Authors Notes
Having dipped my toes into the water so to speak, my wife Sandy has encouraged me to continue submitting written work to Literotica. She says she likes to read my contributions even though they can, in her words, be a bit Mills and Boon-ish. She also finds my take on events in our life - interesting but not always as she remembers. She will ask me, 'Did that happen, did I say that - or is it wishful thinking?' or she will say something like 'I don't remember it that way' or 'I missed a trick there'. Sandy says she is happy for me to share our story but would like me to run what I've wrote by her before submitting - which to be honest is only right.
Sandy took umbrage with my authors notes in the previous instalment of our marriage story in which I intimated that Sandy was a cheating wife. To her the word cheating means deceiving and deceit, and although she has stepped out on our marriage she has done so openly and never deceived me. Sandy pointed out that she has always been up front. I know some will predictably and unimaginatively say potato-potato, but tough.
Now that Sandy has found Literotica she reads the stories from other contributors. Sandy likes fictional stories where the wife or girlfriend gets what she wants and comes out on top, even better if every character in the story is left happy. That being said she does enjoy a BTB too where the 'wronged' partner dishes out some 'justice - and on the opposite spectrum she is amused by stories where a hapless cuckold left to flounder as the wife flounces off to a brighter future leaving him in her wake. Sandy favourites however are the stories that go to the extremes even if they are totally unrealistic, but as she says, without someone's imagination I wouldn't have my precious 'Star Wars', 'Jaws' and 'Hot Fuzz'.
Sandy enjoys reading the comments sent my way, the constructive ones that is, the more 'unhappy' 'bitter sounding' comments she finds sad. She will openly wonder what lives' some people must lead to be so 'angry', but then through her work she knows just how life and circumstance can affect people. Before I draw the ire of some, Sandy does not judge, she's one of the most empathetic or sympathetic people I know. (A small addendum, Sandy told me jokingly to avoid using long words I don't normally use.)
A few comments arising from my previous contribution, a fictional story, 'A Husband Barges In' raised an eyebrow. Many comments were constructive, some liked the two different endings to the story, some didn't but that's fair enough. Some were offering advice and criticism; one even offered an alternative ending which shows some thought. But some comments raised Sandy's ire. I told Sandy that I have got to the stage where I basically skim read the comments as I can predict what 'unhappy' Anonymous and the BTB readers have to say. One critic said my story was supposed to be based in America yet some of the terms and phrases used didn't match this... Sandy's take on this was 'duh', it was written by an English man who's only experience of America is when I've been on family holidays (vacation). But then her Barrister 'courtroom' mindset kicked in, pointing out that for all the critic might know I could have just moved to the States or I could be an American who has lived in the UK most of my life, or I could just be an amateur contributor with a life to lead - someone taking time out of their day to write a piece of fiction. Not for the first time some critics focused on punctuation, she told me they should read the drafts of novels written by printed novelists before they get to proof reading. One critic of an earlier story I wrote even complained about a spelling error in the title, even went as far as to say he/she had used Google to try and find a word with the spelling I used... In Sandy's words 'firstly he/she should think about how they use their time, secondly, people hung up on spelling miss the point of the site. But if perfection is that important to them, they should stick to the public library or shop at Waterstones and buy their reading material', if not then enjoy their 'free' read. Yes, there is spell check - but really, to search Google?
So... Now for my latest contribution, again delving into a chapter of our marriage, all the usual caveats, it's based around true events with some poetic license, and if a 'one sided open relationship' is not to your liking - don't read on.
***
A Time I Lost It.
Thanks to our adventures with David 'Dave the Detective', Sandy's police officer boyfriend, our lifestyle was put back on the right track. Throughout his time with us I felt really secure within the menage a trois we had formed; I suppose it helped that I liked him and that I didn't feel he was trying to break us up, in fact to some extent I felt the opposite. Safe to say that even when I was left out, or set aside, or just 'messed' with, whichever - I didn't get any sense of malice at play, and I never felt deceived and I didn't worry about them spending time alone without me.
But as you'd expect with bringing another man into our relationship there were changes, some subtle some stated. A stated change, when he started to bareback Sandy I had to start wearing a condom, a subtle change was the beer we kept in the refrigerator, Sandy began to stock his preferred Lager. As for what the two of them got up to, well there were always things to see, things to witness, things to hear, things to hear about. Then there were the tasks I'd be given to do, the errands to run, some of these had the intention of being humiliating, collect and dispose of condoms, clean up the communal garden outside his block of flats. Others were just plain old-fashioned make yourself useful, nip to the off-license, some were a bit of both such as drive Sandy to his place, or pick Sandy up, or pick them up from the pub if they'd drank too much to drive or wash the cars. Some tasks Sandy liked to do with me, such as change the bedsheets.
Sandy and Dave's relationship, and their subsequent treatment of me could be described as 'benevolently considerate'. My participation was invited, was inclusive, my presence was welcomed, but in some ways it was also excluding. I would get to watch but could not take any part - sometimes I was just excluded full stop. I was often restrained so I couldn't masturbate, I had to wear condoms, even when masturbating, and if I was ever required to take part, it was under their instruction even though it might have been for my benefit or my reward. Over our time together some of our tri-party activities were testing, but we never really crossed a Rubicon for me to object.
Although the three of us were nominally equals, especially round the dinner table, I was definitely treated as the third wheel, whether genuinely or as an act on their part, I was treated as if I was there for their amusement as much as for my enjoyment or as Sandy's partner. This I didn't mind as it went to further meeting my own needs for the humiliation and angst aspects of what we were doing. I loved to hear Sandy's laughter which would often come at the expense of my 'misfortune', and Daves chuckles always hit a spot, not nasty but just belittling enough to remain enjoyable. All in all, Dave was a good fit into our marriage once he entered our lives, he understood us, he took advantage but 'didn't take advantage', didn't judge, he contributed, but he never really intruded between me and Sandy. This was the relationship that set the standard and gave us a blue print for future liaisons with others in many ways.
It was Dave, who right at the beginning, the very first morning following his first sleepover, that he had inadvertently and fortuitously due to his misunderstanding of what Sandy had said to him, pushed the envelope so to speak. That was when I began to realise the enjoyment, I got from being submissive. I'm not sure if submissive is the right word? Not in relation to Dave or my wife's subsequent boyfriends. Subservient? Not really. Compliant? Yes, compliant would be more accurate. That morning when he told me I could make myself a coffee, in my own kitchen, was totally unexpected, and then, not long after, when he slid his keys across the kitchen Island and sent me to fill his car up with petrol, the humiliation I felt as I left was real, palpable, but enjoyable - and Sandy loved it. I could see it in her sparkling eyes as if she was daring me to refuse as if she was wanting to see if I'd 'comply'.
I was being pushed, she knew I was being pushed, well nudged, she was wanting to be a part of this and wanted to see where it went, where it led. Sandy was in her way showing her support for me by acquiescing to her policeman boyfriend telling me what to do without interference, all while she was watching for my reaction, ready to jump in should the moment go skewwhiff - it didn't.
Don't get me wrong, in my everyday life I was all 'He Man' so to speak. At work I was the boss, it was my business, I knew what I was doing and didn't suffer fools lightly, but in that moment the world seemed different.
I already liked my bossy, strident Sandy, both in and out of the bedroom. She'd always had this side to her, from the openly honest way she told me she wouldn't be my girlfriend unless I accepted that she could see other people, to the time she coyly 'invited' me to eat her messy pussy the night I'd seen her date bring her home. To this day I still remember her fingers tightening in my hair as I first sniffed and then licked all while she was giggling and cooingly encouraging me.
But, as Sandy's relationship with Dave progressed, Dave took that natural bossiness and amplified it a hundred-fold, he brought out 'her attitude' even more, encouraged her to put me through the wringer - not that she needed much encouragement. With his help she was more calculating and deliberate, and she had this sexy cruel mischievous edge to her. The first time she verbally castigated me in front of him was no accident, no slip of the tongue, and it gave me a huge boner, as did the first time I got something wrong, I think it was a take-out order, and she said "God you're hopeless." Sandy's attitude could be cruel, harsh, dismissive, but it excited and she didn't hurt, and I sensed she was acting as she did with a purpose in mind... To make me happy and to enjoy herself. This also brought out a real open submissive side to me.
I should have known her increased assertiveness was coming. Even before Dave came along, there were signs. With being a woman in what was still a male dominated profession, Sandy quickly learned that at work she had to be, by necessity, strident, assertive, she had to fight her corner, better than any male. That in order to be taken seriously and to get a fair crack she had to be a bit of a troublemaker, otherwise she'd be ignored or walked over. She also had to take a lot of shit. So, for Sandy, the fact that at home she had a release was in her words, 'A godsend'. That she could come home and in a positive way for her, not always for me, be able to share and sometimes vent her frustrations, being able to scream out loud in frustration "All men are pigs" knowing I'd be there to listen and offer my support and let Sandy get all her bottled-up anger out.
We still had, in Dave's absence, and still do have good old-fashioned romps. I don't feel bad about boasting that we still manage to make those bed springs sing and the headboard rattle, or that we enjoy sex together. But back then there was this new extra dimension, 'that' side to me that we were now aware of, one she could bring in to play. To my delight, Sandy didn't flinch from taking advantage of my submissive side, she relished doing so, she would tease me, reassure me, then tease me some more. I would catch the glint in my wife's eye and see how she would be genuinely turned on, and be amused by how Dave would at times run me ragged and send me on fools' errands, using me as a 'gofer', 'go for this, go for that', conveniently getting me out of the away - a three-way unspoken secret.
With Dave's encouragement Sandy began to treat me the same way, and was soon doing so without a second thought. There were times when I would be treated as if I was just a member of some 'household staff'. A footman, butler, gardener, cook, housekeeper, 'househusband', dogsbody car washer, polisher and Valet - my purpose in life being to run about after them, and to do whatever I was told to, and be grateful - and I enjoyed it, I really did. I got a weird sense of security, of place, of being a part of things, feeling needed from being willing to comply, from being put upon - and as a bonus I got to watch my beautiful gorgeous fiancé in the throes of passion and lust. My ability to masturbate while watching had been curtailed so Sandy would subsequently give me hand relief, stoking my condom clad erection while whispering in my ear. It was very intimate and very erotic, Sandy figuratively and literally had me in the palm of her hand. It was a cage of my own making, but I wanted this.
Sandy has always had the ability to make me feel special to her.
Because we had now moved to a rural area on the edge of the countryside, in the summer months the three of us, that is Dave, Sandy and myself would travel to local gymkhanas and Horse Shows and Country Fairs. Sandy liked the horses, in fact she was in love with the whole living in the countryside vibe, she even talked about learning to ride and getting and stabling her own horse. I remember at a horse show when Sandy caught me stealing a glance at some trim woman wearing jodhpurs and riding boots, she tapped my shoulder and called me a right perv, saying she'd have to watch me. Off topic, a few years later, Sandy did take riding lessons and when we could afford it, she did stable a horse for herself and became quite proficient at jumping. I did get to admire her trim figure in tight ass hugging jodhpurs, Sandy still has an ass to die for. Once we'd started our family, we also built two stables for some ponies for the girls in the adjacent paddock to our home, and when I say we, I do mean the two of us together. Of course, when commencing her riding lessons Sandy also bought two pairs of riding boots, one small pair, one tall pair. As if testing a theory, after her lessons and after she'd been riding, she would have me kneel to pull them off, her riding crop menacingly held in hand. Then she'd rub her smelly boot scented sock clad foot in my face telling me to sniff, to lick, she'd laugh saying how much she loved me and that she didn't do this for just anyone. Learning from when we were seeing Dave, she would then have me clean and polish the boots while she went to relax in a bath.
