted connection and intimacy, to convert Rita to a life of fun, lust and delight. To take the religious little wife who believed porn was the unforgivable sin and watch as she dipped her toes in this bottomless pool of pleasure. To confront her with a taste of the erotica her husband had consumed. Yes, her "wonderful, amazing husband" (you should read the lengthy Father's Day cards I get every year). To see the look on her face when she discovers that her attentive lover was also devouring the thing that she falsely believed would destroy sexual intimacy. In fact, fetish, fantasy and porn had actually helped bring her new experiences to our boring routine.
Yes, I learned a thing or two during my forays into visual pleasure and deliberately brought it back into the bedroom. I can remember Rita's eyes nearly rolling in the back of her head after l watched a video of some rather rough sex and decided to try it on her and....Oh. My. Word. I had no idea she would get off so good. And then there was the "7 inch Dildo session" where she finally relented and gave it a try. I have it on audio and love to listen to it. And then there was oral sex. Years ago, I was watching a compilation video of sexy ladies laying on soft pillows in a bedroom, legs wide open while their lovers completely ate them out. I recall my own cum hitting me in the face after my jerk off session, I was so excited by the spectacle. I had never tried that on Rita but one night I gave it a whirl. I remember it was a Sunday night after coming home from church. We had just heard a sermon on lust and there was my wife hours later, flat on her back, her carefully manicured fingers spreading her pussy wide open and begging me to "lap it up, baby." Another victory for porn.
But one nagging unfulfilled fetish involved the idea of watching my wife receive pleasure from another man. To witness her ineviatable relaxation as she helplessly accepts another man's touch. This all fed into my growing realization over the years that despite our sweet insistence that we were "made for each other", that both of us could get carnal pleasure elsewhere if we didn't take care to nurture our relationship and pursue each other. This was the danger of being content with average and mediocre.
Speaking of average, my cock is not quite 6 inches long and over the years I became firmly convinced that she could receive pleasure with something bigger, although she denies it. No, I don't buy into the 9 and 10 inch cock fantasy, but I believe she would get quite vocal and wet from a thick 6 or 7 incher. Despite her repeatedly proclaiming her satisfaction with me, I know that her pleasure is due to my expert hands, not my cock and I wanted to see some variety in how she got off.
Over the years, I started to gravitate to watching amateur videos of husbands sharing their wives with other men. I was fascinated with the look of nervousness on the wife's face, inevitably replaced with lust and submission as another man's cock slowly pressed in, her husband staring at the spectacle. I could only wonder at the feeling of lust and jealously as another man's large erection slammed repeatedly into his wife's tunnel, her open pussy probably bigger than he had ever seen, while coming to the sure realization that his wife needed something he could never give: Sheer Size and Stamina. I frequently have the stamina but I'll never have the size.
As I watched these videos, the husband's reaction was always priceless: staring quietly, unable to look away at the sight of his wife intimately french kissing her new lover, the sounds of sticky arousal filling the room while eager and strong hips slammed into one another. And finally, the moment of truth would arrive: after a marathon cock pounding, longer than that loser husband could ever last, his wife's lover would reach his limit and groan loudly, pumping his hips hard, emptying with full force deep into his once innocent bride's flesh. He'd pull out momentarily to shoot semen all over her pussy lips, dive back in and finish hard as the last bit of his cream penetrated ever so deep in her slit. And best of all...the look of pure pleasure on the wife's face as she orgasmed in response to another man's cum. And finally, that poor husband pumping his dick in response; helplessly dripping a few meager splashes around his waistline, any jealously replaced by submissive realization that he never truly knew this woman.
But as for my meager massage fantasy, even this had risk. I had no idea how Rita would respond to the idea of a midnight visit from another man, massaging her on our bed without me in the room. But I resolved to risk her possible wrath for a chance at renewed connection and a new path forward.
Prior to deciding on Vegas, I spent a solid month researching male massueses. I wasn't interested in getting a massage at the hotel spa, I wanted someone to come to our room. He needed to be safe, but also willing to play if his pretty client was in the mood. After viewing over a hundred ads, I came across a well-muscled man with lots of positive reviews, shirtless photos, a well-written summary of his services, and some hidden clues if you read between the lines. I texted him and asked some roundabout questions about how far he might go in giving physical pleasure for a paying woman, and I got all the right roundabout answers. I had my man.
What neither he nor my wife knew was that I would be taping the whole thing and masturbating to it later. Even if it simply involved his strong hands all over my wife's naked back and legs and her audible moans, it would all serve as fodder for my wife-sharing fetish. I also wanted to peer a bit into my wife's heart. To know how far she might take it if she were completely alone with a very attractive and talented man.
I spent another two weeks researching small spy cams (and I'll tell you, there is a lot of poorly designed crap out there), but I tested a few and managed to figure it out. I brought an old iPhone as a back up video option.
Finally the day of the flight had come. I hadn't yet revealed the masseuse idea to Rita. I needed to figure out how broach this topic. "Hey honey, there's a hunky masseuse coming to our room at midnight, I'm leaving to go play the slots downstairs, see ya." Ya, that wouldn't work.
I was nervous because this could all blow up in my face before we even got out the door. Should it be the first night there? No, she might be tired from the flight over. Or the last day in case it doesn't go well? At least it wouldn't be awkward the whole time (just the flight back). I decided against that option because if she rejected all of this, I was going to privately hit a strip club (it would be the same day I arranged for her to get a spa treatment). I needed some sort of consolation prize if Rita single-handedly brought this to a crashing halt. I ultimately decided to tell her during the flight over and planned to do the deed the second day night there.
"So, are you excited?" I asked after about 15 minutes in the air.
"Oh my word, honey, we are going to have so much fun."
"Yep. So...speaking of fun, I was doing some research. I know you like massages and the hotel has a massage service."
Her eyes grew wider. "Oh, that would be nice, like a spa?"
