A Loving Wife's Story

We drove home from the Marriott in our separate cars. I was glad for the separate time. To be alone with thoughts spinning in my mind like cog wheels in some industrial machine. Jamie and I had opened a door to a totally new world for us to travel and explore. Travel and explore in solid security of mutual excitement and trust. Each giving to the other a unique gift of erotic surges that was perfectly fitting for each of us, as one. Not an hour ago, in the lounge of the Marriott, our new world of liberated exploration had presented door number two, like in a television game show, where the stage of already revealed fabulous prizes beckoned temptation to open another door. I had opened it. The door of the hunky man sitting at the bar.

I didn't pull the door wide open. Just a crack to take a peek. Just for a glimpse of the shape and color of "what if" possibility. Immersed as I was in bubbling memories of my college girl night of playing the whore in that same bar. My pussy lips still swollen by the massage of my husband's finger. A real live sexy man openly responding to my overflowing sexuality and my body automatically sending him signals of momentary acquiescence and availability. Twitching my ass for him. Having a fantasy flash of his big, beautiful, perfectly sculptured cock spearing me in the toilet stall. Taking my panties off and putting them in my purse to... to be ready for him? To shed all inhibition? For a stranger man sitting at a bar I didn't know and had never exchanged a single word with? Preposterous! But so it seemed anyway. My peek behind door number two left me breathless with erotic zaps and tingles, even though I didn't fully understand what they all meant or even suggested.

I wondered what Jamie was thinking alone in his car. Was his cock hard with anticipation of fucking my brains out? I imagined his hard cock. So very lovely and magnificent it is. The magic it does inside me. What it would do for me when we were safely home. In the safe security of our home, in our bond of trust and acceptance. Our toy box on the shelf taken down and opened when I suggested we go to the Marriott. How aware was he that the man at the bar was a brand new toy box for me to open, peek at what the contents might be? Jamie is very intuitive. He knew I had had undergone some form of shape shifting in the lounge, because of the man who smiled at us from the bar, and later brought us drinks. But my husband's intuitive awareness still left him on the edges, not fully engaged in my unguarded response to the man at the bar, and how the effect on me by his hear and now live presence was so vastly different from telling stories of fucking men when I was single, but somehow had almost the same effect. After all, I did put my panties in my purse. I did have a flash fantasy of that man fucking me, and on the periphery of that flash fantasy was my eager and obligated thrill of revealing to Jamie every detail of the stranger fucking me. What if I had insisted, yes, do invite the man to join us, let's see what he has in mind...?

"Shall we have a night cap?"

"Yes. It has been a very fun outing. Let us night cap it."

"What if I really had fucked you on the table top?"

"I would have bucked against you so hard I might have thrown you to the floor."

"You might have at that. You were hot to trot tonight."

"Every toy box night makes me hot."

"So. You brought the toy box containing Kirk and your college girl whore night with you to Mario's."

"Not really. It was all spontaneous. Being with you. The dinner and wine. Feeling so sexy in this dress. A switch flipped. I was turned on."

"I believe that. You look incredibly sexy in that dress. A lot of men gazed on you tonight. Almost like you were visibly naked under that clinging cloth."

I sat in a chair before my legs gave way. Feeling the gazes of a lot of men like finger strokes on my dress. Remembering the helpless lust in the eyes of the man at the bar. Feeling a tickle of air between my slightly parted legs touching my bare pussy. Smiling with fat satisfaction in my secret. Making plans to share it.

"I'm waiting for my night cap."

Jamie went to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of wine.

"Thank you sweetheart."

He looked about and sat in a chair opposite mine, as I had hoped, so we could look directly at each other. So I could reveal my secret, open the new box wider for us to look into, see what was entrancing, even scary. I slumped lower in my chair, sipping from the wine glass, feeling my body loosen and relax like a fat woman whose flesh is entitled to settle in comfort, my willowy body entitled to sexual arousal, my mind entitled to open a new toy box for Jamie and I to play with. My eyes were closed. My smile plumped with erotic promise. The hem of my dress scrunched up at mid thigh. I opened my eyes and saw Jamie staring intently at the part of my legs and my slump toward the front edge of the cushion. I wondered if my reddish blond pubic hair glowed back in the recess, if there were sparkles of arousal moisture to be seen, if my labia lips were opened and inviting. I felt intensely slutty and whorish positioned as I was, receiving my husband's fixed gaze at my parted legs, his gaze as fixed and purposeful as a hard cock approaching my inviting labia lips.

"You decided not to wear panties tonight." Jamie said, as though he had solved a riddle.

"Yes and no." I said, staring at my husband through half lidded eyes, teasing him, challenging him, leading him. "I was panty wrapped at first."

"At first." Jamie mused. "Where are they now?"

"In my purse."

"You took your panties off and put them in your purse when you went to the rest room at the Marriott."

Jamie was with me. His razor sharp mind had closed the gap in my fantasy of that night. But not completely. There was still a space he had to squeeze through.

"That I did." I said.

We stared at each other, our secret sexualities, our shared "kink" striped naked and exposed, my bare pussy nuzzling into the chair cushion. I felt a surge of pride in Jamie that he didn't blurt out the question WHY? WHAT ON EARTH POSSESSED YOU? Instead, he dove into the deep pool of details I had provided in my previous stories of fucking other men, and gave me lee way to reveal in my way at my tempo the impulse that preceded my action of removing my panties in the ladies room. Though he did feel compelled to give me a nudge.

"The place. The return to the scene of the crime. Where you were a college girl playing prostitute for a night. Sucking that man Kirk's cock, him fucking you twice, once in the ass. The memories were too much. You had to remove your panties to make room for those memories."

"That was no doubt a large part of my sudden impulse." I said.

Jamie raised his brows in quizzical arches, the arches saying without his voice sounding, "A large part? Only a part?"

"Don't forget your finger on my clit that made me come. Your pinching and fondling my nipples."

"I remember quite well."

"And the good looking man at the bar watching all we did and knowing and raising his glass to us in salute."

"And sending drinks to our table." Jamie said, assembling the parts into a picture becoming clearer.

"That man." I said. I suddenly sat up straighter, spurred by curiosity. "Those drinks he sent. That was a gesture that came our way and flew past us and dissolved in thin air. But. We had the choice of inviting him over and getting acquainted, or ignoring the whole thing. I chose for us to ignore. But. What if I had said yes, the sociable thing to do is invite him over. See what he has in mind. How would you have handled that.?"

Jamie looked off into space. "I have no idea." He said. "His interest was obviously in you. Not me. That is totally outside my experience. A strange man in a bar hitting on my wife. Now that I think of it, I don't like the idea at all. That is not us. A man in a bar wanting to fuck you. Horning into our space to see what his chances might be. No. That has no place in our toy boxes. Your playing the whore, fucking your pretend John some where in that hotel, that was a story that sat me on fire, set us both on fire, and was very good for us. That man at the bar... what the hell was he thinking? That I would hand you over to him? All to repay him for buying us drinks?"

"Or..." I said, stretching out a speculation, "maybe he wondered if you would share me with him. Hand me over with full consent."

"Then that makes him a fucking insane mad man."

I smiled with knowledge Jamie was only dimly aware of. "Such things do happen, you know. Some married couples do invite another man to join them. Have a threesome. The men taking turns fucking the wife. The wife dearly loving it all. Being the center of attention."

Jamie had embraced the erotic flame I lit in him when I detailed my escapade at the Red Rooster Inn, and later my whore night at the Marriott, and later still my invented fuck with the pizza delivery boy. But he was lost and shaken by this jolt of presented scene - possibly the man at the bar fucking me on the table top while he watched me being the center of attention. With his consent not present at all, much less fully so. Jamie was rattled.

"Is that something you would dearly love? Me and another man taking turns fucking you?"

"No. Definitely not. Not like that. That isn't us. Such a thing doesn't fit in our toy boxes. What does fit, and fits so well, is my thrill in enflaming you, and your thrill in being enflamed. We now know that completely, and embrace that knowledge. Do we not?"

"Yes. We do."

"We agree. So I must say the man at the bar tonight did have unexpected effect."

Jamie relaxed, partly, sweeping aside an array of prickly threats that had mustered around him with a flash vision of the man at the bar taking his turn fucking me, but his body was also strung with erotic tension, a tickle of familiarity streaming from our toy box, his captivation by a story I could tell.

"Tell me the effect." He commanded.

"The scene of the crime." I said. "He sat almost where Kirk had sat at the bar. Potent memories. But he was in the hear and now. He somehow became intertwined in our private experience as we sat in the booth. He saw you finger my pussy and make me come. We shared that with him, whether you were fully aware of it or not. I was fully aware. I was boiling with the sexual heat of exhibition. For you. In a public place. But also for that handsome man at the bar, when it was clear he was watching. Do you understand?"

"I think so. I'm listening."

"Now for my secret. When I went to the ladies room, I made eye contact with him. Something zapped in both of us. That 'something' was pure sexual electricity. That has happened to me before, in my single days, in other contexts. But tonight was a new context and an extremely powerful one. In part because he sat where Kirk had been when I created my stage to play the prostitute and eager slut. In larger part because I was still quivery with the orgasm your fingers gave me. The greater part of all being the way he looked at me with unreserved masculine lust. Oh yes. Unreserved lust. That is a very special thrill for a woman. Sometimes a bit scary. The unreserved lust a woman can ignite in a man, a good looking sexy man, and a total stranger at that."

"And for you it was exhilaration. Not a bit scary."

"Not a bit. His raw lust was like an artist with clay in his hands, shaping a model of me as a woman free to feel the joys of breaking all sexual inhibition. Exhibiting myself. Walking by him proudly. Putting extra bounce in my ass cheeks."

"Yes. I saw that. Your glorious ass in jubilant dance. Not knowing what was happening in your mind, in your belly, in your cunt. Just that my wife Sondra has the sexiest ass God ever bestowed on a woman."

I almost swooned when my husband said that. I felt fluttery and faint. I melted into my chair, in a flow of love and blessing. Jamie spoke with unreserved sincerity that surpassed the power of unreserved lust that overcame that man at the bar. Surpassing, but not banishing. Encompassing and accepting that I had put extra jiggle in my ass cheeks just for the handsome man. A complete stranger. Old familiarity from our toy box had its own irresistible power, and it had taken grip. Me as exhibitionist. My husband as voyeur. I slumped back down on my chair. Parted my knees and thighs, lifted the hem of my dress to my under belly. Jamie stared at my cunt. Mesmerized.

"So," Jamie breathed out, "after you gave that man your special ass jiggle, you took your panties off and put them in your purse. Just for him."

"Not 'just.' For you. And for me. And yes, also for the man at the bar. That zing of sexual electricity that zapped us when I walked by. That cannot be denied."

"No. Obviously that cannot be denied."

"Can you accept that?"

He thought for a moment. There was no sign of struggle in his thinking. But he did think. Seeing, no doubt, visions of me in my first flower of slut release with an older man at the Red Rooster Inn, and again my chosen adventure of half playing the prostitute for a man I had just met at a bar.

"Yes. I can accept that."

There. He said it. He was on board. He was with me. He was mine.

"It wasn't me that took her panties off."

Jamie made no attempt to decipher what I said.

"It was Scheherazade." I said.

"Ahhh." Jamie said. He slumped down in his chair, his legs relaxed and spread, in unconscious simulation of my posture, my mood, my direction. He sipped his wine and looked at me with smoldering anticipation. It was Scheherzade who had taken her panties off in the ladies' room. It was she who sat before him with parted legs, her dress hem up to her waist, her exposed pussy radiating the heat that would spark his erotic kink, ignite the red hot flame. He was ready for that. Very ready.

"How shall I begin?" I wondered.

"At the beginning." Jamie said.

"You were out of town. I was missing you terribly. My thoughts kept straying to the toy boxes on our shelf. The erotic fire they light in each of us. How much we enjoy it. I was restless. And I was very horny. That plain simple horny need for sexual adventure everyone feels from time to time. I had to get out. I put on a sexy dress and got in my car. It goes without saying, I certainly didn't expect you to be here when I returned."

"We wrapped it up a day early. I got the first flight back. I should have called."

My husband was with me, joined to me in my imaginary adventure. His joining me was seamless. No wrinkles. Just as inspired as I was to play our delicious game.

"If you had called, what happened tonight wouldn't have happened."

"Then I suppose I must bear the blame. What did happen? Where did you go?"

"No where at first. Just drove aimlessly. I ended up at the Marriott lounge, not really knowing why."

"Let me guess. Unconscious forces at work. Memories revisited and shared with me. Was the place still the same?"

"It seemed so. Maybe new carpet. But nothing to divert my feeling of the college girl whore who was reliving her experience all over again."

"And reliving that experience... that requires a handsome man sitting at the bar."

"Yes. It does. And a handsome man was there. Almost like he had been scripted to be there. Not Kirk. A new man. And he was very good looking. Can you picture him?"

"You will have to describe him. I'm sure you can."

"Heavier than you. Broader and thicker. Maybe an inch or so taller. He was packed with masculinity that seemed to ripple all over him. That kind of man. But very well dressed. He had all the confidence of a man who knew and expected success on the business playing field. He had all the confidence of a man who knew that women felt weak in his presence."

"Did you feel weak?"

"Yes and no. It was much like my first time there. Those feelings of being the whore so long ago returned, feeling powerful and in control. But at the same time I felt weak and exposed. In some unconscious way I had swiftly singled him out, selected him, had deliberately perched on the empty stool beside him. My instincts were perfect. He oozed sex appeal in lavish abundance. And then I knew. I understood exactly why I had been so restless all day and evening. The explosive liberation of accident that allowed me to be a college girl whore those years ago. I wanted to do it again. But this time with eyes wide open. No hiding behind awkward mistakes and false impressions. I wanted to give myself to a strange man sitting at a bar. That very man. Who made my cunt juice flow like he had turned on my tap. I wanted him to fuck me."

Jamie was seized, entranced, wholly captivated by the magic of Scheherzade. And by the depths of mesmerizing depravity in his proper, conventional wife. But there was a new element in our adventure. The man I wanted to fuck me was not imaginary. He was not an invented pizza boy, or the faceless men of my previous stories. He was grounded in a passing reality that Jamie could readily see. A real shape and presence of recent immediacy that attached to imagery I spun out. That gave a keener edge to our wonderful game, cut much finer detail of actuality. Held Jamie in a new and different clutch. I saw all that gripped him, and I almost came in seeing it. I was giving to him. He was giving back to me. We were fully sharing on a new and higher plane.

"Our open sexual exchange happened very quickly, Jamie. With no sly sexual talk at all. All we had to do was look at each other, and it was like his hands were on my breasts, between my legs, and my hand was feeling his hard cock in his pants. Very quickly. I had to go pee. I could feel his eyes on me when I walked off. His eyes on my ass. I gave it an extra bounce for him."

Jamie's eyes were darting back and forth from my eyes to my pussy, to my hand and finger massaging my clit, to my eyes gazing at the mighty erection straining under his pant leg. I had lit his erotic fire. The flame was burning hot. I felt joyful and jubilant in giving him that. That was what it was all about. Both of us set free to be what we were, needing and sharing this piercing thrill.

"When I was locked in the stall I had a flash fantasy. Just a flash."

"Tell me."

"His cock. Standing high and proud and hard and bursting with desire for me. Just his cock. His thighs and muscular belly. His face didn't appear. Only his bare cock mattered then, in the instant fantasy flash. Am I telling it well?"

"Perfectly." My husband said, a catch in his voice.

"Perfectly because of you." I said.

Again, Jamie's intuition came to fore, content to wait for me to clarify how he had contributed to the perfection of my telling.

"When I had my flash fantasy, all the details of it became a description I must share with you when you returned from your business trip. That was as solid in my flash fantasy as his magnificent hard cock. And that was why I decided to not pull my panties back up, but to pull them off and put them in my purse. To walk back to the man at the bar half naked under my dress. To see if he would instantly see what I had done. Thinking of how I would tell you what I had done when you were back home."

Jamie and I stared at each other, gazing into each other's very souls. My story eclipsed the ones of Ken and Kirk. The pizza boy no longer counted at all. Scheherazade was creating a masterpiece. Weaving threads of hours old reality into inspired fantasy that created an erotic tapestry unlike any that came from the toy box before. I sat with spread legs, my clingy dress hem high, my pussy exposed, explaining why I removed my panties in the rest room a couple of hours earlier, but creating a boundless sexual substance in that explanation by pretending Jamie was out of town, that I went to the Marriott alone, itchy with need to be a whore one more time. This time with no pretense of restraints. This time with fixed intent. For my delirious pleasure, and to tell my husband all when he finished his business and came back to me. A Masterpiece! Jamie was clearly experiencing effects he had never felt before. I was ecstatic with accomplishment.