I was a happily married 25-year-old guy living in a Monterey loft apartment with my wife of two years.
Madison was a couple of years younger than I and we were enjoying all the pleasures that come with a young relationship.
I worked in finance and she was just starting out at a local hospital while part-time bartending a couple of times a week to supplement.
The sex was constant and passionate and kinky. We had discovered early on that we were both very sexual people, and for that matter, very sex positive people as well.
We spent long hours at home exploring each other's bodies and diving into the darkest corners of each other's brains and fantasies.
Our mid 20's were ushering us slowly into our sexual primes and we were loving every minute of it.
One particularly sexy element of our relationship was that we were both fairly deviant and enjoyed just the right amount of pornography together.
Sunday afternoons would start with an amazing brunch at one of our go-to spots within walking distance. Then we'd traipse back tipsy together and melt into a shared bong on the couch surrounded by movies and super-soft blankets and whatever physical fun we wanted to get up to that day.
#SundayFunday was a hashtag we constantly texted back and forth to each other when we were having particularly bad weeks and needed a pick-me-up reminder. It never failed to push us through our weekly stresses.
We marveled in all the ways there were to fuck each other on those Sundays. She'd get out her toys, our lube—we'd find all sorts of new places in the apartment to fuck.
We would stand in front of the open window and fuck sometimes, wondering if anyone from the apartment across the street could see us through the broken sunshine glare.
It was around three in the afternoon on a lazy August weekend when our most recent pot haze had firmly set in.
We were fuzzy and happy and, like opposing quarterbacks going up against Von Miller, completely blitzed. Soon of course, as always, we were horny as fuck.
I felt her hand drift over my sweat pants as I turned to take in her closeness.
My wife was the kind of sexy that made other men ridiculous jealous of my setup. She oozed comfort in her body. At no time did she ever believe she was the sexiest thing out there. But she was the type of woman that was way hotter because of it. She wasn't afraid of who she was. She owned her identity and her body more comfortably than any woman I'd ever dated.
She was 5'2, to my 5'9 and her body was a curvy perfection to my tastes. She was a dead ringer for the actress Hailee Steinfeld and if you want to understand just how her body looked, go and Google the picture of Hailee wearing a black one piece bathing suit staring back over her bubble butt at the camera or the one of her sitting on top of a kitchen appliance in sheer, lingerie-esque clubbing wear. That's the best way I can help you understand just how fucking hot my wife is—sure there are all sorts of fancy words I could use—but the easy (albeit lazy) way to describe her, is to make you very briefly Google those two photos. Great, got it? That's what my wife looks like. I'd have trouble picking out the real one in a police lineup. I'd also be too distracted probably.
The lips, the eyebrows, the longer, dark brown layered hair, the cute snow-fox nose—she's my absolutely fantasy come true—the dark featured girl in the library who you know secretly wants to sneak you into the stacks and suck your cock while other people browse nearby for steamy entrees from Kushner or Munro or, the hideously delicious truths of David Foster Wallace.
"Wanna watch some porn?" She asks me through a strand of hair that falls lazily over her face. She blows it up playfully as she looks at me with a sudden pep in her energy.
"Yes." I say to her without having to think twice, and soon she has the TV remote opening up our Internet browser HDMI input. And then we're scrolling through our favorite saved pornography websites—all of our various technological vices laid out for us in a half-crescent buffet of sexy, digital foreplay.
We end up on our favorite porn site and she's clicking through video options as her hand begins to rub the outline of my very hard cock through my sweatpants with a firmer intent. I start to look like ghost poking through a white sheet on an outdoor clothesline. She cocks an eyebrow at me like a slope I want to slide down, as she clicks on a video that she seems to like, her fingers gliding down my bulging tent.
In the video, a girl that looks quite similar to Maddy finds herself in the middle of two very fit, young men—a MFM threesome video it seems at first. It's got a 92 percent, which in the porn world is basically an Oscar contender.
But as the storyline of the video begins to play out, we find that it's actually more of a cuckolding situation. This becomes immediately evident when one the two guys is made to patiently sit beside the bed as he watches his friend fucking his young wife. She leans into the dialogue, telling her husband how good his friend's cock feels in her pussy, and even though this is not the video we had set out to watch, we both quickly become transfixed with the scene.
The girl is sexy as hell—she looks real, and both guys are fit but not steroids jocks for once. Both of their cocks are the types of cocks that any self-respecting porn should include— veiny, seven inch flagpoles that instantly draw the eye and require a solid pledge of allegiance.
I had always noticed when a guy in a porn had a nice cock or body, but that was never an avenue I had really considered seriously.
But now I found my hand slipped beneath my wife's comfy, Victoria Secret lilac cheeky thong underwear, which I knew she wore whenever she wanted to both sleep and fuck all day long, in no particular order.
She felt more wet than I was accustomed to when we were only onto our first porn video (of what I was already certain would be an edging-filled afternoon).
But she probably noticed that I was maybe a little harder than usual as well.
We pulled each other's sweats off and slipped our hands into each other's underwear as we lay side by side in the middle of our U-shaped couch room—the highlight of the entire apartment as we both discovered how much the other loved to luxuriate in a room full of soft surfaces.
