1.
Everybody has fantasies, even those, like my wife, who claim they don't. I had a recurring fantasy. Many married men fantasize about other women; I fantasize about Irene, my own wife. One day, we were making love. Irene was lying in the bed, on her back, and I was between her legs, with my cock inside of her. Irene's facial expression betrayed intense pleasure. I love the sight of my wife enjoying sex. I don't know from where it came but, in the heat of the moment, I imagined a second man entering our scene and placing a big cock inside Irene's mouth. That mental image was so strong and arousing that I instantly felt on the verge of an orgasm. That might not have been the first time I imagined Irene touching another man, but that moment remains fresh in my memory to the present day.
In the beginning, it was always about a second cock in Irene's mouth whenever I was inside of her. Then, it evolved. I began fantasizing about Irene being intimate and wild with other guys, while I watched or behind my back. In my fantasy, the man was always secondary to his cock. I never imagined her with a friend of mine, a neighbor or any other real person. The man was always a shadow, an inconspicuous figure with no importance whatsoever. Only his cock, always big and impressive, had a part along with my beautiful Irene. This peculiarity would also evolve...
I remember being in my gym's locker room. I was sitting on a bench, leaning forward, looking at the floor, taking a couple of minutes of rest, after my exercise and before the shower. Suddenly, a great black shape showed up in the periphery of my vision and I instinctively looked up to see what it was. There was a black man coming out from one of the shower's stalls completely naked. He had a towel but, instead of covering his body, he was carrying it in his hand. His cockiness and exhibitionism seemed to have its origin between his legs, where hung the biggest flaccid cock I had ever seen in a locker-room. The man seemed to be paying no heed to the rest of the guys present in the room, but his nakedness and proud posture made each of us aware that he was bragging about the greatness of his cock. Nothing in this account would matter and all would have been quickly forgotten, if I hadn't seen my wife talking to that same man later.
When I left the shower stall, the exhibitionist was no longer present. I dried myself, put on my clothes and left. Irene was somewhere in the gym waiting for me, after her aerobics class. I headed for the lobby and that's where I spotted them talking. Irene seemed to know him, although I had no idea who he might be. I was walking towards them and, when I was a few feet away from Irene, she looked at me. That's when the stranger used one of the older tricks in the world. The moment my wife diverted her gaze from him, he took the opportunity to check her out, unaware that her husband was approaching.
"My husband is here," I heard Irene saying when she looked back at him. Then she added with a friendly smile, "See you tomorrow."
"Who was that?" I asked when the stranger left.
"He is a security guard in our branch office, Mr. Allen. Can you believe the coincidence?" Irene answered.
That guy and that moment naturally slipped my mind, until later in bed. I was trying to fall asleep and my mind was basically unfocused on a multitude of unrelated thoughts when one absurd idea emerged from nowhere: what if Irene was having an affair with Dwayne? It wasn't a troublesome thought and there wasn't a reason for any suspicion. In fact, a few moments later, I was fantasizing about my Irene being fucked by Dwayne's huge cock, at her work, during her working hours. That day's events merged with my fantasy and all I could think of was how close my wife had been to that hung black man.
Aroused by my own thoughts, I wanted to wake up my wife and make love with her. I wanted to tell her about Dwayne's prying gaze and shock her with the size of his cock. However, I restrained myself because I knew that it would be useless. My words wouldn't arouse her and I would end up frustrated as had happened many times before.
2.
Irene knew about my fantasy. When I told it to her for the first time, the idea unsettled her. My wife couldn't understand how I could feel aroused by the scenario of her having sex with other men. I tried to explain to her that I wasn't depreciating her, quite the opposite actually. My fantasy was about experiencing new sensations, new emotions, free from any shyness or moral constraints. For once, I desired to see her lost in the search for pleasure, with no care for morals, unstoppable, not for love but for pure lust. With time, my wife became accustomed to the idea but never fully understood it. Considering her conservative approach regarding sex, what else could I expect?
I never hoped that she would easily jump on board and say, "Let's do it!" My goal was much humbler. I was hoping that, by confessing my darkest fantasy, she could also feel free to share some of her secrets or, at least, desire to experiment more with me. Occasionally, during our intimate moments, I tried to invoke the presence of another man and get some encouraging reaction from her. Irene tolerated this behavior only to humor me but never took active part in it. She claimed that she already had all that she wanted and had no need for fantasies or new experiences. I resigned myself to this idea. Still, deep inside, I always kept a glimmer of hope that, one day, things would change somehow.
Maybe, it was this hope that forced me to confide in her one night. We were lying in the bed, when I asked, "Have you ever fantasized about another man?"
"I already told you before, the answer is no," Irene calmly said without taking her eyes from the book she was reading.
My wife was right, she had already answered this question before, more than once, and the response had always been the same. However, I had to start from somewhere and this had been the best I had come up with at the moment.
"What do you think of Allen?" I continued.
"Who?" she said still not paying attention to me.
"The guy from the gym, in the other day."
"Oh, you mean Dwayne," she said.
Irene was already acknowledging him on a first name basis. This encouraged me to ask again, "What do you think of him?"
"He is nice," she casually said.
"Have you ever thought about having sex with him?" I dared to ask.
This time, my wife couldn't pretend to be distracted. She had to know where this conversation was leading, but, I guess, she wasn't expecting my blunt question.
Irene looked at me, clearly surprised, and said, "But he is black..."
"Is that a problem?" I inquired.
"No, but... I mean... He is good looking and there is nothing wrong with the color of his skin but... He is black..." she awkwardly replied.
Irene didn't know what to say. She didn't want to seem prejudiced but she also didn't want to encourage my ideas. Her state of confusion created the perfect moment for me to press further, "So you think he is attractive..."
"Yes..." Irene honestly said, but then she tried to lighten her answer, "Of course, he is good looking. Anyone can see that. But that doesn't mean I want to sleep with him."
"If we weren't together... If you were single and free of commitments... Would you consider dating him?"
Irene remained quiet for a few seconds. She was seriously weighing this possibility but, in the end, she chose not to answer at all.
"That's a silly question," she said and at the same time she shook her head as if she were trying to suppress from her mind any undesirable thought. "Besides, there must be lots of girls interested in him, much younger and prettier than me."
"Does that mean..."
My wife quickly interrupted me, "Let's have an end to this nonsense. We both have to work tomorrow."
In a continuous act, not open to discussion, Irene closed her book, placed it on the nightstand, and switched off her light. My provocations seemed to be annoying her more than usual.
Irene was already accustomed to my sporadic incursions, when I press her with naughty comments or intrusive questions of a sexual nature, so her answers were most often short, dull and patronizing, but this time, something had been different. Irene was more upset than usual, as if I had just touched a weak spot.
I couldn't let our conversation end like this. So I leaned over her and whispered in her ear, "Can I ask one last question?"
