A Loving Wife's Story

The momentum of the night before finally slammed into me as I drove to the University the next day to teach my classes. Slammed onto my chest and for a moment took my breath. The argument, explanation, justification I presented to my husband did make a crazy sense. A sense he must have recognized, and obviously tolerated, borne on the momentum to laugh with me, make sweetest married love to me. I didn't presume he had bought into my next step idea. But he had not given in to an explosion of revolt, either.

I was certain he had imagined my next step more than once, as I had asked, and was electrified by the same erotic charge I had delivered to him in my Scheherazade role. His mind electrified with the theme of me out fucking a contemporary man, and returning home to tell him every detail. The next step a leap of immeasurable distance from what we had enjoyed so far, but, in broader context, not so very far removed either. The difference was a man in the present, not a lover from my single days. The difference was I was his wife, not a single girl, and no other man had fucked me since we married. One had ground his hard cock to my cunt on a dance floor, though, had kissed me and caressed my breasts and sucked one of my nipples into his mouth.

Momentum, a consolidated force, had Jamie in a whirl, and I strongly suspected he might well be tottering on the edge. Then I examined where the momentum had taken me. The private benefits, as my husband had so astutely observed.

My very brief contact with Warren on the country club patio, engendered by the powerful contact with his cock on the dance floor, made perfectly clear my susceptibility to sexual surrender to a man not my husband. Very brief it was, but oh so very thrilling, exciting, exhilarating, ravishing! And that was the key. The key that unlocked my restraints to experience another man, to share it all completely with my husband. To serve his personal capacity, and my own. I could do it. I knew then that I really, really could do it. But only with my husband's full complicity, his need to be with me in this next step of opening wider our magical toy box.

*****

The days went on, each of us happily involved in our work, having happy communion in our marriage bed. The next step wasn't mentioned. Nor was it forgot. It was like a pregnancy we both carried, a planted seed germinating, taking growth and form, to be born in due course. I knew that because I know my husband. I knew how he can go to private space, his mind solving problems, when we are in the same room. I give him that space. I also knew and loved that special brain wiring he must have been born with, that we discovered together, that so inflamed him with erotic excitement, that enabled him to assemble mysterious disparate parts from deep inside himself and experience a time of unique personal completion when I told him stories of my sex with previous men. I knew my man. And I loved him with all my being. And my need to protect, nurture and nourish his occasions of need for personal completion was as strong as a maternal instinct. He was my Jamie and I was his Sondra.

I saw no moral scruples to sweep under a rug. Or social ones either. The labels of "cuckold" and "slut" had no more effect on my thinking than us being labeled a radish and a turnip. We were too high beyond such nonsense. Although, as I thought about it, the word "slut" seemed to shed its derogatory clothing, and take on intriguing interest. After all, for one night when I was a college girl I was a pretend prostitute servicing a strange man in a bar. Being a joyful and liberated slut with a man in the next step would fit those private benefits my wise husband had foreseen. A deep, delicious sexual electricity zapped my insides.

*****

"Whose turn to fix dinner tonight?" I said.

"I have no idea." Jamie said. "I will be happy to."

"I think you did last time. I have nothing thawed. We haven't gone out in quite a while."

"No we haven't and we both need a change of pace."

"A bit of excitement."

"Take our minds off numbers crunching and dullard students."

"Exactly. Let's do it."

We showered together, a change of pace and warm arousal. He soaped and bathed my body from head to toe. I did the same for him. His cock rose high and hard. I praised it with touch and loving words and a dreamy smile of change of pace for the evening. He was dressed much sooner than me. In a tweed jacket, charcoal pants, light blue shirt and beautiful silk tie. He was gorgeous. I sat at my dressing table in sexy bra and panties, carefully applying my make up. Subtle and accenting, taking my time and concentration. Jamie went out to mix himself a drink.

"Oh my, oh my..." Jamie said, when I joined him.

I was wearing the country club dance dress. "Can't let it go to waste. Much too nice, and expensive.

"Much too nice. And so provocative." He said.

A warm and delicious shiver rippled my insides, teasing my cunt. "Bring back memories?"

"Vivid ones."

We were joined, our minds alive and ready to sing our duet of emerging need.

Jamie chose an Indian restaurant. A pretty mahogany skin girl in a sari served us. She too was a willowy type, breasts round and larger than mine, buttocks round hemispheres, all discretely dancing and undulating under her wrap of silk when she moved. I checked often to see if Jamie was taken by her. Every time his attention was fixed solely on me, his eyes repeatedly returning to gaze at my creamy freckled breasts so provocatively exposed in my own frame of silk. And I felt that exultant power of being a superior woman. His woman. The only woman he desired. His loving wife.

The food was fantastic, served in many bowls and plates that crowded our table top. Meats and vegetables and thin flat breads, all a blend of herbs and spices that exploded on the tongue with a star bust of possibilities. So perfectly balanced. Earthy, yet extolled by the pepper heat that made a common vegetable proclaim an importance unknown outside of Indian masala.

"Too spicy?"

"Perfect, Jamie. Absolutely perfect. The subtle blend of flavors. The cayenne giving the exact heat to my entire body to attune it with the insistent erotic urgency of those sitar ragas in our background music."

"Perfect."

"For our spicy evening out only underway."

There wasn't a movie in town that interested us. Jamie left it to me to choose how we would round out our evening. I chose a bar-dance- club place that was trendy. So trendy hype said. For I had been secretly checking out such things, not exactly as a prelude to our next step, more as exposure to the scene. People on the loose, on the prowl, male and female hormones cruising.

There was a cover charge. The trendy place seemed exactly what I had known years ago. For Jamie, though, it was something fairly new to wallow in. The crowd wasn't trashy. Most of the men wore jackets and ties. All the women were dressed to impress, in styles ranging from tit and ass hang out slutty to attire of considerable elegance. My dress did not take second stage to any. The bar was crowded and the center of action. We chose one of several empty tables near the dance floor. The crowd was a mixed bag of ages, the majority a bit younger than us. It wasn't over crowded that week day night. The music was all recorded and I wondered why a cover charge? To weed out the undesirables, I supposed, and agreed with the policy. Our drinks were served.

"Lots of frisky chicks here tonight." I said.

"None as beautiful as you." My husband said, his eyes sincere and happy looking into mine, his eyes lustful as they lowered and caressed my expanse of tits cradled in the silk frame.

I suddenly felt Warren's feathery finger touch and his hot breath on my tits, just as happened on the patio months ago. I wondered if Jamie was having the same memory of my telling him? I hoped he was. I wanted his mind engaged with those exciting sensations, the new twist that created them, imagining them multiplied a hundred fold when we take the next step.

"I give all credit to this special dress." I said with comely modesty.

"All credit goes to the woman in it. You are reaping many admiring glances, and we've barely settled in."

"Does that make you feel proud of me?"

"Very. Very, very proud."

"And me too. There is not a woman alive who wouldn't puff with pride at being admired by men, all men. Wearing this dress had special effect once before."

"It brings back memories?"

"Vivid ones. Lovely ones."

"Admiring men."

"With cocks that got hard on the dance floor."

"One admiring man in particular."

"Yes. One in particular. Who mixed the chemistry for a new and terribly exciting option for us." Jamie gazed into my eyes, with both calm question and restraint, unable to voice a thought. And I was flooded with feelings of sweet tenderness for him. "Dance with me." I said.

The music wasn't ball room by a long shot. Jamie was a bit awkward in trying to produce some movement that simulated dancing. I fell into that easy and natural body language all women are capable of, and do when the time and mood are right, the sexual electricity is turned on, and inhibitions are shed. We stood apart. I danced as some other women about me were doing. I performed for him. Wanting him to see in my exposed tits, my bouncing ass, my lazy rhythm of pelvic hunches, a woman who loves to be fucked by a man, wants it, needs it, desires it. A proper woman naturally equipped to relish the opportunity to be a slut, a whore. I wanted my husband to see me in that light, to marvel and wonder. He clearly did that. So did other men, their eyes riveted to my body covered in silk, every move suggesting a readiness and a need to be fucked. Women are born with the ability to do this, this prolonged, brazen display of desire and availability. Men just get instant hardons, Which, of course, is the end goal of the woman.

"Whew! I haven't done that in quite awhile." I said. We were back at our table. I was flushed and dewy with perspiration.

"You put on a show I've never seen before."

"A show for you long overdue. As the saying goes, if you've got it, flaunt it."

"You've certainly got it."

"I think I've always had it. This inner slut first let loose with Ken in the Red Rooster Inn. Next with Kirk and my prostitute night at the Marriott. Years later with Warren at the country club dance." I put my hand on his knee and trailed my fingers up to his crotch to trace the out line of his cock which grew hard under the fabric of pant's leg. "An inner slut that belongs to you, all for you, to share and enjoy."

"I do enjoy. More than I have the courage to say."

"You have the courage to enjoy, that is our anchor. The courage to say will come." We looked into each other's eyes. Mine probing his helpless seizure of erotic surge engorging his wonderful cock. His opened clear eyes waiting for my direction. The Scheherazade effect, so very effective and proven before. "Have you thought about the next step? Our bold new option?"

"I've thought about it. More than I have the courage to say." He burst out laughing. Sheepish, self-effacing, but courageous in exposing his learned capacity to be entranced and ravished by my sharing with him my slut capacity in sex with other men.

I squeezed his cock in my fingers. "This mighty man speaks volumes of courage. Maybe no more is needed." His manhood throbbed under my loving fingers. "How about this. Let's do a dress rehearsal of our option."

Jamie was puzzled.

"Select a man for me."

"Oh. Okay. That one." He said, pointing an unspecified direction with his chin.

"Which one? I can't read your mind."

"The one sitting at the end of the bar. Blue suit, white shirt."

I spotted him. A short portly man, bald with a horse shoe fringe of hair making a ringer on his head. He wore thick rimless glasses. He goggled at the women dancing on the crowded floor. I lifted my hand from Jamie's throbbing cock and smacked him sharply on the shoulder, with petulant, pouting annoyance.

"Get real! You must take this rehearsal seriously. Here is where we practice our staging, our exit entrance cues, our dialogue, all the nuts and bolts of our opening night option. At the very least I need a good looking man to make it realistic."

Jamie laughed again. "Very well. But you are the star, the leading lady, so it should be your privilege to select a man that most appeals to you."

"Good point. A very good point indeed. Now that is really taking our rehearsal seriously. I will survey the stable." I put my hand back on his cock and lightly fingered it while I leisurely canvassed the men all around, building suspense, bringing my husband's erection to a bigger harder state. "Hummmm...not bad. That one is even better, but not good enough." Jamie's head was in a twist to locate and keep up with my appraisals, but I stayed ahead. "Found him!" I said.

My chosen man was on the dance floor in front of us, about fifteen feet away. He was dancing with a woman in a slutty version of "the little black dress." He was putting on a show that echoed the one I performed for Jamie and my general male audience. My quick glance saw that several women were interested in his rhythmic, flaunting presentation, especially some women dancing with partners close by. Their eyes were riveted to his pelvis.

"He looks like a cliché from a Mafia movie." Jamie said in haughty derision.

"Don't let the black curly hair mislead you. He could be Hispanic. Some strain of American Indian. Even one of those from a lost tribe of Israel or Arabia."

"Nope. Pure Vinnie from a Mafia movie. I thought the gold nugget neck chain and shirt unbuttoned to the navel went out of style by the nineties."

"At least he wears a black jacket with wide lapels. Opened to show off that rug of chest hair." I added. "Those white pants are so tight I wonder how he put them on."

"Or put that banana in his pocket."

"More like a butternut squash." I said, squeezing Jamie's cock hard to convey the strength of my fantasy.

"That guy really turns you on?" Jamie said, disbelieving.

"Well..." I hedged, deliberated. "He does have a sort of wild animal power that speaks to a woman's cunt. I bet that round muscular ass of his could drive his cock to churn out a fabulous story to tell to the man I love."

Jamie gave that reluctant consideration.

"And it's not like I will be bound to him. Just a good hot fuck for an hour. Or two or three. Then wave goodbye and never see him again. And what a hot story I would have to bring back home to share with you!"

"Did Ken and Kirk look anything like this guy?"

"No where close. And neither did Warren, come to think of it." I removed my hand from Jamie's cock and joined it with my other hand on the table top, canting towards him for serious talk. "Vinnie, as you rightfully peg him, is just a hasty fantasy our dress rehearsal allowed. That's why this rehearsal is so needed. To define the roles, the plot. The man I select to exercise our option must be in our class, generally speaking. Social, economic, educational, somewhere in the neighborhood. Safe and secure from any fall out. But still packed with potential to create a wonderful event to share with you. That is our goal, our only purpose. To take Sheherazade to the next level and join me in giving reality to your erotic reward, instead of invention or old memories. What a fabulous treasure chest our toy box would become! Just imagine it!"

My husband looked off in the raucous distance, where lights flashed and the music beat like jungle drums celebrating carnal freedom, imagining it. I knew he was. By the many conflicted signals in his eyes and face, his tight breathing. I reached for his hand and held it tightly. He squeezed my hand tightly without looking at me, but in that I knew he was on the very edge of yielding to temptation.

"Your courage to say yes will come, my love. It will come."

He looked at me then. That deer caught in the spot light look was a perfect description.

"So." I said brightly. "On with our dress rehearsal. Let me see what other goodies are on offer." I looked over the men with merry eyed speculation, but as focused as a robin scouting for a worn in a manicured lawn.

"There's one. I do believe he measures up to our criteria. A handsome man too, don't you agree?"

My choice sat at the bar. A single man apparently, well built, wearing a business suit of good cut and cloth, radiating masculine confidence and energy. He watched the dancers without envy, but fully appreciative of boobs and butts on display. My kind of man, in the broadest sense, certainly in our sense of rehearsal.

"He seems conventionally clean and presentable, if that's what you mean." Jamie said. "I really have no ready opinions of what makes a man handsome. That is strictly a female thing. Much better than your sleazy Vinnie pick, for damn sure."

"Forget Vinnie. He was just a brief trigger for my slut fantasy, self-generated when I got slutty for you on the dance floor. In fact, the pounding power in his muscular ass caught even my fantasy by surprise. A woman loves a pounding power fuck now and then. You should know that, having given me many glorious ones." My husband smiled faintly, with a tic of smug pride. "Other men, Ken and Kirk, gave me seriously pounding power fucks, and my telling you had tremendous power effect on your erotic psyche." My husband had that deer in the spot light look again. "My man at the bar is handsome. That is the leading edge of male attraction for a female. But here it gets complicated. All the minutiae of what makes a man attractive and desirable is so individual to the woman she really can't explain it to anyone else."

"So you alone know why you are attracted to that man at the bar, and that puts me outside looking in."

"In that one particular, yes, I'm afraid so. But you are not outside. You will never be. Any and everything I can put into words I will, to share all with you. That is a promise and it is fixed and can never be altered. That is what we are now rehearsing. How to do that. To move to the next level and have the most searing erotic excitement we can have."

We sat in silence for a while. That is, without speaking, in the flashing lights and artificial music and jungle beat of carnal imperative, lust fleshy and rampant on the dance floor. I had delivered a ton of dramatic lines, heavy with import, in our dress rehearsal, and Jamie was masticating them like a cow chewing a cud. I shuddered with a bounding hope. That Jamie's imagination was in harmony with my line of bold assumptions, our next step, our beckoning option, my taking a lover to enrich our toy box with bountiful savory delights. For both of us to feast on.

"Pee call for me." I said. "Be right back. Don't wander off."

I maneuvered about to pass by my rehearsal lover sitting at the bar. I swung my hips and flexed my buttocks, a woman on the prowl, feeling my husband's eyes locked on my sexual vitality. When I reached my chosen man I paused in lost perplexity. "Where are the rest rooms?" He pointed. "That way." "Thank you." "You look beautiful in that dress." "Thank you." We smiled at each other. I walked on, my buttocks bobbing and curtsying to the helpful gentleman.

I emptied my bladder and sat a while in pulsating review. My rehearsal lover was only average, but with enough attraction to grow on an awakened women. Over time. My time with Jamie that night controlled my thoughts. His seeming comfort in our rehearsal game, my constructing the stage, scripting the lines, giving directorial guidance to plot structure and emotional content, preparing him to build the courage to say "yes." I felt in my bones and in my cunt that would happen in time. He would slough off that last resistance and give me trusting permission to take a lover and share all with him. He, as much as I, had imagined the stunning rewards our next step option could bring. And the rehearsal was producing practical benefits.