**Don't let the story length discourage you. The buildup is necessary to do justice to the sexual tension. I hate stories that begin with the supposedly loving and devoted female lead character already promiscuous; it makes it hard to care about the characters and it sucks the sexual tension right out of the story before it even begins. I mean, why read on, then, right? Right. So, read on now, and enjoy.
Around the age of 10 I saw the previews for an erotic movie on cable TV. One of the Emmanuelle movies I believe. In it, the female lead was shown to be sitting in the middle of a room, dressed in a one-piece outfit that consisted of a low cut top and short skirt. The previews were delivered in short, 2-second clips, seemingly faster and faster as the music's tempo increased and narration went on. Emmanuelle sat, looking about. Watching her in silence was about a dozen men, crouched behind a railing and a couch, peering from the doorway, looking in through the window. Watching her. The clips went from panning along the lusting stares of one or two of the men at a time, to Emmanuelle's nervous glance, to a man's hand making its way up her thigh, to the sight of a piston engine working at high speed -even at a young age, that metaphor was not lost on me.
Whenever this preview was shown, I watched. Intently. It affected me: a group of men, lusting after and staring at this nubile woman who sits... waiting to be devoured and sexed up.
The fantasies I had later in life, or what would turn me on to think about, would inevitably consist of situations in which my wife was with someone else. It wasn't about her cheating or her wanting or falling for another person. It was simply about the pent up sexual frustration of a lusting male, and my wife, us, allowing that male to service himself with her, with her dutiful compliance to that end and that end only. Of course, in each fantasy she was brought to ecstasy. But the drive wasn't about her being after something, it was about someone else getting something: relief, from her body. Her eventual pleasure was incidental to that. It was the essence of "male mates with female," and it was such a taboo of a turn on to me when I allowed my imagination to match my woman with a male in need. Man or men, older or younger, fit or overweight, nice or not nice, those details didn't matter. In fact, the more varied the details the better. Sometimes things in everyday life would prompt a fantasy, other times not.
It wasn't that I wanted to be cheated on or replaced. In my heart of hearts I didn't want any of it to happen. No fantasy ever started or ended with my wife falling for anyone or ending up with anyone else. Part of the core, or requirement, for my fantasies was my wife was...well,
my
wife,
my
partner and companion. No fantasy was ever about us pursuing lives with other people. When "something" happened in my fantasy, it would be incidental to the day's events. That's what made it so hot and deliciously perverted a feeling to imagine her being used and her body and mind seduced during. Brought to a level of depravity, and worked over. She would find herself liking what was being done because of two things: the physical feeling of being touched, her body betraying her and seduced...whatever, and she was with me and I was a part of what was happening to her.
I wonder if my wife and I would have made it to the altar if I'd opened up to her earlier. We've been married ten years. And my thoughts have gotten more and more perverse, and keeping them to myself just about impossible. She'll want to know why I want her to wear a certain outfit, or why I'm asking leading questions about something like who she spoke with or what she thinks about someone or something... all in my effort to score details for some fantasy of mine. Her job hasn't made it any easier.
On occasion I've had to drive Jill to work in my Jeep, as her car isn't good on some of the work sites she's been assigned to. She is partner in a law firm that deals with workplace safety and employee benefits for a number of city and county construction companies. And this has her around a lot of men.
The other day, she was dressed in her usual office outfit of dress slacks and white top, her hair in a neat bun. I had just dropped her off when I realized she left her lunch in the car. I ran up to the elevator she was headed for a moment earlier. I arrived too late to hand her carry bag to her but in time to see her entering the elevator followed by four men in hardhats. She turned around to face me just as the door closed. It was Jill, those following, and a handful of other men, all behind her. I might have called out but I didn't. Her little figure was completely surrounded.
After leaving her things with a coworker I got back in my jeep and jerked myself off into a delirium imagining Jill shoved up against the elevator door and thoroughly felt up and brought to orgasm by large menacing hands. I imagined her permitting this and looking back at me as it happened, grunting when she's penetrated.
And, I don't know how else to explain it, but Jill, 38, has a mature, much older demeanor about her: levelheaded and wise, not easily swindled, and a good judge of character. She could hold her own in an intellectual conversation with just about anyone, and leave them impressed with her insight and charm. And, she can also be motherly and comforting, even though we had no kids. But I've seen it with our nieces or nephews, though. Mixed with her good sense of humor and hot little body, it all makes her terribly sexy.
Another recent problem has been our neighbor's teenage son a few doors down. I've noticed lately that our pool has been used while we're at work, and once, after stopping by home for lunch I found he and one of his friends going for a swim. I didn't mind. I did the same thing in my neighborhood growing up. But...the whole situation makes for countless fantasies in which my wife becomes their personal fuck doll. Jill, dressed for work, hair in a bun and wearing glasses, I imagined the two boys and about a half dozen of their friends shoving her back and forth between them, each time yanking off more of her clothing. She would yelp and look to me. I'd be jerking off to the point of drooling as I watched her try to fend them off while they fingered her and pulled at her nipples and bit her neck and shoulders, making her knees buckle and her head droop in reluctant yet undeniable, and heated lust.
This was crazy. None of it had anything to do with reality. Jill and I had a life together. We were comfortable with each other and going places in our life together. And yet still, a reality was the fact that I found incredible pleasure in imagining Jill heaving and panting in nervous anticipation and hesitation as I undressed her in front of two strange men. I thought of what it would sound like to hear her let out a long pent up and otherwise guilty orgasm from watching me stroke myself to the sight of her being fucked hard and fast. I felt I had to talk with her about it, if at least in the hopes she might listen and like it. I finally spoke to her about it, slowly at first.
I was staring at her as she sat and unhooked her earrings in the mirror.
"What," she asked, turning to look at me while pulling the second one out. She had been talking to me about her lunch with some of the roof workers that afternoon and I was only half listening. I was admiring her work clothes, and also thought of the situation by the pool.
"Sorry. Hey, come check something out by the pool." I had come home early again and guessed I'd scared someone off as I'd discovered a pair of shorts on a lounge chair that wasn't mine. So what, but I wanted the thought of the boys to enter Jill's mind. "You haven't noticed, but the kid from down the street and a couple of his pals have been over here during the day.
"That's what those mean?" she flicked her finger at the shorts.
"No, I've seen them here. I suppose these mean they've been skinny dipping."
"Hmmm. Well, I don't guess it mounts to much but..."
"But what?" I asked.
"Well, I don't really mind as long as they clean up. But what I'm concerned about is if something should happen and someone gets hurt," Jill said.
"It's possible, but I'm sure they'll be okay. As long as they clean up, like you said. Oh? And what about the skinny dipping?"
"What about it?" Jill asked.
"What do you think?"
"What do I think?"
"Yeah, " I said.
"Maybe later," she smiled.
Fair enough, but not what I was trying for.
Later, I eyed Jill as she stepped outside to work in the yard for a little while. She had on a bikini, a big floppy hat, large round sunglasses and sneakers. With eyes hidden and that huge hat, it made her look terribly sexy. It was her light gardening outfit when she planned to swim right after. I watched as she sauntered over to the far side of the yard and began pruning the blueberry bushes. I made some iced tea for us after she was done, and we both went for a dip and sat in the late afternoon sun.
"Honey, what would you have done if you'd have come home and found those boys swimming naked?"
Jill tilted her head up and held a hand up to shield the sun so she could look up at me in my chair. "Where'd that come from?"
"The question? I dunno. I guess since it's possible, I was curious."
"Hmmm." She laid her head back. "I would've...I don't know what I would have done. What would you have done?" she asked.
"Not the same," I said.
"Why?"
"Because genius, you're a woman."
"You mean, what would I have done to stop it?" she tried again.
"Nnnn...no."
"Well, what do you mean, then?"
"I guess I mean what would you have thought?"
"Would I have looked is what you mean."
I leaned kneeled down and kissed the back of her neck and traced my hand down to her side and kissed her again. "Yeah," I breathed in her ear. She turned her head into my kiss and whispered.
"Yes, I probably would have."
"Really!" I asked, surprised a bit, and pulled back before I realized I was being obvious.
"You asked the question," she smiled back over her shoulder, and pulled me back down and on top of her, and we rolled over, laughing, and I gave her ribs a pinch to tickle her. But I thought about it. The conversation had been the closest thing to anything that I'd pursued with Jill that even slightly resembled the topic of my ever-developing and frequent perverted fantasies about her. I wondered what she might think had she caught those boys in the pool. Thoughts of them rubbing tan oil onto her wiggling, upturned ass filled my conscience for the rest of the evening.
