It started with a whisper -- a fantasy passed between us late at night, breath warm, hearts racing. We'd been married nearly twenty years, but this was different. This was electric. I'd fantasized about sharing Gayle, not out of disrespect or detachment, but because I loved watching her shine. And I knew the thought of being watched, adored, and devoured could bring her to life in a way only fantasy had before.
Gayle had always been cautious, thoughtful, sensual in a slow-burn way that made every climax feel earned. Me? I was the instigator, the one who talked her through her pleasure, painting vivid pictures in her mind while my hands mapped the curves of her body.
She was 42 now, but looked ten years younger -- 5'2", 125 lbs, with a tight figure that made heads turn. Her olive skin always had a soft glow, and her eyes -- deep, nearly black -- could stop me cold. Her C-cup breasts were perfectly shaped, sensitive at the top of each curve, and her hips flared just enough to drive me crazy when she swayed. Her voice was low, sultry, with a teasing rasp that made every whispered moan feel like a secret.
I'm Jim -- 41, 5'10", 195 lbs, ex-college athlete, with broad shoulders and a thick, muscular build I've kept up. My cock is a point of pride -- heavy, veined, and the source of Gayle's most vocal praises. We both have that olive skin and dark hair, but my eyes are a lighter brown -- honey-like in the right light, Gayle always said.
It took nearly a decade of exploring the idea -- hesitantly at first, then with more curiosity, and finally with intention. When she agreed to create a profile with me, I knew something had shifted. We were building something -- not just for me, but for both of us.
We met Alex online. He wasn't just a match -- he was a spark. Handsome in a clean, symmetrical way. 34, tall, athletic but lean. His dark blond hair was always a bit messy on purpose. A strong jaw, dark green eyes, and full lips that made even Gayle bite her own. She picked him from a dozen options. "This one," she said. "He'll make me feel slutty in the right way."
It took six months of texting, video calls, shared clips, and voice notes. When he called me "sir" once during a fantasy roleplay, Gayle flushed so hard she needed a moment. He had patience, openness, and one thing he was especially proud of: "I love to suck cock," he'd said bluntly. "I love the shape, the veins, the taste -- and I love doing it while a woman watches."
Tonight, he was coming over.
Gayle stood at the edge of our bed, brushing her long dark hair over one shoulder. The black lace clung to her hips the way I knew he'd imagine gripping them. Her breasts pushed up against the bra just enough to tease -- nipples clearly visible under the thin fabric. Her lips were glossed, her perfume a warm jasmine musk.
"You okay?" she asked, voice a bit unsteady.
I stepped behind her, sliding my hands along her waist. "We've built this together. He's not here to take anything. He's here to let us explore."
She kissed me -- slow and grounding.
The doorbell rang.
I opened the door to Alex -- a crisp white tee clung to his chest, jeans snug, smile cool but sincere. "Evening," he said. "You two look... ready."
"She is. But remember -- I do the talking."
He nodded. "Of course."
