Three months had gone by since my wife of fifteen years came home from a five day conference and confessed she'd had some wild sex with a fellow delegate. She hadn't volunteered the information – I'd sensed she was holding something back and teased it out of her.
To her surprise, I was okay with it. As I told her at the time, she is an attractive and sexy woman and most men would jump at the chance to fuck her. As such, I was grateful that it had taken her fifteen years to stray – and that she still came back and still loved me.
To my surprise, I became extremely aroused at the thought of her enjoying the attentions of another man – and we had one of our best sex sessions ever, almost before she'd finished telling me about it.
Somewhere in the middle of that session we realised we'd crossed a threshold by admitting – and accepting – this development in our relationship. The slow decline of our sex lives had gone pretty much unnoticed by both of us until this point and we felt we had had something of a wake-up call in that we had to do something about our situation or accept that it might well be time for us to call it a day and go our separate ways.
Fortunately, just as I was turned on by her recounting of her night with Jeff, Maggie admitted she thought it would be exciting to hear the details of me having sex with someone else, too – and then added as an after thought that she thought she would enjoy watching me even more. At that point I realised that I would love to watch her, although I admitted that I might not be able to resist joining in.
She had laughed and said she would love to have a threesome with me and another guy. That led us to thinking it might be fun to join a swingers' club or, at the least, hook up with another couple.
That was as far as it had gone though, because neither of us quite sure how to take things further without risking our reputations and possibly our jobs and so she continued to lead an outwardly blameless life as the head teacher of a small primary school while I continued to manage my little department in the local county council.
There were a couple of differences in our private lives however. Maggie, as a result of her new found confidence with her looks and body, became much less inhibited at home and usually changed out of her respectable teaching clothes and into something far raunchier the moment she got home and had taken a shower. I, in turn, appreciated anew just what a sexy woman I had married and our sex life took a definite upswing.
The contrast between the gentle and conservative head teacher and the demanding, well-nigh insatiable strumpet she turned into once safely inside our house was remarkable. I started to look forward with eager anticipation to discovering what she had chosen to wear – or not wear – and became used to finding my thirty-seven year old wife preparing dinner wearing only one of my old shirts, or maybe just a short skirt – not top – under which she would be naked.
Her cunt seemed permanently wet these days – certainly it was every time I touched, fondled, licked or fucked it – and when I asked if she would consider shaving it for me, she agreed with a sexy giggle. We were both delighted with the effect. Me, because I loved the way it looked and felt; she because she enjoyed the extra attention I paid it as a result. Within a week of shaving she announced her intention to keep it that way – providing I shaved too. As a result we had endless pleasure – usually followed by some fairly hot sex – shaving each other at least three times a week, Maggie giggling that we looked like a couple of aging porn stars.
It was safe to say that from having sex twice a week at most, we were now having it almost everyday and often, at weekends in particular, two or three times a day.
This particular Friday evening I stayed late at work to finish a report and arrived home to find Maggie wearing a white, snugly fitting vest (no bra) and a matching white thong.
'Go shower and change,' she said urgently, once she had removed her tongue from my mouth and her hand from down the front of my trousers. 'I'll have a drink waiting for you when you come down.'
'Can't we play, first?' I pleaded, my dick straining for more attention.
'It's Friday. We can – and will – play all weekend. Go shower.' She gave me a wicked smile. 'I promise I'll do whatever you want tonight.'
'Anything?' I asked eagerly, thinking of the one or two things I wanted to try.
'Anything. Providing you let me do some stuff, too.'
'It's a deal,' I chortled excitedly.
I slipped on a pair of chinos after my shower, without bothering with underwear – after all it was a Friday and Maggie was looking edible – shrugged on a casual shirt and padded downstairs in bare feet. Sure enough, there was a glass of chilled white wine next to my end of the sofa. She was sitting on her side, sipping her wine impatiently.
'Look at this,' she said, passing me one of her women's magazines, opened at a page of advertisements as soon as I sat down.
I took the magazine and tried to find just what I was supposed to be looking at.
'The advert I've ringed,' she said helpfully.
'Oh. Right.'
'Read it out loud.'
'"Want to let your hair down in beautiful, secluded and tranquil surroundings? Fancy sharing your holiday – and maybe yourselves - with a few other, like-minded couples? Then why not take a room in this painstakingly refurbished Tuscan farmhouse set in magnificent rolling country side three miles from the nearest village? Allow Mick and Gina to be your hosts while you relax around the pool, in the comfortable lounge or one of the superbly comfortable and spacious bedrooms. "The four bedrooms allow for eight guests to mix and mingle to their hearts' content while Mick and Julie cater to your every need. Privacy and discretion guaranteed."'
'Well,' she asked me excitedly. 'What do you think?'
'It sounds wonderful,' I said slowly, quickly reading the advert again to make sure I understood its meaning.
'It sounds perfect,' she corrected impatiently. 'A secluded old farmhouse with three other couples . . . sharing ourselves . . . mixing and mingling . . .? We could try all the things we've talked about with no risk of anyone round here finding out.'
'You think this is an advert for a swingers' holiday?'
'Don't you?'
'Yes I do,' I answered slowly, reading it again just to be sure.
'So? Should we go?'
I looked at her flushed and animated face. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement and, I couldn't help but notice, her nipples were clearly visible through the T-shirt as well as a growing damp patch on the front of her thong.
I smiled and moved closer to her, running my hand slowly up her thigh and then down again, not quite reaching her plump little mound. She sighed and arched her back, lifting her hips and drawing my attention more firmly to the thin white material that was stretched over her cunt.
'Don't stop,' she said softly.
'Don't stop, what?'
'Stroking my thigh. And you can stroke more than my thigh, if you want.'