**After extensive complaining that people believe this is a cuckolding story, I wanted to clarify my intentions. This story may take one of several directions. I most expect it to go down a forced sex or BDSM path. It started out as such. It is based on an old story I wrote where the wife is abducted as part of a forced sex fantasy. If it does go down one of those paths, I will start labeling it as so. It is possible that it will go down a cuckolding path but, if it does, it will be light, will not include humiliation, and the control will certainly come from the husband. I've labeled it as "loving wives" because I currently intend for the couple to go no further than sharing and swinging.
**Please also be aware that this story is purposefully written in a dry, matter-of-fact tone. I have read many comments complaining of this and realize I should have originally disclosed it here. This is an introduction and future stories will have far less in narrative and far more in action.
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My name is Alan Wintersbee. I am tall and thin and always have been. You could call me lanky but it wouldn't be entirely true. I run and have a personal trainer who keeps me quite fit and toned. I am pale and have always been that way as well. Tall, thin, and pale may not be the trendy look in Hollywood but, with my blue eyes, I think I have a look of gentlemanly appearance. Such a look meets my needs just fine. I keep my hair short and sometimes wear glasses. I rarely smile. It's not that I am unhappy. I feel as though smiling is to appease the person you are smiling at and I just figure not bother with such pleasantries.
I have been married to Vanessa for almost twelve years. We live in the US, in Boston. Vanessa works at a very well-to-do bank, as a teller. She is smart and has a degree yet has been unable to climb the ladder and she blames this on the fact that her boss is a real shmuck. She says he hires only pretty tellers and promotes only those who keep him company, if you know what I mean. He apparently is able to do so while keeping his tracks clean. When she told me, I thought that sounded like an enjoyable arrangement and impressive ass covering, but I didn't say so.
I have a small accounting firm. It's yet to make me lavishly rich but I have had some exceptionally profitable years. Recently my firm has begun managing the assets of executives at a national corporation. It is always concerning to see a room full of executive managers seeking investment advice on buying stocks besides their company's stock. I invest my money in the same things I invest my company's money into. Why don't they? I never so much as grin during those meetings. I find myself having to avert my eyes to avoid glaring at them. Are their investments legal? Yes, they are. But are they admirable... no. I've been considering dropping them as clients for years and not doing so is certainly a failing of my own character.
Until I cut the cord, they will continue to net me a great profit. I've had to hire a few new bodies to keep up with all the paperwork but it's still very lucrative. For now I smile in the morning when I get my coffee, sit in the conference room, and check my bank account and investments. I doubt Carl Icahn is looking over his shoulder though. That is okay. Millions are practical. Billions are for show.
That's enough about that though. I'm writing to share with you a story, a true story, that I think many of you will find interesting. You see, my wife and I live a very intriguing life that, if I had not lived it, I would not have imagined possible. Prior to meeting my wife I had just taken certain things as inevitable sufferances. Mainly, how dull life was on a day to day basis. I'd read about people quitting their 9-5 and moving to a tropical climate and that's just not for me. I enjoy first world amenities and am not so crazy as to throw them aside and fly into the stone age just because it may be more stimulating. Getting chased by bulls is stimulating but you won't see me signing up for it.
Nonetheless, the first world can be a damn bore. I don't like shopping, I prefer not to waste away in front of a television, I drive a luxury car but it hardly makes me feel alive, and most of my friends are as boring as I am. This was where I was at when I met Vanessa: bored.
Vanessa graduated with honors from a prestigious university. She's sharp as they come and understands quite a bit of my business. When it comes to fixed rate investments, like bonds, she knows more actually. I've offered her positions at my firm but she doesn't like the idea of working together. She says my office sounds terribly boring. She's likely right. She wouldn't fit in.
I tend to hire very dry personalities who don't need encouragement or praise. If they all turned out to be robots from the future, I wouldn't be surprised. Vanessa's a breath of fresh air, which I quite enjoy in my down time, but during the workday I prefer my robots. I ignore them when I walk through the office, I speak to them rarely, I never praise them, and none of them seems the least bit offended. As far as I'm concerned, I've got the best employees money can buy. I read about Google and the bean bags and the gourmet cafeteria and the bicycles for getting about campus... what a bunch of nuts.
Also, another conflict is that my wife is good looking and I exclusively hire uglies. Distractions are just that, distractions. I certainly do not need such things. Even more, put a pretty girl among a bunch of uglies and you've got a bomb in the making. I prefer dry, boring girls who smile as rarely as I do. Pleasantries really are just a nuance. Vanessa would disagree and I am sure we'd be fighting within days if we worked together. Me and the uglies would probably exile her then go back to our quiet, unfriendly ways.
Our personality overlap obviously was not the attracting force when we originally met. Our backgrounds in finance were what initially brought us together. We met at a bankers association conference. She is a stunning brunette with very long, thick hair. Few woman look more feminine than my wife. Her body is the very pinnacle of the female body. She has a behind that is truly something to marvel at, even when wrapped up in a formal skirt or business suit. It's not all that large but is certainly well shaped and not subtle enough to cover up. She has a large B and always chooses to wear low cut shirts that show the inner curves of her breasts. She wears a bra that is a size too small but it gives her extra cleavage. When she first sat next to me at the conference, she was wearing a full business suit yet her breasts were still clearly visible. I remember it quite clearly. I didn't hear a single word the speaker said after she sat down. I felt as though I was in grade school again.
That loose attitude, that inclination for scandalous sexual adventure, is where we truly fused together and is also what has since kept us together. Sitting there, when we first met, I never dreamed that the stunning woman next to me not only aroused every sexual fantasy a man could dream up, but fulfilled them too. Who looks at a woman in a business suit and thinks slut? I mean, honestly? If you ever sit next to my wife, that would be a reasonable thing to think though... if you knew her.
This sexual overlap is where our passion for one another lies. Our passion is far from our educations, jobs, or family backgrounds. On the contrary, we both dislike each other's families. She has her mother's wit, but the rest of them are a pack of wild animals. In addition to her family, her career frustrates me to no end. She works, year after year, without advancing and without resigning. She has her excuses but they do not relieve my frustrations.
She makes up for this in other ways, that relieve me and then some. The first time we met, we both grew bored with the conference, skipped the pre-arranged conference dinner, and found a quiet Mexican restaurant. By the time we walked in we already had each other's eyes and she sat on the same side of the booth we were escorted to. By the time she ordered her margarita she had scooted closer. By the time we ordered an appetizer, her hand was on my crotch. Over the next half hour, she hardly left my cock unattended to. After we finished our appetizer she apologized for teasing me for so long and asked me to her room so she could finish what she started.
Twenty minutes later she led me to the edge of her bed, sat me down, put a pillow beneath her knees, unzipped my zipper, pulled my cock through, opened her mouth, lowered her head, and began the longest, most amazing blowjob I had ever received. She did not rush. She was slow and firm, not timid. She took her time and when I would approach orgasm she would slide my cock from my mouth and softly ask me if I wanted to cum. Many times, I shook my head no, not willing to let it end. She smiled, as though that was the answer she'd hoped for, and went back to my hard cock.
She kept me so hard, for so long, that I felt like I was in high school again. When I finally did nod yes, she put my hand down her shirt, onto her breast. They were large and natural. She sucked harder and deeper and pushed up behind my balls with her fingers. I pumped cum into her mouth to an extent that I can only imagine to have been exhaustive for her. I felt embarrassed and guilty as I felt the enormous convulsions of cum leaving my cock into her mouth. But she swallowed without issue and I knew she was clearly experienced at oral sex. Later she would reveal just how much experience she had and my most promiscuous expectations were far surpassed. That's the woman I married.
