Hubby Doesnt Show Up At Threesome

My name is Sherri, and I'm confident you'll find my story interesting if the idea of an adventurous wife is a turn-on. And we're talking about an adventurous wife because my husband wants one, not as a downtrodden cuck, but rather as an alpha who seemingly enjoys competition. I don't understand it all, but at this point, it is what it is. Our marriage is strong. Our adventure level is high. But this time he may have pushed me too far. See what you think.

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Mike and I met in our sophomore year of college. Married right after graduation, which was six years ago. We're busy with careers, waiting to have children, and have promised each other we'll keep our sex life active -- too many of our friends get distracted by life, and soon the fire seems to go out. We've also promised each other that nothing goes on behind each other's back, or goes into territory that we'll regret the next morning. Since we have long history together, that makes the playground pretty big.

The seeds of this story came from one of our fantasy games. I was a cheerleader in college and Mike's opening line when we met had something to do with how much he enjoys my "talents" as a cheerleader. It turns out that meant he is an enthusiastic (putting it mildly) legman who thinks that a good leg and panty shot is better than cold beer on a hot summer day.

I liked being a cheerleader; most honest cheerleaders will confess they know they are showing off and they like the attention, but until Mike, I had never connected bare legs directly with sex. Well, Mike did. Pretty soon our fantasy life included cheerleading skirts, but with sexy little panties, sometimes even a thong, underneath. Of course, I have a French maid costume. I have two mini-skirts and a dress inspired by the early-1970s barely-cover-your-buns era.

One of our favorite fantasies includes role-playing (in the safety of our own home). I pretend to be somewhere where I can "accidentally" flaunt my short-skirt in front of a guy. (Mike plays the role of the guy, of course, sometimes sitting across from me at a party; sometimes watching me on a park bench or on a picnic blanket, etc.) Then the newly teased guy finds a way to get me into a private room or follows me home.

He accuses me of intentionally teasing him, which I deny of course. He says, "You shouldn't do that to a guy; it's cruel, almost like torture, and you really deserve to be punished." I claim it was an accident, and besides it's my body and if I want to show part of it, it's my right. Of course, he ignores all that.

Sometimes he pushes me onto a couch or bed. Sometimes he turns me over his knee for a light spanking. I protest and say no, no, no...even though I'm always hot from exhibition time on... and the stranger easily overcomes all resistance, undresses me and turns me into a well-punished, orgasm-exhausted naughty girl. The hottest moment is always when I give up the fight to keep my panties on, because I know I'm only seconds away from being completely helpless. Afterward, my conqueror claims the panties as his victory reward.

Okay, time to introduce Ted who was one of Mike's college fraternity brothers and a VERY cool guy: piercing blue eyes, curly black hair, stays in great physical shape. He lives in Chicago but stays for a night with us every few months as part of his business travels. I'll admit to having let Ted drift into my fantasy thoughts, but we were just good friends and he was married, too -- or at least he had been until a few weeks before this visit. You won't be surprised to learn that a Mike and Ted phone discussion of "loneliness" played a role in this story.

On the Friday morning of Ted's visit, Mike said, "I want you to do something," and I could tell by his tone it was something unusual. I asked what? And he said, "Wear something really sexy tonight. I asked, "Do you mean with Ted?"

"Yes," was the reply, his voice almost husky. "You know that I think it's super sexy when another guy thinks you are super sexy."

I took a moment to process what was going on. I was a happy flasher for Mike, and without doubt I would have picked an outfit for the evening that would have been "interesting" to Ted. In fact, it wouldn't have occurred to me NOT to wear something that would be interesting to Ted. But this felt different, more like a director telling an actress about the costume for a scene. So, in fairness to my husband and the issue of whether he pushed me deeper into sin, I had fair warning that tonight might be different.

"What are you saying I should do," I asked, seriously curious about his answer.

"Just wear something really sexy and be a little, you know, extra careless." He smiled, "It'll make me crazy, and I'll give you a few bonus orgasms next time we play." I couldn't find anything to worry about. We were all friends. And I would be lying if I said it didn't sound exciting. So I simply said, "OK."

The outfit I chose was a white knit dress that barely reached mid-thigh, white string bikini panties, and no bra. It was the decision to skip a bra that should have told me I was deep into the idea. all on my own. It was one of my common dress-for-Mike wardrobe decisions. There should have been more question about whether it should be my dress-for-Mike-and-Ted outfit -- mostly because my breasts are incredibly sensitive, another highly relevant reality in this night's saga.

So Ted came to our house, and we had our normal friendly banter, except when he discussed the divorce which was painful. Before dinner we had drinks on our patio, and the fun began. Let's just say that you can't wear a mini-dress and sit on a low slung patio chair, directly across from a guy with piercing blue eyes, without providing a serious show. And being an obedient wife who had been instructed to be "extra careless," I made it a world-class performance, especially during and after cocktail #2.

I totally admit that, with Mike's years-long obsession shaping my attitude. It is a tremendous turn-on to intentionally have nothing but a thin piece of cloth between myself and a guy who is likely thinking about having his way with me. Ted was noticing--impossible not to--but I saw no reaction, facially or otherwise.

We had drinks then dinner with wine, still on the patio. My show continued, but still no apparent reaction. At one point, while Ted visited the bathroom, I said, "So?"

Mike said, "You're doing great."

"I don't think so."

"Trust me, you're doing great."

We took refilled wine glasses to the den to watch a Netflix travel short that Ted had talked about. I continued to be careless until Mike and Ted went to the basement rec room for a pool game while I tidied up upstairs. Mike came upstairs, visibly a bit tipsy, but so was I. "Okay," he said, "I need you to help me win a bet." I just looked at him, wondering what in the world he might be talking about. "Ted and I were talking about how hot you look tonight, and he said something like 'Man, she has made me wish you weren't married to her'." So I said, "You couldn't lay a hand on her, even if she wasn't my wife. So long story short, I've got 50 bucks riding on the bet that you can go downstairs, dance with Ted for fifteen minutes, and come back upstairs still a virgin."

Clearly we were in new territory, and I thought I saw where we were headed. We had fantasized together about threesomes. I wasn't sure whether I was ready for the whole scene, but I knew I could call a halt if I wasn't ready; so I played along. "Do you want me to come back up as a virgin?"

"Of course I do? I'm betting on you."

"And what becomes of poor Ted?"

"We'll have to figure that out at the time."

Of course this is the moment at which I could have been doing some serious analyzing about the possible outcomes, but all roads seemed paved with gold -- the idea of me and my little mini-dress dancing braless with Ted for a few minutes; the possibility that the Mike and Ted team might give me a four-hands massage. My heart was beating harder just thinking about it.

"Okay, I'll do my best," I promised him.

I visited the bathroom for a couple minutes to freshen up, smiled at myself in the mirror, although with an expression I couldn't read myself -- too many thoughts and ideas swirling in my head, I guess. And I headed for the rec room where Ted was waiting. Only one light was on, in a far corner; soft music was playing.

He said, "Hi there, I'm glad you decided to drop by."

I said, "I'll admit I'm not sure what I am in all of this."

"You are beautiful"

"Good line," I thought.

"Mike has made rules," he said.

"And what might they be?"

"We're allowed to slow dance...you know, be touching, but you can say stop at any point you want to."

"Fair enough," I said, although not at all certain what touching might involve, or that it was fair.

I glided into his arms and we began the kind of slow dance that is barely a dance at all, his arms around my waist, my arms around his neck...and because he is several inches taller, I had complete awareness that my hem was already at panty level. He small-talked me, as if he'd written a script. How beautiful I am. How I probably had no idea how attractive I am to a man, how he had to admit I had practically tortured him tonight.

I tried for light responses, admitting I might be a bit of a flirt, but not meaning anything serious; certainly not intending to let my husband lose his bet. He just smiled and said, "Okay, we'll just dance."

We danced silently for a couple minutes. I could feel my nipples hardening against his chest and decided that the impact of the no-bra decision was becoming clearer to all concerned. Then I felt his hands go lower, onto my buns. He paused as if honoring my right to say stop. I didn't say stop. People say it's important to "be in the moment." I was definitely into this moment. We danced for a couple more minutes with his hands cupping my buns, fingers occasionally drifting all the way to the bare skin below my panties.

After he received no stop signal, he said, "I want you to turn around, with your back against my chest." I thought about it, gave it a second thought, and decided "Okay," both times.

"Reach back and put your arms around my neck." That little voice inside me warned that I was close to the last serious chance I had to deliver my STOP, but I didn't. I turned my back to him, and reached high to put my arms around his neck as instructed. I was aware of my back being arched and that I was grinding into him, not intentionally, just sort of automatically, but enough to be aware he was fully erect.

We kept swaying to the music. At first his arms were around my waist, then his hands moved to the hem of my dress, slid it up, and spent a few moments caressing gently on my thighs and panties. Once his right hand came up the inside of my thigh and his fingers spent several seconds learning how wet I was. I could barely breathe. Then his hands moved slowly north, reaching my waist, sliding under the elastic waistband of my dress, then caressing up and down with both hands, from my panties to my stomach to the curve of my breasts.

Another pause for a few moments, then he delivered the finishing touch -- two fingers from each hand sliding up my breasts, onto my nipples and caressing in a slow circular motion -- just like Mike does -- and 30 seconds later I was a goner, moaning audibly -- although I tried not to -- leaning back into him to avoid collapsing onto the floor, holding onto his wrists while he continued to tease my nipples. I was dangerously close to a major orgasm.

He said, "There's a decision that Mike said you have to make," while his fingers gently pinched then caressed my nipples.

I whispered, "What...?"

"You can go upstairs to Mike right now or I can have fifteen bonus minutes."

I tried to focus on the decision instead of how desperately I wanted to cum. This must be the key moment that Mike had visualized -- the moment I was supposed to say something like, "Why don't we go upstairs together?" But if Mike had visualized that outcome, he had miscalculated, big time. There was no chance. Ted was owning me. I was turned on beyond anything I had ever imagined. Nipples fully erect, panties seriously wet. Putting it absolutely bluntly. I desperately wanted to fuck him. I needed him, and I whispered, "You can have your fifteen minutes."

He turned me to face him, but didn't let my dress get below my waist. He danced me over to our overstuffed couch. I could feel the cushion's fabric touching my legs. "Two more rules," he said. "You must take off your own panties and hand them to me."

I met his eyes. frowning slightly. "Whose rule is that?"

"Mike's."

"To humiliate me?"

"No, to give you one more chance to change your decision."

It was a complicated shared moment: direct eye contact, warm, friendly, hot, passionate; both fully aware that the line had been crossed and we were now powerless to stop it. I put my hands on his chest and without ever losing eye contact, pushed him back a little, peeled my panties over my hips and let them drop to my feet. My left foot stepped out, my right foot delivered my panties to my hand, and I placed them in his hand. He slowly pulled my dress over my head and eased me onto the couch.

I watched him undress and was, you know, impressed -- and happy to see that he definitely wasn't indifferent. He joined me on the couch and began by kissing from my lips, down my neck then kissing and tongue-caressing my breasts. It was all a heavenly blur now. He gently eased me onto my back and soon was between my legs, now spread and waiting. I felt his cock, stroking up and down then stopping at the edge of entry, actually a wee bit beyond the edge, and a bit of torture for me.

Ted whispered in my ear, "Final rule, if you want to go on, you need to ask me for it."

It was as if my body spoke for itself. "I want it. I want you. Please, now." He slid in smoothly, then deeper, filling me. My back arched as I lifted my hips to meet him, and I orgasmed almost immediately then again maybe two minutes later. Then a gentle pleasure-blur for a few minutes while he caressed, kissed and told me I was awesome.

Then he said, "Ready to really fly?"

I whispered, "Yes," but wondered how I could possibly fly higher. He started slowly, but with strokes deeper and the look in his eyes more intense. Then faster, even deeper. I lost all track of time, but it seemed to be lasting for a deliciously long time. I could feel his cock growing inside me.

"Good?" he asked.

"Yes, good."

"Ready?"

"Yes, ready." And he absolutely ravaged me... forceful then faster, even more powerful, then a brief pause before taking me all the way up the mountain. My orgasm was non-stop. I was moaning uncontrollably, trying to muffle screams, and finally, he held me incredibly tight, thrust deep and exploded inside me. When I could breathe again, I just said, "Wow."

He smiled and said, "Yes, sweet Sherri, that was a Wow!"

A few minutes later, while we were still intertwined, Mike came down the stairs, "Looks like I'm out fifty bucks." I didn't say a word, still glowing. Ted said "She did her best, but sweet Sherri couldn't quite resist."

Mike and I had incredible rest-of-the-weekend sex. Any concern that he would be upset about my lack of resistance turned out to be, well, silly. They had planned the whole scene. He had coached Ted on how to massage and tease my breasts.

I learned that they had a Plan B if I had managed to escape from Ted, and their Plan B was a lot like the threesome that I thought Plan A was going to be.

Ted has reconnected four more times three at our house and once during a long weekend in Atlanta. Plan B happened on trip two. Incredible! And the guys are creative in the scenes they create for me. Everyone leaves smiling, so it's hard to find a victim in our adventures.

This would be true, though; there is one bit of non-disclosure between me and Mike. He focuses on how much it turns him on to have me willing to play his fantasy games. He hasn't realized yet how much it turns me on to think about Ted's next trip, then to live it, love it and remember during my solo times.

I think, though, that I'm well within our relationship guidelines, right?