I met Rachel at an engagement party being thrown by one of my old university friends and his partner, one of Rachel's colleague's. It was a drunken, lively evening, with everyone attending happy for the infatuated couple. I had gone in the hope, expectation really, of finding a hookup for the evening. I'd found over the years that parties connected to impending nuptials, in some way or other, always came with a few horny girls looking for a uncomplicated fuck.
As soon as I saw Rachel I wanted to have her. She was about 5ft 5", petite, had black hair in a perky pony tail that came down to just above her shoulder blades. Her eyes were the greenest I'd ever seen, they sparkled and shone, they were warm, open and definitely sexy. Women can be incredibly beautiful but somehow remarkably asexual. Think Gwyneth Paltrow. Other women can be beautiful and remarkably, well, dirty, their faces conveying a lustful hint of pure filth and a willingness to openness. Think Ana de Armas. All men know this to be true and, in my experience, a 'natural dirty look' is actually an accurate reflection of a girl's sexual preference. Rachel definitely belonged in the second category, there was something about the way she looked, the way she smiled, stood, walked, everything, that just screamed sex. Ker skin was incredible, smooth, blemish fee and an insanely sexy olive tan. Her natural lips with a hint of a flirtatious smile and slightly parted, begging to be kissed or to be wrapped around a hard cock. Her tits, encased as they were in a white blouse, looked amazing, probably 34B which were a perfect size for her physique. They looked pert, bouncy, eminently malleable, with her semi erect nipples poking through. She was one of those girls who really had no idea how hot she looked and was perfectly evolved for hard fucking.
Drink in hand, I'd made my way through to the party and started chatting to her. We hit it off immediately. Rachel was 22 and recently single after her boyfriend of 3 years had broken up with her by text. I was a little older, 27 and had been flitting in and out of casual relationships for a few years with plenty of one night stands thrown in. We fell into easy, flirty conversation and made each other laugh regularly. We found we had mutual likes and dislikes, enjoyed the same music. When we shared insta accounts we found to our surprise that we had some mutual friends.
We ended spending the rest of the party together, talking, dancing, a little bit of kissing. At the end of the evening, as we slow danced, our tongues duelling, my hands on her arse, my cock was rock hard as it pressed against her abdomen. Rachel was clearly well aware of my arousal as I was of her own, her now rock hard nipples pressing into my chest as we danced. I suggested going back to my place and, to my enormous surprise, Rachel declined. She made it clear that she wanted to see me again but after her recent split she wanted to take it slow. I was completely hooked, I'd go as far as to say I was head over heals and in it for the long haul. I'd never met anyone like her and if slow is what she wanted then slow is what we'd do.
We began dating, seeing each other every chance we could. 'Slow' went out of the window pretty quickly, we started having sex, good if slightly vanilla sex, after our second date. After 3 months we had moved in together, and were married after just 15 months. I couldn't believe how lucky I was and we were so happy. She was in almost every way, the perfect girl for me.
The 'almost every way' thing was our sex life. We had regular sex, not as frequently as I'd had with other girls but regular nonetheless. She always came as, obviously did I, but it was always with that hint of vanilla. it was always restrained as though she could not let go. Sex was never spontaneous or anywhere other than the bedroom. if I started feeling her up as she was in the kitchen, she'd push me away and say not here. When in bed sex always had to be preceded with a lengthy cuddle, rather than a make out session, which usually lessened my ardour. She didn't like me going down on her because she liked kissing and she wasn't keen on me kissing her with the taste of her pussy on my lips. Ironically, every girl I'd ever fucked kind of liked that, it was a simple kink that turned them on.
She would suck my cock but never as a result of her own desires but because I'd asked her to. She would take my cock into her mouth with a look of distaste, doing it only because she loved me and I wanted it. I couldn't cum in her mouth or on her face, sometimes I was allowed to cum over her tits but that was an occasional treat. Her lack of enthusiasm became a turnoff and I'd ask her to suck me less frequently, usually only after I'd had a couple of drinks and my desires overcame my boredom.
I loved her with such intensity and was so happy in every other way that I told myself the average, at best, sex was unimportant. The frequency at which we had sex at all began to diminish, I'd make excuses, say I was too tired. I'd wait until she'd gone to bed and watch porn. I'd masturbate watching girls nowhere near as hot as my wife and fantasize about some of the amazing fucking I'd had with so many girls before I met Rachel.
For her part, Rachel began to ask me if I still found her attractive, if I wanted her anymore. I'd make up excuses and reassure her but really how do you tell someone you love that they're a shit fuck?
We had been married two years when the moment came. It was a couple of days before a long planned holiday to Tenerife. Rachel and I were lying in bed, cuddling, when her hand reached out for my cock. Two years earlier, despite this being too vanilla for me, my cock would have become instantly hard at the touch of her hand. This night it lay there completely unresponsive.
"Not tonight Rachel, I'm too tired darling"
"Why don't you fancy me anymore Matt? You never want to make love to me anymore."
Actually I was tired which is why I responded so honestly. "Of course I fancy you. You're the hottest looking woman I've ever known. I don't want to 'make love' because our sex is completely shit."
The results of my honesty were completely predictable, crying, wailing, demands for an explanation, accusations that it was my fault. On and on it went. I explained that I was too tired to explain what I meant right now and so it was, for the first time since we'd moved in together, I slept on the couch.
Next morning, I awoke early and took Rachel a coffee in bed. I found her sitting under the duvet, surrounded by used tissues and her eyes bloodshot. It was clear that she'd been crying all night. I tried to apologise, assured her that it took two to tango and that it was my fault too. She cried some more and told me that she knew it was her, that she knew that she was conservative. She told me how her previous boyfriend had told her that she was a shit fuck and that was the main reason that they split up. We needed to get to work but assured her we would have a long talk about it that night when we got home.
That evening, after we'd packed our bags, we had a long honest heart to heart. She told me how she always had 'dirty' thoughts, secretly watched porn, but that she loved me so much she didn't want to lose my respect or feel she'd disappointed me. She'd been brought up to be 'nice' and found it difficult to really express herself in bed. She wanted to 'let go' but was just afraid of losing me.
I told her, graphically, all the things I wanted to do to her, for her to do to me. I told her sometimes I wanted to make love, slow, easy and deliberate, and that sometimes I wanted to just fuck her, hard and passionate. I wanted sex to vary, soft, gentle, hard, sometimes even rough. I wanted to eat her pussy and drive her wild and kiss her after and let her taste herself on my lips. I wanted her to suck me not as a chore but as a wanton, slutty thing to do. I told her that sometimes she looked like a total slut and I, sometimes wanted her to act like one too, to do anything a slut would and do whatever it was she herself fantasised about. I wanted her to relax, be open to new things, to experiment, to not judge herself, to let herself go and, above all else, to enjoy herself.
We had to have an early night as our flight left at 7am, so although our talk was constructive, we didn't have sex again that night. We agreed to make the holiday a new start and that the following evening we'd go to a club, have a few drinks and forget all our inhibitions. Rachel and I agreed that she'd do anything and everything she or I wanted for the week we were away and that she'd do so with enthusiasm. There would be no rules, no barriers, no judgement and she would completely let herself go to be free to our basest desires. We'd then see how we both felt on our return to the English rain.
I drifted off that night my cock harder than it had been in a very long time and I dreamt of doing all the unspeakable things that I wanted to do to my wife.
The next day was like a weight had lifted off us. We were happier and easier with each other than we had been for quite a while. Throughout our journey we'd whisper to each other, she'd tell me how she couldn't wait to suck me off after we'd got back from the club and I told her that I was going to fuck her on our hotel balcony. I had a raging erection off and on throughout the day. When we got to our room I wanted to fuck her immediately and was all over her the second the door was shut. She resisted, she told me she was wetter than she'd ever been and couldn't wait to begin our new lives but she was convinced that the best way for it to succeed would be to stick to the plan. The constant teasing, a few strong drinks, some dancing at a club and she knew that she'd be as "excited to fuck" as I was.
We got to the club about 22:00, it was moderately busy, the music was bangin' and the dance floor was already jumping. We'd had a few pre drinks before going to the club and already had a gentle buzz going, Rachel was actually already a bit tipsy. We went to the bar and I grabbed a beer for myself and an extra strong Long Island ice tea for Rachel, downing them hastily before going to the dance floor.
We quickly found our rhythm, dancing, grinding and kissing, our hands exploring each other, my ridiculously hard cock rubbing against her any chance it could get. We danced for what seemed an age before I suggested another drink. Back at the bar, Rachel found a high stool to sit on and I bought our drinks. No sooner than I'd had a mouthful of my beer than I realised that my earlier drinks had now gone through me and that I needed the loo. I handed my bottle to Rachel and left her sipping on her iced tea.
As I exited the toilets I bumped into a guy I'd spoken to on the plane. He was smashed already and wanted a chat, asked me were my "ridiculously hot wife". It took me an age to extricate myself from him but eventually I was able to make my way back to the bar.
As I approached my view of Rachel was obscured by a guy who she appeared to be speaking to. I have absolutely no idea why but rather than walking to her I turned and climbed some stairs onto a long balcony that overlooked the dance floor and bar area. From my vantage point I could see a large black guy about my age but much taller than me, maybe 6ft3", and built. He and Rachel were talking happily, leaning in to shout into each other's ears. He'd occasionally touch her, not inappropriately or sexually, but not necessary either. It was clear he was hitting on my beautiful young wife. I thought my cock was going to explode.
