Crossing The Boundary

"You don't need the bra," I said to my wife, Lisa.

She looked up at me, almost pleading. "Please, Brian." She was getting ready for an evening I had been imagining for years.

"You don't need it," I repeated. Lisa looked down, defeated, at the bra in her hands and put it back into her suitcase. As she bent over, her breasts hung down and jiggled, and her bum bulged slightly out of the bottom of her panties.

She reached instead for her dress, and pulled it over her head. I helped her do up the zipper. The shiny blue material clung to her curves. My wife, at 40, still had a blockbuster figure, with full breasts, flat tummy and wide hips. She stood a head shorter than me but had perfect proportions as far as I was concerned, a full hourglass figure.

Then she slipped her small feet into her black heels and turned to face me.

"Is this what you want?" she asked, looking up at me. I noticed how blue her eyes looked, highlighted by the blue of the dress. I'd made her put on lip gloss and eye make-up, and she'd cut her blond hair in a new way, like a page boy. It was like I was looking at someone else.

"That's perfect," I said. I ran my hands down the side of her body, feeling the absence of bra, the roundness of her hips. She closed her eyes, and some color rose in her cheeks.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she said. She walked across our hotel room towards the door. The dress was very snug and her breasts and bum wobbled with every step. My cock was quickly growing hard.

"Let's go," she said.

***

I had been looking forward to this for ages. For years I'd fantasized about showing my wife off to other men but never acted on it. Lisa had always been somewhat submissive and I suspected that she would do anything I asked. But until recently, I hadn't dared ask her anything. I didn't even talk about it. When it came to sex, my wife and I were both dealing with a lot of guilt and repressed urges.

All of that changed after we'd had some counseling. We had married young and the kids had recently left home. When we found ourselves alone, just the two of us, for the first time in our lives, it started to dawn on us that we'd drifted apart over the years. Making even simple conversation was difficult. We almost stopped talking altogether.

It was time to seek help.

The counselor told us we needed to fix the communication problem first and gave us some exercises to practice being more open about our feelings. One of them was to "confess" a secret. Big or small, it didn't matter. It was just to experiment with being more honest.

So one evening, after we'd had a few drinks, I decided to take the bull by the horns and I told my wife about my fantasy of exhibiting her to other men. I tried to keep it casual and harmless, although just talking about it gave me a huge hard-on - and the usual feelings of guilt.

When I was done, she was quiet for a while. We were sitting in our living room after dinner, finishing a bottle of wine. At first, I thought maybe I'd insulted her, telling her I sometimes thought of her as such a .. well, slut.

"Look, Lisa," I said. "The counselor said we should be more open, so I'm being more open. That's all."

She looked at me and half smiled. She was wearing a pink sweater and dark gray slacks, her office clothes. As usual, her curves were prominent and I wondered briefly what the men in her office thought of her. She had her legs up under her on the sofa and I admired her small bare feet.

"It's OK, Bob," she said. "I'm not upset. I'm flattered that you think anyone would get pleasure out of looking at me."

"Are you kidding me?" I said. "With that figure? Listen, Lisa, don't tell me you don't notice guys looking at you. I see it all the time."

She smiled again and looked down, embarrassed. "Like who, for instance?"

"Let's start with our neighbor," I said. The Costellos had only lived next door for two years. The husband, Frank, was a little older than us but looked in good shape. His wife, Cathy, was allegedly five years younger than Lisa but already had gray hair and looked much older. I'd seen Frank eyeing my wife on many occasions and he featured in many of my fantasies.

Lisa seemed very embarrassed and took another sip of wine. "OK, yes, I've noticed that," she said. "He's a dirty old man." She smiled.

"He's my age," I said sternly. Then I added: "You have plenty of other admirers. Every time we go to the mall, guys are looking at you. Young guys, old guys, you name it." I was overdoing it a bit but she seemed to enjoy it.

"Yes, I've seen them." She said after a moment. "And I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it." She tugged at a strand of hair. She couldn't look at me.

"But that's what bothers me, that I like it," she said. "I don't want anyone but you. I'm your wife. I was brought up to be ..." She couldn't find the words. "I want to be a proper wife for you. These thoughts make me feel ... dirty."

For the first time in months I felt a surge of feeling towards my wife. The therapist had been right. We were connecting again.

"Lisa," I said, "you're a beautiful woman. It's natural that men find you attractive and that you like it. I'm proud when they look at you. I understand that you don't actually want to cheat on me."

I thought about our counselor again. Don't be afraid to be honest, he'd said. "I feel a bit messed up myself because the idea of you and other guys ... that it turns me on."

She took a deep breath and turned to me. "So I guess we're both sickos," she said. We smiled at each other and enjoyed this brief moment of shared guilt.

Then she glanced out the window. "Well then, tell me more about your fantasy," she said. She tried to make it sound like an everyday kind of question, but it was obvious she was nervous ... or excited.

My heart jumped in my chest, and my cock along with it. I'd had so many fantasies of her with other men that I didn't know where to start. I tried to keep it simple. I described a scene in which we meet a couple of guys at a bar, get a little tipsy, then invite them back to our place.

After some more booze, the conversation turns to sex. We watch a sex movie on the TV, Lisa gets horny and I suggest she show us a little something. She agrees, teasing us all with a slow strip.

Lisa listened intently.

"Then what?" she asked after I'd finished.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"After I strip in your fantasy, what happens?"

I squirmed a little. I wasn't ready to tell her in pornographic detail the nasty deeds I imagined her performing on all of these men.

"Nothing," I said. "That's it. You're naked and ..."

"And then you cum," she said.

I was taken aback by her straightforward approach, and suddenly ashamed that she understood that I masturbated to these fantasies. But I decided that I had to keep going if this "experiment" was going to succeed.

"Well .. yeah," I said. I tried to smile but couldn't look at her.

We sipped our drinks in silence.

After a while she said, "The guys don't touch me?"

My cock stirred once again.

"Sometimes they just watch, sometimes they masturbate, and sometimes they touch you," I replied.

Lisa had some color in her face, I saw for the first time. Was it the booze or arousal?

"What do

you

do in these fantasies?" she asked.

I looked out the living room window. A streetlight cast a halo of light on the chain link fence that surrounded the golf course across the street. Everything else was in darkness.

"Like the others, usually," I said. "Sometimes I just watch and sometimes I touch."

"Which do you like better?" she asked.

I took a gulp of my wine. This was more "secret" than I had bargained for.

"Well," I started, "I actually like watching." Again, I smiled half-heartedly, as though I thought this was perfectly normal. In fact, I thought it was depraved.

Lisa slid closer to me on the sofa and put her hand on my thigh.

"What do you like the very best in your fantasies?" she asked. Her questions were getting us both uncomfortable and horny at the same time.

As the answer to her question dawned on me, I struggled whether to really tell her.

"It sounds kind of weird," I said. I was flustered and couldn't decided what to say or how to say it. "It's just a fantasy. I still love you and all."

Lisa furrowed her brow for a second and then smiled. "What are you talking about?"

I collected myself and tried again. "I don't understand it myself, but the parts I like best are when you kiss the guys and treat them with ... affection," I said. "When you're really intimate with them, I get really turned on."

I also thought it was pretty sick. How could a man become aroused at the sight of his wife showing love and affection to another man?

Lisa leaned over and kissed me gently on my cheek, then on my neck. "I can understand that," she said quietly. "Intimacy is erotic."

My cock was stiff as iron at this point, but my wife made no move to touch me there.

"What else turns you on in your fantasies?" She was speaking more quietly now. I sensed she was becoming increasingly excited. "Besides the intimacy."

My head was spinning from arousal. There were a million things that turned me on in my fantasies. I cleared my throat.

"It doesn't make any sense, after I've said I like it when you're affectionate to those other guys, but it also turns me on when I force you to do it," I said. "You know, strip or whatever."

Lisa didn't respond. She just looked down at her lap.

"I mean, I force you to do stuff, but in my fantasy it turns out that you actually get excited by being forced," I said. "So, it's not really forcing you ... if you know what I mean."

She didn't seem to hear me. I was afraid I'd gone too far and our counselor's advice had backfired. Lisa was quiet for a while and I was just about to begin a long apology.

"You'd like to show me off right now, wouldn't you?" she whispered. "To force me."

I could hardly speak. "Yes," I croaked.

I watched her fidget, pushing down her skirt over her lap, pushing her hair behind her ears. It took me a few moments to figure out what was going on. Then I stood up and took her by the hand through the kitchen and out the backdoor into our garden. On one side of our house there was only forest. On the other, we could see some light from the Costello's house through the hedge between our yards. There was a dim glow from an upstairs bedroom. I wondered whether Frank would be able to see anything, assuming he would look out at this time of night.

"I want you to show off for Frank," I said quietly.

My cock was throbbing. Lisa stood motionless in the darkness.

"Take your top off," I said. After a pause, she nodded her head and started to slowly lift her pink sweater.

I looked at our neighbor's upstairs window. There was nobody there.

Lisa tugged the top over her bra, then lifted it gently over her head and threw it to the ground.

My eyes were getting used to the darkness and I could see much more of my wife than before. Instead of worrying that we might be visible to the neighbors, this only made me more excited.

"Show him more," I said.

Again, she hesitated, then undid her slacks and slipped them down to the ground. She stepped out of them and stood in the dim light in white bra, panties and bare feet.

We both looked up at the window again. There was still no one there. I sensed that Lisa was a little disappointed that this wasn't for real.

"I don't want to go any further," she whispered eventually. "Please."

A surge of disappointment swept over me. I didn't say anything. Lisa turned back and looked up at the window. She stood there for a while, her back to me, and made no move to collect her clothes or go inside. I assumed she wanted more. It was a weird game but I was too horny to ask any questions.

"Undo your bra," I said.

Lisa shook her head and looked to the ground.

"Take it off," I said. "I want you to show yourself to Frank."

After a moment, she reached up behind her back and undid the bra clasp. The straps fell loose over her shoulders but she held the cups against her breasts with her hands.

"Take it off," I said again.

She looked at me over her shoulder, then turned back to look up at Frank's window, and dropped her hands. Her bra fell to the ground. From where I stood I could see the outline of one breast in the dim light. Her nipple jutted out long and stiff.

"Now your panties," I said.

She looked at me again. "Please, Bob, don't."

For a moment I hesitated. She seemed genuinely distressed this time and I couldn't tell anymore whether this was a silly game or something more serious.

I watched her standing there in the faint light from our neighbor's house, one large breast in clear profile, a cool breeze starting to blow. I looked at the curve of her hip, a sliver of light along one smooth thigh. There was still no sign of life in the window above. My cock pounded.

"Take them off," I said.

Slowly, Lisa turned away from me again, hooked her thumbs into her panties and tugged them down over her bum. I saw them slide down her legs, ending in a heap at her feet. She didn't move.

She looked incredible, so full and voluptuous, so innocent and vulnerable.

I approached her quietly. When I was beside her, I whispered into her ear: "You can feel Frank's eyes on you, can't you? His desire. Feel his hands on you."

I reached around and squeezed her breasts, then slid my hands gently down her tummy and lightly over the mound between her thighs. I was on some sort of auto-pilot, acting without any plan or intention.

"He wants you now," I said.

I glanced up at my wife's face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open.

"Yes," she whispered.

I quickly dropped my trousers. My hard-on sprang free. I pushed myself against her from behind, frantically seeking her wetness and warmth. She bent over slightly and reached down, guiding me into her. She was soaking wet and I penetrated her effortlessly.

"Christ," I groaned and almost immediately erupted inside of her. I thrust into her as hard and as quickly as I could, oblivious to our surroundings. She was whimpering, although whether from excitement or distress, I couldn't tell.

Then it was over. I stood behind her gasping for a few moments, then withdrew and pulled up my pants. Lisa stood up. She was breathing quickly as well. Wordlessly, she collected her clothes, stepping into her slacks and pulling the sweater over her head. With her bra and panties in one hand, she walked back into the house.

I stood in the yard and looked up at Frank's window. Still nothing. Disappointed, I walked into the house after my wife.

***

That had been three weeks ago. Since then, we had become obsessed with our mutual fantasy. We never discussed it. We knew that putting it into words would destroy the excitement. Ironically, the marriage counselor's advice had backfired after all.

We stepped into the hotel elevator along with another couple. Both the man and woman looked briefly at Lisa, then turned to the door. I looked down at the front of Lisa's dress and saw her nipples pressing out prominently.

The other couple got out on the 3rd floor. When the doors closed again, I turned to my wife.

"Remember the plan," I said. "You'll sit at the bar and I'll find a table where I can see you. If someone comes on to you, play them along a little. If they want to dance, go for it."

I pushed a strand of blond hair behind one of her ears, but it slid out again. She looked up at me anxiously, but said nothing. "You're going to turn them on," I said. Then I reached down and squeezed her breasts with both hands. The silky material slid over her bulging flesh, her rigid nipples pressing against my palms. "I want them to feel your body," I whispered, my arousal rising quickly.

Lisa looked down and nodded her head slightly. "And I want you to tell me all about it later," I added as the elevator slowed. "So when you've gone as far as you dare, just give me a look and leave. I'll meet you in the room."

She nodded again, silent, as the elevator doors opened, then she walked into the lobby. I tried to keep my distance. As she passed in front of the reception desk, a couple of businessmen turned to watch her go by. The dress was snug around her breasts and thighs and her body quivered within the shiny material. It was hard to say for sure whether she was wearing a bra or not, but you wanted to look closely to find out. My dick hardened again.

She walked into the bar and sat on a stool in front of the barkeeper. The dress slid slightly up her thigh as she adjusted her bum on the stool and ordered a drink. I followed her in a few moments later and took a seat at a table near one wall, beside a large potted plant. I asked the waiter for a screwdriver. "Make it a double," I said.

Lisa looked nervous and was gulping her drink. It wasn't long before a man came over and sat down beside her. He was well dressed, probably in his mid-forties. He smiled at Lisa and they started chatting. He ordered them both another drink. I could see that my wife was having a hard time keeping the conversation going and after a few minutes, the man left.

Lisa looked around and caught my eye. She looked embarrassed. I motioned with my hand that she should take a drink. She lifted the glass to her mouth and took a sip, then a larger gulp.

After a few minutes, she was approached by another man. Again, he smiled pleasantly and they started chatting. He gestured across the room to a table where three other men were sitting and nodded with his head.

Lisa looked over at them nervously, then smiled bravely. She said something to the man at the bar and then followed him over to the table. Introductions were made and my wife sat down. I finished my drink and ordered another. My arousal was growing.

Soon Lisa had another drink going and was the focus of attention at the table. When the music started, it wasn't long before she was up and dancing with one of them. From time to time he put a hand on her waist or along her side. Knowing that he was feeling my wife's firm curves as they swayed back and forth made my cock pound.

After a couple of dances, my wife stood up awkwardly and looked over at me. Then she headed out of the bar. After a moment, I stood up and left as well. I found her standing in the corner of the lobby with a worried look on her face.

"I'm supposed to go back in there, they think I've just gone to the bathroom," she said quickly. She was slightly flushed and with the lip gloss and tight dress looked deliciously slutty.

"So, what's the problem?" I asked. My arousal was mounting by the second as I imagined the men dancing with my wife and feeling her braless body beneath the thin dress.

She looked at me like I'd hurt her feelings. "When I danced with that last guy ... he pulled me against him and ..." She looked down, obviously embarrassed.

"And what?" I asked. I felt a surge of excitement.

"I felt him," she said. "He was, you know ..."

My cock throbbed. "He was what?" I hissed.

She looked away and shrugged her shoulders. "Down there ... he was stiff." She patted down the front of her dress over her hips, as though to get rid of the feeling.

"Go back to them," I said quickly, my mind racing as I considered a change of plan. I handed her the room keys. "I'm going back up to the room. I'll get other keys from the front desk. I want you to invite those guys back up there. Don't tell them we're married, but tell them I'm there so they're not surprised. Tell them I'm just a friend. I'll be waiting for you."

Lisa looked at me, again with pleading eyes. "No, Brian, please don't."

I looked again down at the profile of her nipples pushing out of her dress. I bent down slightly and whispered into her ear: "You're excited by this, I can see it." She turned away, and then I quickly turned and left.