Forgiveness

"If you'd just fuck him, then we'd be even, and everything would be fine."

Except, I knew it would never be the same. My husband could label our marriage "fine", but even he would never be able to say that it would be the same. Because he had fucked around. Even worse, he was the sort who, wracked with guilt, felt compelled to tell me about it.

And now he wanted me to fuck somebody -- anybody, almost- so that we would be even. Today it was his best friend, but yesterday it had been a neighbour who had innocently returned the hedge clippers while I was sunbathing. I have to admit, I did get a cheap thrill watching from behind my sunglasses at how his eyes bulged, and then his pants bulged, as the fact that I was lying topless by my pool registered. The reaction was flattering, but my nipples were hard before he arrived, not because he appreciated me. If I was going to fuck somebody, he would not be the one.

But I digress, because I was not going to fuck anybody. Not hubby's best chum; not the neighbour; not the pool cleaner hubby suggested last week. Because, I knew there was no such thing as "even"...just a downward spiral of sexual degradation, ending in a black hole of lying, distrust and eventual divorce.

So my answer was, "If you want a divorce, say so. We are in a no fault state. I won't give you any hassles."

That always ended the conversation, with him muttering "I love you" or "No I don't want a divorce..."

He had always believed that I was responsible for his happiness. I felt great realizing that his selfish act had liberated me from that weight. Of course, I never explicitly explained this to hubby. That would just overheat his brain, and run the risk that his little brain -- the one between his legs -- would seize the moment to seek out a little happiness of its own. I could ignore, if not forgive, hubby's random indiscretion, but was not sure how I would react if he made a habit of it. I supposed that might depend upon who he fucked. I knew I could not handle him fucking my friends, or everybody knowing that I was the female version of a cuckold -- if nothing else, I dreaded the implication that I was in some way frigid or inadequate.

My belief was that such fears were the true source of most attempts to 'even up', which was why it never worked. The retaliation was as selfish as the original sin.

None of this slowed down my husband. One of the things I had always loved about him was that when he was a man on a mission, he set out to do it right.

His campaign was so subtle at first that it took me a long time to connect the dots. First he bought me sexy lingerie -- push up lace bras; see through lacy boy cut bikini panties followed by demi-bras, which left the entire top half of my tits uncovered, the fabric ending under the nipples, so that my always excitable bumps pushed out against my clothing. They came with matching thongs. I had never worn thongs before, after years of listening to my friends complain about the G-string rubbing inside their ass holes. The first time I slipped my feet through a nifty blue pair though, my nipples instantly popped. I realized that it just made sense -- hubby frequently stimulated my anus to trigger my orgasms, and on a few special occasions, I had enjoyed anal sex. The only reason we did not do it more often was that his huge cock hurt in my ass hole unless I was both well lubricated and well stretched. Usually before we reached that stage, he was all fucked out. A couple of years ago, he had bought me a butt plug, and we usually just played with that, or he stuck my favourite vibrator into my poop chute.

Reflecting on this, I also recalled that originally, I had opposed anal sex.

"That's designed for one way traffic," was the worn out saying I had learnt, and repeated to hubby more than once.

It took time for that to change, but I know exactly the day it started, because it was our wedding day. After the traditional first dance, we had gone back to our seats as the guests flooded on to the dance floor. I had been about to sit on my chair when hubby had grabbed my arm and playfully tugged me down onto his lap.Through the satin dress, I felt the unmistakable shape of a hard cock pressing against my butt. I almost asked if I had caused that, but I knew darn well I had, and just smiled to myself, pleased with my power. Without saying a word, I had wriggled my butt deeper into his lap. His hand brushed the underside of my breast from the outside of the beaded bodice. My nipples were already stiff, but, like his cock, just that casual touch was enough to make them rock hard. I had to stifle an urge to drag him right back to the bridal suite for a fuck. Heck, I had to resist sucking him off right there at the head table.

He continued his assault on my ass during the traditional garter toss. The hall had a tiny mezzanine where the band played. We climbed the dark stairs, with me in front, hiking my dress so that I did not trip.

"Just a bit higher,"he teased.

So I did.Then a bit more, and a bit more.By the time we reached the top of the stairs, I could feel the warm air against my ass hole.

"What happened to your panties?" he asked His breath was blowing inside me due to the difference in stair heights.

"They got too damp, so I took them off,"I whispered back.

Just then I saw the bass player sitting on the top step, sharing a joint with the drummer. From the looks on their faces, they had heard what I had said.Suddenly I realized that my skirt was not just raised in the back, but even more in the front. These two strangers had a clear close up view of my naked cunt. Good thing that the light was dim. I noticed that although intellectually I was shocked, my wetness increased, with a trickle of excitement escaping down my inner thighs.

Suddenly, I knew what I needed. I rotated my hips, grinding my naked ass against hubby's groin. One hand reached back to cup his head, drawing his face onto my shoulder. I awkwardly twisted my neck and gave my groom a sloppy drunken tongue kiss. I faintly registered the snickering of the musicians.

My other hand snaked around and fumbled hubby's pants open. His cock sprung free unaided as our bodies separated. He started turning me, as if to fuck my soaked cunt, but I took charge, spinning my ass back into contact with his now exposed organ.

"Fuck my ass," I panted as our mouths pulled loose. As I spoke I shoved back against him, leaning forward so that my palms pressed against the tiled stair. My face was between the two drugged band members, who had instinctively slid to either side of the landing, but otherwise, simply enjoyed the show.

Hubby's cock sawed excited between my buttocks.I felt my anus gaping open with anticipation, but his helmet just teased me, bouncing around the rim, until I raised one arm and reached underneath, grabbing his shaft by the root and shoving his entire member deep into my poop chute. He needed no further urging,fucking me so hard that my tits fell right out of the top of my wedding dress, dangling a foot or two in front of the leering watchers.

I can still remember the warmth of their breath reaching my hard nipples. My eyes met theirs briefly, but I was filled with shame and looked down, only to see their fingers caressing their erections through their pants. I felt myself blushing, just at the moment when hubby, with his deepest thrust yet, filled my bowels with his sweet creamy seed. He froze in that position as his shaft throbbed inside my ass, gradually softening as his balls emptied.

My married sex life was off to a great start for hubby, and he returned the favour, slipping his fingers under my ass and spreading my cunt wide. For an instant, I thought he was going to slide his slimy cock into me, but fortunately, he chose his fist, thrusting all four fingers deep into my vagina, his thumb finding my swollen clit. I came almost immediately, biting my lip so the wedding guests did not hear me roar. He flexed his fingers gently, stretching me, diddling my clit, as I rode wave after wave. Though it seemed like a lifetime, I later realized it all took less than five minutes.

At some point I closed my eyes as I came, and reopened them to see that the grinning musicians had not just enjoyed the show -- they had come too, the drummer while rubbing his cock through his now stained pants, and the bass player had actually pulled his cock free and was tucking it back in as it deflated. I felt my tongue involuntarily lick my lower lip. I refused to admit it then, but as I've replayed it in my mind over the years, any urging and I would have sucked that cock, newly married or not. But no one spoke, he did not wink, and he zipped up rather than pushing his meat toward my mouth.

I only vaguely recall tucking my tits back into the gown and tossing the garter. I still wonder how many of the bachelors got a good view of my naked cunt, and if they were close enough to see the trickle of hubby's spunk seeping down my thigh. At every anniversary party , I wonder whether hubby's younger brother is not quite able to look me in the eye. Yet I resist looking to see whether he gets a bulge in his pants. A swinging wife is hubby's fantasy, not mine.

Now, you might be expecting a tale of a nude beach honeymoon, but that story wouldn't be about me. I can not even honestly tell you about great sex in the honeymoon suite, because as hubby's hormones abated, he started drinking more, trying to keep up with his brother and cousins. The soberest -- as in least drunk- of them carried him to our room and dumped him on the bed. By then, it was too late for me to go back to the party. Again, I wonder if one or two of them lingered to see if I wanted help out of my gown, but I remained fully clothed- well, except for those panties- until after they left. I abandoned the gown on the floor and collapsed on the bed next to hubby, still in my lingerie, shoes, and flowers in my hair.

The next thing I knew it was morning and my mother was pounding on the door wanting us to come join the going away breakfast. So we did not even take time for a quickie in the shower. There were no porn mag moments with my maid of honour, or any distant relatives. We simply drove off for a low key stay in the country, the sort of frugal honeymoon young couples did back then.

Don't get me wrong -- the honeymoon sex was great, and far from limited to 'lights out drapes shut missionary style on the bed'. We stayed at a great resort, with lots of hiking trails. I'm sure we were not the first nor the last to duck off the trails into little groves of trees because the hand holding led to making out, led to blow jobs, and at least once or twice, fucking in the woods. The bush created enough of a sense of privacy and our hormones were racing enough that we neither knew nor really cared who was watching. But we never swapped with any nice couples we met at dinner or anything like that. Though I know both of our minds turned that way- mine pretty much every night- it was all just fantasy fodder, not something I would ever really act on.

By the last evening, two bottles of wine empty on our table, hubby and I were whispering fantasies in each other's ears about which couples might be the most fun. This made us incredibly horny,. And I fondled his cock under the table. Even though he came in his pants, on the way back to the room he got my tits out of my halter dress and pressed me up against a wall, kissing me, sucking my nipples. His fingers fucked my pussy. I was fumbling to release his zipper just as we heard another couple bouncing off the walls around the corner. With nervous laughter, we ran to our room, barely getting in the door before he literally ripped my dress off and fucked me doggy style. As he ate the cream pie, I wondered which couple it had been around the corner and wondered how hubby would have liked eating that other guy's seed out of my cunt. I came all over his face so hard he almost drowned.

I never told hubby about that fantasy, and never asked if he had similar thoughts- maybe about kissing me with his lips slick with some other wife's pussy juices. Instead, I just rolled him into a 69 position, sucked him hard again and fucked him cowgirl style as I rolled through at least three more orgasms. I think he was passed out for the last one. I know that I barely had the strength to roll off his shrunken cock and the next thing I knew, it was daylight streaming in our windows and the honeymoon was about to end.

Not that the honeymoon was over in terms of a great sex life. The kids slowed us down -- no topless beaches with toddlers for me -- but in the bedroom, hubby was still a tiger. And in the shower, the laundry room, the garage... wherever we could find a moment's peace.

Now that the kids were gone, and we were still fairly young, and very horny, it all should have been great. No need to worry about teenage boys walking in if I sunbathed nude. Freedom to fuck on whichever furniture we wished whenever we wanted to. As each kid moved out, we stripped their mattress and christened that room. I joked about replacing the hanging chair in our daughter's window nook with a trapeze. Hubby responded by just fucking me in the chair, not pausing to care whether or not the neighbours could see.

Then BigCo offered hubby the travelling job as a trainer -- almost twice the money as he made as a branch manager. With the kids at home, he had never thought about such opportunities. Now it seemed like a perfect chance to afford a few luxuries, and still top up our retirement savings. We quickly recognized that phone sex was an option we had overlooked, and that this would be a great variation to add to our sex lives.

We did not fall victim to some random waitress or barfly meeting hubby in a strange city. Instead, he fell prey to the black widow spider who BigCo sent to mentor him on his first training trip. As he later told the story, she was hardly even subtle about it. One innocent drink in the hotel bar after the session and she said straight out, "are you as horny as I am? Because you're a hot guy, and I'd rather fuck you than end up picking up some pot-bellied tractor salesman later. Besides, if we fuck now, we'll be done well before dinner."

Shocked, he was even more surprised to hear himself answer, "Why, so we have time to fuck again?"

"If I like the test drive, sure, why not?" he reported her snapping back.

Well, hubby never could resist a challenge. Right there in the bar, he grabbed a hank of her hair and buried his tongue down her throat. When he confessed this to me, I could picture it like watching a movie, but with all my senses engaged -- her whiskey tasting mouth, his fat tongue thrusting. I love how just kissing me, he fills my mouth almost like I was sucking cock. I bet she loved it too.

She did not struggle against his assault. Instead, she one upped him by grabbing his cock, caressing it through his slacks. Again, I knew how that felt -- every vein, how it would have twitched and then swelled as the blood surged out of his brain, the helmet spreading. Hubby has a magnificent cock. I bet the bitch would have pulled it out and sucked it right there in the bar if hubby had not responded to her grope by kneading one of her tits. I guess this made her realize where they were, because, as hubby tells it, she broke the kiss long enough to moan, "Let's take this upstairs."

They ran across the elevator like teenagers stealing an evening away from parental supervision. That's exactly how hubby described the feeling.

"It wasn't like cheating on you so much as being totally overcome, the same joy you get skipping class the first time. Or making out under the bleachers, or getting to second base instead of doing homework while Mom's downstairs cooking supper."

When he said that, all I could do was laugh and say that I hoped he wasn't comparing me to his mother. Hubby is a hard guy to stay mad at. Though when he made that remark, I could not resist retorting, "what a novel way to say that you were thinking with your cock."

But then I asked him to continue his story. At that point, I still wondered if it was all some sort of fantasy.

"As soon as the elevator doors closed, we were all over each other," he continued. "Like two alpha dogs scrapping to see who rules the pack. I felt buttons popping at the same time as I hoisted her back against the wall, pushed her skirt to her waist and ripped her panties. My face was already buried in her cleavage."

I just barely resisted asking whether he did that out of lust, or if, as I pictured it, her free hand cupped behind his neck and forced his face to please her. Either way, my panties get wet every time I recreate that scene in my mind. The first time, as he narrated it, my fingers automatically played with my cunt.

"Don't stop now" I commanded him.

"That's what she said," he responded. "It was like her cunt was sucking my fingers up inside her body. It felt like I was wrist deep fisting her. As I rotated one direction, she twisted her hips the other. Good thing no one else was waiting for the elevator. She came right there. It was only after she finished, panting for breath, the lift slowing at her floor, that I realized that she had dragged my cock right out of my pants. She fell to her knees and kissed it just as the doors opened."

Another image that still never fails to turn me on, adding rock hard nipples to the damp pussy effect. I liked to imagine that I was standing there when the doors opened. Other times, I pictured a couple in town for a church convention standing there, startled by hubby and his coworker half naked, sharing sex. Except that bitch would probably make a Mormon bishop want to join in for group sex.

"Did you come in her mouth in the elevator?" I heard myself ask, even as part of my brain was busy wondering why I was not angry; why I was not throwing things; telling me not to be turned on, though I was.

"No," he chuckled. "but we couldn't stuff me back in my pants, so I had to hold them up by one hand while I held my jacket in the other, shielding my turgid nakedness- she similarly grasped her blouse shut loose in front of those great tits while we ran like excited schoolchildren down the hallway to her room."

Just picturing that scene made my nipples ache. Somehow monogamy and kids drains that sort of spontaneity out of even the most fulfilling marriages. Listening to hubby, I grew more and more happy for him. Maybe that's why I didn't feel the need to 'even up'. He didn't need my forgiveness.

"She had trouble with the key card, so for a good couple of minutes, I was leaning beside her door, struggling to catch my breath, watching how her tits swayed with each movement. That just made me harder. Too bad you weren't there to fall to your knees and suck my cock while I waited."

Now THAT was just plain cruel. Not in the least because of how it made my clit throb. Hubby might not talk me into fucking another man but at that moment I was totally willing to add a hot slut bitch to our love life, in a one guy two women threesome.

Hubby seemed to read my mind, because he said, "Don't worry, pet, if I got my two gal fantasy, then the least you'd be owed would be two guys, two cocks stuffing you full. I know how you like my cock pounding in your ass while you fuck yourself with your dildo. As you do it, you keep screaming that you want a double meat extravaganza. Well, that would turn me on just as much as you and some slut."

"Wouldn't that make me a slut too?" I gasped, almost sobbing. That one misplaced word had tilted my mood back to hurt.

"No. It would make you hot- a shared wife, not someone who cheats or fucks other women's men."

"So no married guys need apply to supply the cunt filling cock?" I laughed, my humour revived. No wonder I love hubby so much- he knows how to please me.