I was standing close enough to the stunningly beautiful woman to see the band of gold on the third finger of her perfectly manicured left hand as she handed the ticket agent her boarding pass. I was struck by her beauty. Her brown hair was in a conservative business woman's style. Her face, well her face would be envied by any actress or super model. The stylish dove- grey suit did little to hide her perfect figure. Her long legs were encased in dark nylon, her feet in high heel pumps. Before she entered the jet way, she looked over her shoulder directly at me. Her big blue eyes couldn't conceal what seemed to be a mixture of excitement and fear. She took a few long graceful strides and was swallowed up in the jet way. My thoughts were interrupted by the announcement over the airport's PA system. "Final call, Delta flight 308 is now ready to depart for Atlanta, all passengers should be on board."
There was a lump in my throat as I walked slowly down the long concourse to the short- term parking garage. My thoughts lingered on the breathtakingly beautiful creature who had boarded the plane for Atlantaβbut I knew that Atlanta wasn't her final destination, she would be at the airport just long enough to make the connection for her flight to Charlotte, North Carolina. I also knew she had never been to Charlotte.
She was dressed as if she would soon be conducting important business. She could have been a successful attorney, an accountant or an investment banker. But I knew she was none of these. I knew that her name was Cheryl, she was a thirty-five-year-old wife, a mother of two children and who, until recently, worked as a receptionist in a real estate office in Scottsdale, Arizona. I knew that she had been married for nearly sixteen years and even that she went to her marriage bed as an innocent virgin and had remained faithful to her wedding vows ever since.
I was one of only three people aware of a carefully kept secret; she was flying to Charlotte to spend the weekend with a man who was not her husband, a man she had never even met. How did I know all of this? Because she is my wife, the woman that I love more than anything, more than life itself. I'm Dan, Cheryl's husband the person responsible for everything that led up to her trip.
As I walked to my car, I was reminded that in two days, on Sunday, I would be returning here to welcome Cheryl back. The lonely drive to our suburban home in Tempe took less than fifteen minutes. The passenger seat in the four-year-old Honda Accord was empty, as was a place in my heart that was only full when she was physically present. But this weekend I would spend alone because our children, two girls ages 11 and 7, had left three days ago for two weeks at summer camp.
Just two days ago I couldn't have imagined that Cheryl would actually board the plane for her adventure. This morning, as I watched her dress for her journey, I kept thinking that at some point she would surely change her mind. But she didn't change her mind. At the airport I thought the odds were good that she wouldn't get on the plane, but she did. Even now, I wondered if she would make the connection in Atlanta? And, if she did choose to go on, when she arrived in Charlotte would she renege on her promises to me and to Thomas? Would he even be there to meet her?
As soon as I closed to the door to the modest tract house that had been our home for 8 years, exhaustion overcame me and I laid down on our bed hoping to take a nap. I remembered that it was on this king-size bed that the salacious thoughts that led up to all of this began to take shape.
Three years ago we traveled to the Carribean for a convention. It was there that I saw men openly and lustfully ogle her as she stretched out in her little bikini trying to catch some rays. And, though I knew what they were thinking, I found their lusting after her indescribably exciting. That night, after we made love in our tropical hotel bed, I confessed my feelings to her. As you might imagine, she didn't believe me. At first, she thought I was surely joking.
As time went by this became a recurring theme for our lovemaking. When she understood how hot it made me she went along with the fantasy. For a couple of years it was fairly mild stuff, her with one of our friends, or her with a movie star or an NFL quarterback. Then, to keep the excitement at a fevered pitch I began to talk about her being with more than one guy at a time, wearing sluty clothes and much, much more.
During this phase of her transition I discovered Penthouse Letters, a monthly magazine that featured letters from readers, and I learned that a high percentage of those letters were from men who shared their wives with other men, or at least wanted to. I devoured these letters and waited anxiously for the next issue to appear. On those few occasions when Cheryl could travel with me I encouraged her to read my new source of stimulation. As she read them without comment, nevertheless, I sensed that some of the letters were also a turn-on for her.
It was a few months ago, and with some trepidation I'll admit, that I suggested we make my fantasy a reality. Frankly, I wasn't at all surprised when Cheryl said, "Danny, pretending while we're making love is one thing, actually doing any this stuff you fantasize about is another. Just forget it, I'll never be with another man. Will you please stop bugging me about it? Okay?" Well, I didn't pay much attention to what she said. The next time we made love I started where we left off and encouraged her to make it happen, as I did every time thereafter. Over time, it became obvious that she was enjoying my fantasies which were intensifying. I would say things like "don't you ever think about fucking other guys? Wouldn't you love to have a huge cock in your pussy? It would drive me crazy to know you were spreading your legs for someone else. I really want this to happen, Cher!"
Then a couple of months ago I discovered the Internet and some of the sites. I found that other husbands, countless husbands, it seemed, wanted the same thing for their wives that I did for Cheryl. They wanted them to be attractive and desirable to other men, men who would not be threats to their marriages or to their families. I discovered "Hot Wife" forums, postings of raunchy wife pictures, stories and more. I finally mentioned all this to Cheryl. Her response was "you're all sick."
The night before I left on my last business trip to Denver, as we laid naked against each other, I had been pushing her hard and saying how fascinated I was by the women who fulfilled their husband's fantasies. The more slutty their behavior, the greater my fascination with them. She seemed exasperated as she nearly shouted, "Danny you just don't see it, they're all tramps, nothing more."
"Bullshit Cheryl! They just love their husbands a hell of a lot more than you do me. You know this is something that I really want and you're unwilling to do it for me."
"If you really loved and respected me you couldn't possibly want me to!" She nearly shouted..
We seemed to be going in circles, then I crossed a line when I said, "I don't think that's it at all, I don't think you have the guts to do what those other wives do for their husbands."
She recoiled, almost as if I had slapped her. She was very quiet for a few seconds and then very seriously asked, "Did you say what I thought you said?"
I didn't think there was much to lose so I shrugged my shoulders, turned off the light rolled away from her and muttered, "you heard me . . . you just don't have the nerve to do it."
The next morning, before the sun came up, I was awakened by her sucking on my cock. When it was rock hard, she climbed on. We faced each other with her left leg over mine, our mouths locked in a lingering wet kiss and with our bodies joined. I don't remember when she had been more enthusiastic. Finally we exploded at the same time.
In the afterglow, with her head on my shoulder she whispered in my ear, "Danny, if I ever did the crazy things you insist you want me to do you'd probably hate me, divorce me and never let me see the kids."
I was surprised, realizing that for the first time she was actually thinking about doing it. "Oh, no honey, you've got it all wrong, not only would I not divorce you, I'd love you even more, if that's possible." I paused for a moment and then asked, "Does this mean you'll do it?"
She was biting on her lower, as she did when she was troubled then said, "It's so complicated. I'd just die if anyone ever found out." She paused for a few seconds before continuing, "I know I could never do anything here . . . if it's ever going to happen, it has to be out of town," she said softly.
The years of sharing my naughty thoughts with her seemed to be paying off. She implied that she would fuck another guy, but only out of town. I thought I should strike while she was in this compliant mood.
"Hey, babe, that's no problem, I've got frequent flyer points that I'm going to lose if they're not used. And, I can't think of anything better to use them for. Let, me ask, how far are you willing to go? I haven't been bashful about telling you, you know what I want." And she did know. Hardly a time went by when I was buried inside her moist vagina that I didn't encourage her by saying, "you're the hottest women in the world . . . this is the best pussy . . . wouldn't you love to have a parade of giant cocks . . . wouldn't you love to be a whore." Romance wasn't part of my fantasy, just hot sweaty sex. And then I would go on, "wouldn't you love to have a big black cock . . . lots of big black cocks." She never answered these questions directly with words, but I noticed that she increasingly answered with a moan, a sigh, an intensified movement, a griping of her inner muscles, or pulling my lips to hers for a wet kiss.