"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.
