Author's Note:
A silly article about lusty wives fuels Hayley's desire for more from her marriage. (MF, rom, group, oral)
Note: This is not a cuckold story, but it could be read that way from a spectator and encouragement standpoint. There's a difference between wanting a wife to experience more vs. being marginalized in the relationship. If you take exception to that aspect, you might look elsewhere.
Most of my stories feature Hayley and Steven. Each story stands alone and are not sequential unless labeled to be in parts.
***
Hayley watched as Steven sank the eight ball, winning the game. He usually won anyway, but her game was off because she was decidedly distracted.
Foremost was an article that she had read at the dentist's office, one that made her question her judgment and maturity, one that she should have just let lay there. Besides, what dentist leaves a cheap, counter culture newspaper mixed in with all the
Homes & Gardens
and
Glamour
magazines anyway? She wasn't one to fantasize... much anyway. But the headline had touched a very sweet spot that she had largely pushed aside. She had known it would be a waste of time, literally printed click-bait. Still, it hit that spot, one that stirred some of those very personal sensations that preceded her rare afternoon naps.
She had played a game with herself, testing the fates to determine if she was meant to read it. If the hygienist had called for her before she made it through every page before she got to the article, then she hadn't been meant to read it. As expected, the music and movie review titles were likely only known to the authors and the editor, and what short articles there were dealt mostly with the evils of government and the unfairness of everything, written with an eloquence suited to writers who were crying over their Ramen noodles. It hadn't taken long for her to arrive at her article. Giving the fates another chance, she had skipped ahead to the personals and paid advertisements for toll free HOTlines and Asian massage clinics in the area. Where was the damned hygienist?
The large font title and the salivating details had drawn her in faster than any cheap romance novel could. "Wanton wives: Why they demand sex outside of marriage." The idea made her tingle.
She hadn't bothered with a Google search to figure out whether the featured guest writer's "Psychiatry practice for unfulfilled wives" was legit. The diction had been too narrow, and too many sentences had ended in prepositions for it to have been written by someone with an advanced degree. Still, she had read it. Every little bit.
Screwing friends, neighbors and strangers behind their husband's backs. Really. The good doctor had skipped all the expected "domestic boredom" and "the need for someone to listen" tripe and, possibly due to column space, had jumped directly to a proposition that the societal evolution leading to gender equity led to a logical result. Just as women were no longer dependent on a male provider, they were free sexual beings no longer bound by traditional understandings of commitment.
He provided brief case studies about five successful, professional women who had sex regularly with other partners to support his conclusion, pointing out that there were many, many others. And there was a closing example where the husband encouraged his wife's efforts. That struck gold with her, but it was just too far a horizon. It was healthier for her to think, given its publication in such an esteemed journal, that the case studies were fictions designed to attract women bored to death in dentist office waiting rooms and cause them to dwell on gang bangs. If so, it had worked.
That was in the back of her mind. The second, more obvious and current distraction was the fairly alluring woman at the adjacent pool table. Like the other women in the place, she wore typical beachwear: flip flops, short shorts, and a halter top. Just as Hayley did. She seemed to be a few years older, probably 32 or 33, and she was playing 8 ball with three men, one of whom Hayley judged likely to be her husband.
It begged the question. When you look at someone, or even know them casually, do you ever really know what type of person they are? She recalled the entertainment Steven and she had shared in Vegas several years earlier playing a guessing game about the women strolling into and out of Bellagio late at night with their partners. Were they dating? Married? Or was one a hired companion? Wedding rings weren't often observed, at least on both persons. And, at that time of night, "suggestive" clothing didn't necessarily point towards a particular option.
This wasn't Vegas. This was just a residential beach island with a good share of rental homes. There was nothing obvious that would suggest this woman was a "wanton wife." But that term came unbidden, dammit. There
was
a definite sensuality to her coupled with a casual familiarity she shared with all three men. She didn't behave like a wild thing. She didn't shake her booty or place her hands on the guys like a college freshman trying to be the center of attention. But all eyes were on her.
The guy with the wedding ring was clearly home base, but she did take an extended time to pose before each shot, allowing the other two men to give her "space" and gain an eyeful for themselves of her cleavage or her ass, as they chose. And she seemed to let her eye contact linger with each guy two beats longer than polite conversation would normally allow. She was giving them a message... and Hayley felt certain she could read it.
The crack of the balls scattering brought her back around to Steven, as she watched a stripe fall into the corner pocket on the break. She saw that the balls had conspired for a run and sighed. She caught sight of the other lady walking off to the restroom, and, well, she needed to go too. "Steven, you go ahead. You can play my turn, too, and help me out some. I need to go to the ladies room."
At the sink, the conversation wasn't difficult. In fact, the other woman started it. They traded names and the cities they were from. Hayley from Atlanta. Sandy from Asheville. "Hey, you're pretty good at pool," Sandy said.
"Ha. I can be when I practice. My husband can pick up where he left off even if he hasn't played in a year. I can't do that, but I enjoy playing when I get the chance. You here for the week?"
"Two, actually. My husband and I have got this week by ourselves, then the whole family tree descends on us starting Saturday," she said.
"That sounds great. We've got our whole family, eight adults and five kids in our house, which is one reason we went out tonight. And I really like this place. I have a lot of memories here. My family has been coming to the island since I was a kid, and I remember playing pool here with my sisters."
"It is a great place to vacation. We've been coming here for the past five or six years, but the Windjammer is our 'go to' place for drinks and getting in the mood."
"The mood?" Hayley asked, hoping to confirm her suspicions.
"Sure," Sandy said, "the beach mood. No work, great weather, surf and sand, enjoying our friends."
That didn't quite feel right, but Sandy had hinted at it. "Well, it's the beach. You don't have to come here for all that. Who are you with?" Hayley asked in a "just curious" tone.
"My husband, Mike. The other guys we met here over the years. They're a barrel of fun." Hayley detected a strengthening southern accent in Sandy.
"Good looking guys, too," Hayley offered, her
wanton
intuition wanting some satisfaction.
"That they are. That they are. We look forward to their company whenever we visit."
Hayley noted a certain innuendo as well as a tattoo on the inside of Sandy's wrist. "Ace of Spades? Cute. You play cards?"
Sandy smirked. "Well, yes, sometimes, if the company's right." She looked up at Hayley and added, "It doesn't mean what it always did. Google it." And she winked before leaving.
Hayley returned to the pool table to find herself winning, and soon after returned a wave to Sandy who was leaving with her entourage. On Steven's turn, Hayley's impatience drove her to pull out her cell phone. Google.
Ace of spades
. Nothing interesting. Second attempt,
Ace of spades tattoo.
Without having to click a link, she read from the
"
Urban Dictionary"
- a calling card for white women who prefer black men
. Damn! She nailed it! Her curiosity was piqued, but she also couldn't help but note a twinge of jealousy.
Hayley was much more comfortable talking to Steven about what Sandy might be up to rather than sharing her own fantasies. It was a good opportunity to tease, at the least, which could pay off in bed. As they walked to the beach house, she told Steven about the encounter with Sandy in the bathroom. Steven bought into her observations -- he had recognized that Sandy was on the make as well. And the Ace of Spades left him dumbfounded, shocked that women advertised for that.
At the beach house, they said good night to the family and entered their room. They both got turned on whenever they discussed sex... which wasn't often enough. As they started touching in bed, she decided to tell him about the article she had
glanced at
and suggested Sandy was one of those types of women.
Steven took the bait on the article rather than her thoughts about Sandy. "So, my wife reads about wanton wives. I guess I'm not satisfying her in some way..."
She had the insight to understand more about Steven than he realized. For the first year of their relationship, he had asked her about her past lovers, and not just the general details. He had wanted to know about each sexual encounter in as much detail as she could recall. And, she didn't mind. It kept the memories fresh.
She had been quite the nympho then, and possibly had a small reputation. If there was a word to describe her past, "wanton" would fit. And while she knew that he might have been looking for reassurance that "I'm not lying when I say yours is bigger," the frequency of his questions and his need for details suggested he had a voyeuristic itch when she described those years. She could easily suggest that maybe they should try something new to satisfy him in that regard, but that kind of conversation just never happened, right?
She wasn't so much of a nympho now. Priorities shifted. Distractions were more plentiful. Time became more precious. Her orgasms these days were most often from her own fingers, and she suspected he managed his own needs just as frequently. They didn't share fantasies much anymore, but then, she never really had any of her own. It was easier just to read reader letters from age old Penthouse
Forums
and
Variations
magazines that he had found in a used bookstore early in their marriage. If he read them any longer, he hadn't said about the dogeared sections she preferred. Gang bangs did it for her. And group sex. Things that she had never done.
That article had taken her outside of those letters, though, and the idea of some number of guys ravaging her, fucking her in complete moral abandon, but not in an unkind way, preoccupied her mind. That worked for her. She and Steven hadn't watched an X-rated video in forever, never mind sought a streaming source, but she didn't need those for the visual payoff in her head, not one bit.
Her reflections were interrupted when she felt him slip inside her. She didn't have to help him. She was
wet
. "Am I not satisfying you, or were you lost in a
wanton
fantasy?" he asked, hopefully.
"I think I'm tired of that word, already. But, yeah, imagining, you know, gang bangs or small group orgies.
Not
cheating, of course," she said.
He asked, "Ah, so you're married and don't think about your single days?"
"I live in the now," she said, her tongue flicking across his lips.
Steven asked, "And fantasize in the now, then. Does that make it more exciting?"
"I suppose so," she said.
"Well, it does for me. So, are you with complete strangers? Am I even there?" he asked, with a wicked grin and a delicious wiggle of his hips.
"I don't think about who they are, and I haven't thought about any of our friends that way. And, no, honey. You're always there. Except when you're not," she teased. She grinned at him and felt him swell within her. She squeezed his cock within her, "Did I touch a nerve?" she asked.
He was silent for few moments, and she was surprised that he was reluctant to talk about it. She decided not to give him a choice. "Honey, it's just a fantasy. What are yours these days? Are you being a bad boy?"
"I usually read stories," he said.
