My name is Samantha T. My husband wanted me to write down what happened. We think that if I tell how it happened to me, other women might see how thrilling a full sex life can be and it will save them from years of boredom and frustration.
I'll admit my experience is "out of the box", so to speak. It isn't your "normal" pattern of getting married, having sex with the same person for years, then devolving into a monotonous pattern which eventually causes a loss of interest in sex over the years. We took some risks in order to keep our lives full and exciting. I'm glad we did.
The event I'm going to relate happened in a moderately sized city in the Midwest. Larry and I had been on the road for most of the day. We were traveling for the sake of getting away from our parochial small-town atmosphere and enjoying some time together while we explored new territory.
My most vivid memory of that weekend is this:
When I look to my right my vision is full of a thigh. It's a nice looking thigh, young, strong, smooth. There a tiny golden hairs accented by the lightly tanned skin beneath them. The thigh pulses as the muscles flex and release.
My head is swimming, slightly. I feel the probing, pumping inside me, the nerve endings within me tingle with electricity. I am kneeling on a bed, the sheets white beneath my arms. As the sensations beneath me crescendo sounds burst inadvertently from within me.
"Ah, god!" I blurt out, the convulsions of my orgasm overcoming my self-control. I cannot stop the sounds. "Ohhhh! Oh, god! Oh, yes!"
Someone told me the strongest sexual organ in the body is the mind. As I kneel here, a hard, thick cock pounding away inside me, my mind tells me that what is happening is thoroughly sensual, magnificently arousing, and completely delightful. I revel in the thrill of forbidden sex performed with complete abandon and without a hint of guilt.
The man pumping his meat to me is not my husband of twelve years. The father of our children is underneath that thigh which is so close to me. What I know is that he is watching this strange cock repeatedly slam into me. His own member, I know, is buried in the warm, dark recesses of the young woman who kneels astride him, her thigh filling my vision as she thrusts upon my husband's rod.
For months, my husband has been encouraging me to imagine a setting like this. He began by pointing out his idea of attractive men. It began as innocent role-playing as part of our conjugal experience.
We have always been sexually in tune with one another. Our sex lives have been active. Four and five times a week we've managed to keep the fires burning. As Rob explained it during one of our weekly dinner dates (no kids allowed!), "We both like to fuck." It's true. We enjoy our time together. I love his body, and, apparently, he loves mine. We've experimented with books, magazines, videos, toys, and a wide variety of positions. We've even done some screwing in dangerous places. Not physically dangerous, mind you. The danger is in the possibility of discovery.
We even have established what Rob calls the "first and last" tradition. Whenever we move or change jobs, we have a ceremonial joining in that place. It's probably silly, but we always celebrate these events by having one last fuck in the office or house we're leaving, and marking the new place similarly.
Our sex lives are enhanced by the fact that we really do like each other. We're not only lovers and mates, but we're actually best friends. There is nobody in the world I'd rather spend time with, just talking, than Rob. He is cute, funny, and attentive. He's incredibly affectionate. He can get me going by just a gentle rub on my shoulders. Rob is sexy, secure, and my partner in crime, so to speak. When I want to do something naughty, Rob is right there with me, as encouraging and excited as any woman could want.
"You know," Rob said to me one night, as I was riding him and reading the letters from one of our magazines, "there are lots of guys out there who would love to fuck you."
Now, we don't talk like that around the children. But, we both believe in open and honest communication when we're alone with each other. I used to be queasy about the words, but, over the course of our years together, I've become accustomed to them.
"You think so?" I said. "But, why?"
"Because, you are a beautiful, desirable woman," he said. "Really, I can tell just by the way guys look at you."
"But, I'm a married woman," I protested, settling down on his cock and squeezing it.
"That doesn't make any difference," he assured me. "Guys don't care if you're married when they look at you. They just want the chance to sink their dicks in you. Haven't you been paying attention to these letters?" he asked, waving the magazine in front of me.
"Sure I have," I told him, "but, those are all gorgeous young things. Most of them haven't even had children yet. They can't be talking about people like us!"
"They're exactly like us," Rob insisted. "Guys like me and women just like you."
Of course, I thought Rob was out of his mind. My thighs were too thick, my breasts sagged too much. I mean, I was hardly the same girl he married twelve years ago. I was convinced nobody would be sexually attracted to anybody like me. Boy, did I have it all wrong!
We quit talking at that point and I rode my lover to completion. But the topic didn't go away. The following evening Rob brought it up again.
"Here," he said, handing over one of the older issues. "Read this one," he pointed to the block of print half-way down the page.
It began, "I never thought anybody would be interested in a frumpy old housewife like me. But, when my husband started selecting clothes for me to wear on our 'dates' together I found out that I could still turn a few heads. Thanks to his help overcoming my fears, our sex lives have become exciting again, and I'm getting a variety of cock I never dreamed possible."
"Okay," I nodded after reading the first paragraph. "If you dress like a slut, people will think you're a slut. No news here."
"You don't have to dress like a slut, Sam," he said. "She doesn't say anything about dressing like a slut. She just found out she was still attractive, and dressed appropriately. Go ahead," he directed. "Read the rest of the letter."
The writer continued to describe how her husband had convinced her that in spite of her doubts, there were men, handsome men, who would find her attractive. Larry was right. The clothes he chose for her weren't especially slutty, she said, just more revealing that she would have chosen. She recounted the clothing consisted of skirts with slits to the thigh, blouses and tops that showed more cleavage than she was used to, and what she called "fuck me pumps", shoes of various colors to match the multiple outfits, but all constructed with high heels and ankle straps.
"I felt very sexy just dressing in these outfits," the writer recounted. "Then my husband took me to one of those watering-holes where the lawyers and MBA's gathered after work, and I experienced the thrill of attention from several young, gorgeous attorneys. We didn't do anything exceptional that night, but when we got home, I was hotter than a firecracker, and so was my husband. We fucked and sucked and did everything imaginable all night long."
The letter told how the couple gradually went about selecting just the right guy for her to invite into their bed. She told about her first experience with her husband watching, concealed in a closet. The knowledge of him being there and watching her as she sucked off this young CPA, then seeing her spread her legs for her new lover, and urging him on to orgasm after orgasm thrilled this woman so much she thought she would pass out.
By this time, I was so wet between my legs that I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. There was no doubt that it was one hot story.
"Come on," I told Larry, handing him the magazine. "Let's go fuck."
"On one condition," he answered.
"What condition?" I said, standing up and holding out my hand to him, anxious to have him nestled in my damp hole.
"I'm going to put a blindfold on you," Larry said, "and I want you to pretend that I'm that CPA she was fucking."
That was it. I flooded right there. "Okay, yeah!" I agreed heartily. "Let's do it."
