Don't misunderstand me, I love my husband, and he loves me, dearly. I know that there is a percentage of the population that could never understand that, and will think terrible and unkind things of us after reading this. The will claim that this is not love, and there is nothing I could tell them that would convince them otherwise. But it is love that makes him want me to be happy, to enjoy a beautiful experience that I did not know I wanted, and it is my love for him that makes me want him more, appreciate him more, desire him more.
Over the course of the last several years my husband had convinced me that I should experience sex with another man. He had been my only sexual partner; I had married young, and had not experienced intercourse before meeting him. After we were married, he was away a lot for his job, weeks at a time, and we would have great sex every time he came home. After several years of marriage he brought home a sex toy as a surprise for me, a dildo; a realistic skin, thick-veined fat crown toy dick. We had never used one before, and I was a little hesitant, but so excited to see him we had hot sex right away, as we always did when he came home. The next day he wanted to use the toy. I was a little nervous, and it hurt a little the first time, just at the beginning, but then it suddenly felt awesome, so big inside me; and I felt so stuffed, stretched and completely filled, and he made me orgasm with it.
After a few times I got used to the idea of being penetrated with a toy, and then started to really enjoy it. I have always cum easily, and the toy was wonderful. I liked it when he used it on me, but I liked it more when I used it on myself while he watched me. I was no stranger to masturbating, but it had always been with my fingers, alone; I was self-conscious about touching myself with my husband watching. But using the toy on myself was different, there was something between me and my hand, and it certainly felt different. It was slightly bigger than my husband and really filled me, but not big enough to hurt, just a little stretched, a little more full, more THERE. He loved watching as I slid it in and out of my wet pussy. I would close my eyes, and because it felt different, imagine it was a real cock, a different cock, doing me.
One of those times, while watching me, he asked me how it felt. "Different," I managed, concentrating on it stroking slowly in and out of me, wet and slick, touching places his cock didn't. "Different from you."
"It's so hot to watch," he said, "is it like another man? Is it like having sex with someone else?" He knew he was the only man I'd ever had.
Despite having imagined it, I was a bit uncomfortable saying it, but my passion talked for me. "Yes," I heard myself tell him, "Like someone else, like another man is inside me." I was close to cumming, and was pushing it in, hard and slow, enjoying it stroking my insides while he watched.
"Does it feel good? Does it feel real, like a real man inside you?"
"M-mm, yeah, it does." My orgasm was close, and I pushed it, rubbing my clit, and my breath caught as I tensed and started cumming, crying out.
He watched me, and halfway through my orgasm, said, "Would it feel better if it WAS real? Would you like another dick, for real?" My orgasm peaked a second time, and my legs shook as I came, hard.
We didn't discuss it further that day, but afterwards when we used the toy he would often mention it, telling me it was real, it was a another man, and ask me to tell him how it felt having another man inside me, how it was different.
Since he was gone a lot, he had always encouraged me to go out, to stay busy, not just work and stay home. I ran, I played some baseball, I joined groups. Then one of the times we were talking about what I do when he's away, he suggested that I might 'have the opportunity', and that if I did, I should 'go for it'. I asked him what he meant.
"You know, another guy. Sex." I looked at him, disbelieving. "If you have the chance, you should do it."
Now, I know he wasn't thrilled with being away a lot, and neither was I, but that was his job, and it kept us comfortable; we live in a nice house on several acres of woodland, near the lake with great views of the countryside. And we did have wonderful sex every time he came home. But was he really suggesting I do it with someone else? Sex was great for me; I loved it, and I loved him, but he was still my first and my only. Sex for me was very emotional, not an impersonal physical activity. He didn't press it, but he didn't let it go, either. He told me it was just sex, and I defended my position that it was an emotional connection.
We talked about it a little that day, and he would bring it up from time to time, and over time I started thinking about it, and then fantasizing about it. I started thinking that I had missed out on something marrying so young, only having been with one man. But once I allowed the thought some credence I began considering it as a possibility, even as I told myself I would never actually do it. As months passed I started imagining what another man would be like. As you might guess, once I opened my mind to the possibility, my imagination led me where it would, permitting me to think of things formerly forbidden or avoided. Slowly, over time, I accepted the possibility that it COULD happen, while never believing that it WOULD happen. I gradually began looking at other men, and thinking of how they would be in bed. And with my thinking changing, my behavior followed; soon I became more aware of the attention of other men, something I had not noticed before during my married life.
And I found that I enjoyed the attention, and subconsciously, I think, began to encourage it, becoming a little more flirtatious, and returning their glances.
He encouraged my thinking, and that helped me get my head around the idea, and after a while I found myself considering HOW it could happen, rather than if. Wanting it to happen? Who could I do it with? Someone in town, someone who knew us, seemed awkward and impossible. We live in a small community. A stranger? Too scary. But even as I considered that my options were limited the idea became real, as I had allowed for the possibility, and I remained open to the idea. I began to take more care to dress well when I went out, even for regular daily stuff, shopping and the like; not looking slutty, but making sure I looked good. I enjoyed the attention, and the looks I got made me feel more attractive, desired, more sexual. I bought nicer bras, sexier underwear, sometimes thinking that if it happened, I would want the man to see me as a woman who believes she's sexy. I started noticing men, in the supermarket or around town, and slyly checking out guys asses, or admiring a young man's build at the gym, and wondering. My husband's frequent reassurances made it easier, and I permitted myself to fantasize about experimenting.
