My Wifes Costume Romp Ch 01

I should explain at once that my thirty-year-old wife and I really, really enjoy fucking one another. In fact, conjugal sex accounts for about ninety-eight percent of our erotic life. The other two percent is what I like to write about, though. Some of this is fairly innocent -- for example when Nancy "accidentally" displays her body to other men while I watch. But some of it involves Nancy letting other men touch her, finger her, and even fuck her while I watch and, sometimes, participate.

When I participate with other guys in sex acts with my wife, however, it is never as her husband. I always pass myself off as just another guy joining in the fun. The reason for this is we don't want other guys to worry that I, the husband, might suddenly fly into a fit of jealousy and attack them. (I'm a fairly imposing physical specimen.) Also, I don't get off on the role of wimpy cuckold -- a husband who enjoys being publicly humiliated by other guys as they fuck his wife and he stands by helpless and intimidated by them.

Since moving into our house in San Francisco, my wife Nancy and I have talked several times about staging some of our sex games there. We discussed her picking up a guy or guys and bringing them home. She was excited by the thought of this but eventually rejected it.

Despite her recent adventure at the house with a teenager (which wouldn't have occurred except we knew the teenager was moving far away right afterwards), she was hesitant to have a sexual scene in our home with anyone but me.

Anyway, one Sunday morning in November I came up with the idea of Nancy posing as a model for an artist. What if, I asked her, an artist (me) needed a woman to pose with several guys for a series of erotic sketches? As it happens, I'm a competent amateur artist. I've done a number of charcoal drawings of Nancy nude.

Nancy wasn't taken with the idea, though. "You mean posing here at the house? If so, we'd still have the problem of guys knowing where I live and becoming pests any time they got drunk and horny."

I disposed of her objection: "What if the guys you were posing with didn't know this was your house? What if they thought you lived somewhere else and only came here, like them, to pose for me? What if they also thought modeling was something you were reluctant to do? You know, you're a good girl forced by a bad economy to do bad things to survive. I think it might be even hotter if the artist you're posing for had to prod you to do things you wouldn't normally do."

She didn't respond at first. Then, after giving my idea some thought, she kissed me enthusiastically and exclaimed, "You're an evil genius, Cal. If we start with that premise, I think we might develop something really exciting."

Then we talked more about the artistic project, one which I was actually beginning to be interested in doing. The sketches could be more than just a pretext for a sex game. Specifically, I was planning to imitate William Horgarth's "A Harlot's Progress," except, unlike the eighteenth-century work, my series would be fully sexual. Hogarth's cautionary series, paralleling his "A Rake's Progress," is about a young girl from the country who, after falling into bad company in London, sinks into a life of alcoholism, prostitution, and early death from venereal disease.

I was thinking about doing as many as twenty pastels. All the figures would be dressed, when they were clothed at all, in eighteenth-century costumes. A little later in the day, as we were doing some yard clean-up, Nancy suddenly said, "I think I'm married to a college student -- let's say at San Francisco State -- and out of desperation I'll take virtually any kind of work. I've applied for all kinds of normal jobs, but, damn it, no one is hiring. If I don't bring in some money fast, my husband will have to drop out of college and we'll have to move in with his parents."

It took me a few seconds to figure out what she was talking about. The fact is Nancy and I are both employed, she part-time at an art gallery and I full-time at UC-Berkeley, and we're doing OK financially. Then I got it. She was talking about the role she would assume if she were to pretend to be a reluctant artist's model, someone who (alas!) might get taken advantage of by the artist and other men.

Then she continued: "My husband, though, mustn't find out what I'm doing to make money. He hates it when other guys look at me. The idea of me posing nude with a guy or guys would drive him nuts. And if he knew the kinds of things that might go on while I was posing, he would kill himself and maybe me. I've told him I'm working as a tutor for several children in a wealthy family. The job is confidential. They don't want their friends knowing that their children are slow learners. They pay me cash, under the table, on the condition that I keep silent about what I'm doing for them."

"That's a pretty complicated story, don't you think?" I asked.

"Well, it's just back-story, mainly for my benefit. It's so I can stay consistent in whatever I end up saying or doing. Almost none of it would actually need to get said."

A few minutes later, she said: "I'm thinking about that dress I wore at the Halloween party. Do you think that might do?"

She meant the dress she'd worn to a party, given by a guy I work with in Berkeley, a few weeks earlier. Her costume consisted of a long skirt and a white off-the-shoulders peasant blouse. It was fairly low cut. Over the blouse she wore a lace-up below-the-breasts bodice and an apron. The effect she was after was somewhere between milk maid and beer hall girl. Since she didn't wear a bra under her blouse, and since her breasts are not very large, her cleavage didn't amount to much. But several times at the party, when she bent forward for some reason, she accidentally showed quite a lot of tit.

We had the artist (me) and the female model (Nancy). How would we find men willing to pose with her for the erotic series? I didn't want to advertise for models. They charge way too much and, besides, most of them were probably gay. So where might I find heterosexual males willing to pose with my beautiful blonde wife?

Nancy took this burden off my shoulders by volunteering to recruit the men. She thought we should start with no more than two, and I agreed.

I asked her how she meant to go about it. She thought all it would take was a little role-playing in straight bars. I could go with her and either watch or help her with the process. Also, I could protect her if any guy became too aggressive with her.

So, on a cold Friday evening in November, we headed out looking for likely pick-up bars. Nancy decided not to dress too sexily (she had on tight jeans, boots, and a loose sweater). After all, the story she was selling was that she was an ordinary young wife in a desperate financial situation not a whore.

We ended up in the Haight-Ashbury District, a part of town neither of us knew much about. Nancy spotted a busy-looking bar on Haight Streeet and went in to check it out while I parked the car a block or so away. I took my time walking back to the bar. I wanted to make sure bar patrons didn't suspect that we were together.

Entering the bar, I saw that the bar held some promise. A large majority of the patrons were males in their twenties or thirties. Two or three of the guys seemed to be throwbacks to the sixties or seventies, when "hippies" temporarily redefined the neighborhood. Nancy, standing at the bar talking to the bartender, was one of six women in the bar and (I gathered after five minutes or so) the only one apparently not half of a couple.

I found a seat at the bar near the front door and looked down the bar to the place where Nancy stood. She had a glass of wine in front of her and the bartender was paying her a lot of attention. Finally, when he saw me and headed my way, she flashed me a smile and walked to an unoccupied table.

I ordered a beer. As the bartender was getting it for me, I watched Nancy settle down at her table. She made quite a production of taking off her light jacket and leaning way forward, with her lovely ass aimed toward me, to put her purse on the floor. As he took my money, the bartender (a short, stocky guy about forty) noticed that I was looking at her and said: "She's really something, isn't she?"

"Does she come in here much?" I asked.

"Never saw her before. I'd like to make her cum here, though."

I laughed at his lame joke. It wasn't funny, but, to be honest, I liked it when men talk about my wife lewdly.

"Me, too," I answered. "She's really got a cute little ass on her, doesn't she?"

He rolled his eyes at me comically and said, "Oh, my brother. That she does."

Then he took off down the bar to deal with another customer. I turned to look at Nancy again and saw that a tall guy with beads around his neck (one of the anachronistic hippies I'd noticed a few minutes earlier) had approached her table and was leaning forward talking to her.

She smiled up at him pleasantly, reached down into her purse, and got what looked like two dollar bills out of it for him. Taking the money, he gave her a deep bow and walked over to the bar.

A panhandler! This was the last thing either of us had anticipated.

Soon another guy approached her, though. He looked about twenty-five and was tall, slender, and fairly handsome. He asked if he could join her and she indicated that he could. He'd brought his drink with him, something mixed. They began chatting, but there was no way for me to tell what they were talking about.

At the bar, I nursed my beer. I looked over at my wife and the guy at her table several times. It appeared to me that he was putting the moves on her, an impression supported by the fact that he almost immediately bought her another glass of wine.

While the guy was at the bar, Nancy flashed me a sort of ho hum look that said: "Guess what. He wants to fuck me." This was part of what she was looking for, of course, but it wasn't the main thing. The guy was out for ordinary seduction, but would he agree to carry on this seduction while another guy was doing the same thing and in front of a third guy, an artist? I began to realize that she might have a difficult task on her hands.

She continued talking with the tall guy for another twenty minutes or so. There was a lot of touching going on. At one point, he actually put a hand on her thigh. But she wasn't getting what she wanted from him and made an excuse to leave a few minutes later.

I watched her exit the bar (and so did the disappointed guy she'd been talking to), downed my drink, and left a few minutes later. I delayed leaving the bar to reinforce the idea that we weren't together.

I spotted Nancy about twenty feet away up the sidewalk talking to a guy she seemed to know. I started to walk the other way, but she called out to me: "Hey, Cal! I want you to meet someone from work!"

Unsure of what she was up to, I walked over to her to find out. The guy she was talking to was a small man, about five-six maybe, and rather thin. He had longish hair and an earring in one ear. He seemed young, maybe twenty-two.

"This is Karsten, Cal," she said, introducing us. "He's an art student at the Art Institute and he comes into the gallery where I work quite a lot. Karsten, this is Cal, the artist I'm going to be posing for."

Karsten shook hands with me. He certainly wasn't a great physical specimen, but he might do.

Nancy said, "I was just telling Karsten that you're looking for several guys to pose with me for your project. Maybe you could explain it to him."

Since it was pretty chilly out in the street, I invited Karsten and my wife to join me in a different bar farther up the street to talk things over. So we sat down at a table while I talked about William Hogarth, the theme of a debauched country girl, and costuming. I explained that while I was good at sketching I'd want to take some photographs as references. So the sessions would be essentially photo shoots. But I assured him that the photos would stay with me; nobody needed to fear their ending up on the internet.

Karsten then asked how erotic I intended the sketches to be. I told him that I didn't want to impose limits, but that I wanted it to be honestly sexual.

Nancy gave him a more honest answer. She began by stressing that her husband mustn't ever know about the project. She was only willing to do it because she and her husband were desperate for money. "Cal's paying me pretty well," she told him. "He wants realism, so I've agreed to have actual sex if necessary." She managed to blush as she said this.

I then said to Karsten, "I'm afraid I can't pay guys who pose with her much, though. To be honest, just about all my money is going to Nancy. So my offer will probably seem like an insult. But here it is: twenty dollars a session plus all the beer you can drink."

He took a few minutes to digest this. "You're right. That's not much. But I really like Nancy. I'd do it just to help her out, and I think I can find another couple of guys to do it, too."

I loved his choice of words. He and other guys would be willing to "do it." They'd be willing to do the project and (more importantly) they'd be willing to do my incredibly gorgeous wife.

Nancy chatted for a few minutes with Karsten before exchanging cell numbers with him. She then asked him to call her the next day, and walked with me to our car. She'd told him I was giving her a ride home. When he was out of ear-shot, she told me she'd gotten Karsten to promise not to mention her moonlighting as a model to the gallery people she worked with. It was to be their secret. As for her co-workers at the gallery, Nancy told me they knew she was married but didn't know anything about her husband.

As we drove home, Nancy told me that Karsten knew a drag queen who had a huge wardrobe of period costuming for men, including a lot of ruffled shirts and tight pants -- the sort of garments that might look vaguely Hogarthian. Karsten said he thought the guy would lend them to us for a few weeks.

"So is Karsten gay, too?" I asked.

"I don't think so. Would it make a difference?"

"This might be ignorant prejudice, but I wonder if it might not be dangerous to have sex with a gay or bi-sexual guy," I said.

She gave this some thought then said: "Well it's something to think about. I think I agree with you. When I talk to him, I'll tell him I prefer performing with straight men. But they'll have to wear condoms, whoever or whatever they are."

When we got home, Nancy got out her Halloween costume and modeled it for me. She looked great, I thought. But she was dissatisfied with it. The long skirt didn't look full enough, she thought. She'd have to shop for a petticoat to put under it for a more authentic eighteenth-century appearance.

Then we went to bed. Before we went to sleep, we talked more about the Hogarthian photo shoot. My first idea was to shoot it in the studio cabin in our back yard, but we decided it would be more comfortable to use the living room.

Then we talked about the progression of sexuality in the series. I said I'd like for there to be a natural flow of events from one session to the next. The first session would probably involve everyone fully dressed. There would be kissing and other foreplay, of course. But fucking would only occur in later.

Damn, I thought to myself, most people would find it very strange for a husband to lie in bed with his wife calmly discussing how other men were going to fuck her.

"I wonder what kind of fucking they did in the 1700s," said Nancy. She had my half-hard cock in her hand, stroking it.

"Haven't you ever read Fanny Hill? I think Fanny did just about everything. And in de Sade's books, they did things we'd never think of doing."

"I don't remember Fanny sucking cocks. Did she?"

"I'm not sure. We'll have to do some research, I guess," I said.

Nancy ducked her head under the covers then and began sucking my cock. This led quickly to fucking. Still with her imagination in the eighteenth century, Nancy (who has a keen sense of humor) kept saying things like "What a prodigious engine you have, Sir!" and "Oh, Sir, please don't spare me!" as we fucked. It was, I think, the first time in my life I had an orgasm while laughing.

I had to go into work on Saturday morning for an emergency team meeting. Nancy said she'd spend the day shopping for costume items. At about 2:00 p.m. she called me at work to say she'd received a call from Karsten. He'd already spoken to several male students at the college. One was definitely interested and another, a married man, was toying with the idea.

She'd asked him if he, too, was interested in posing with her. He seemed a little taken back by her question, she said. Apparently, he thought himself too unattractive to qualify for the fucking part of the project. But she reassured him, telling him she'd be grateful if he'd pose with her.

She asked me when I'd be home. I told her around 5:30. She then asked me if I was ready for a meeting that evening with Karsten and other prospects he might round up. If I was, she'd call him back and give him a time to come to the house. I suggested 8:00 p.m. and she agreed.

Finishing up at work, I thought a lot about the meeting that would take place that evening. How many guys would show up? Would they be physically attractive enough to interest Nancy? Karsten sure wasn't much, but she was apparently willing to fuck him because she thought he was a nice guy. But would a roomful of nerdy-looking guys make the project worthwhile?

I got home a little after 5:00 o'clock. Nancy greeted me at the door with a big kiss. She said she had more news for me. Karsten had lined up three other guys. She'd asked him for heterosexuals. So he'd found one guy who was married and, he said, didn't normally fool around. The other two guys was single and quite straight.

So it looked like there would be four guys, Nancy, and I at the meeting. I checked the refrigerator and the laundry room (which doubles as a pantry) and saw that we were a little low on beer. While Nancy fixed dinner for us, I went to the grocery story and bought a couple of 12-packs.

Actual sex wasn't on the schedule at tonight's meeting, but Nancy decided to dress provocatively to heighten the guys' interest in the project. She put on one of her shorter skirts and a low-cut white sweater. She looked so good that I had to give her a big hug. As I did, I ran my hands up under her skirt and learned that she was wearing panties, a pair of ordinary cotton ones.

"I don't want to get them too excited," she explained. "A good wife like me wouldn't want to let strangers see everything. At least, not at first."

Karsten was the first to arrive at about 7:45. Nancy made a point of laying her coat on the back of the couch to make it look like she was just a visitor. I got him a beer and the three of us chatted in the living room for a few minutes. He said he thought the three other guys would be coming together. Then he took Nancy aside and said something to her I wasn't meant to hear.

The three others arrived fashionably late at about 8:10. I opened the door for them and at first they seemed reluctant to come in. Then, from behind me, Karsten greeted them. "This is the right place. Come on in," he said.

They filed into the living room, where Nancy sat on the couch with her bare legs beautifully on display. I was relieved to see that the guys were way better looking than Karsten. Two of them seemed actually handsome. I had them sit down and fetched beers from the kitchen. Nancy asked me if I could bring her a glass of wine. When I returned with the drinks, Karsten introduced the three guys to Nancy and me.

The least handsome of them introduced himself first. He was a swarthy, villainous-looking guy named Gil and he had an accent I couldn't place. He explained that he was from Israel and that he'd been in the country for only three years. He was mainly interested in something called contemporary media. He was so hairy that he looked like he needed to shave every three hours or so. A tuft of dark chest hair poked up above his shirt. I asked him about his sex life and he told me he'd been in a monogamous relationship with a woman for about a year. He then volunteered that he wanted out of it.