Waiting at Home

PART 2: THE PAYOFF

My name is Camille. I'm happily married to a wonderful man, have two great kids, a lovely home in a great neighborhood, and I got to fuck my ass off with another man without having to cheat. Here is my side of our story:

I will always remember the look on my husband's face as I got ready for my date. There was so much in that look – love, trust, admiration, want, lust and even doubt, the kind of doubt that comes with second guessing a decision made. He watched me bathe, shave my pussy lips, etc. Then he toweled and patted me dry, spending extra time and care between my legs. He even blow dried my hair. He stood there quietly drinking me in with his eyes as I did my hair and makeup. There was no need for words. We both knew exactly what was happening and, more so, we were in this together. We were doing this for the both of us.

We didn't say a word until I snapped my new garter belt around my waist and started placing my sheer black nylon hose on my freshly shaven legs. That's when I told him the only reason I didn't give him an orgasm before I did my makeup was so that he would experience everything that came with becoming a first time cuckold, at least what I had gathered from reading stories and letters about what husbands went through when their wives were off fucking other men. Actually, I knew very little about this if only because there was so little to be read about this part of the hot wife/cuckold relationship, but I knew my husband and knew that he had an emotionally thrilling and gut wrenching, up and down trip in store for him. If this was to work for the both of us he would just have to fully experience his part of the adventure.

Still, as I put on my new sexy/silky black panties I asked him once again if he still wanted me to go through with this. Next, I put on my new skimpy, sexy/silky black bra, the one that covered just enough of the titties he never tired of ogling/fondling/suckling to keep them uplifted and nicely in place. I looked myself over in the mirror. I was proud of my still fit near forty year old body. I looked beyond my image to see the look in his eyes, the look of approval that said he was even prouder of my body and, more so, the look that said he totally approved of what he saw in the mirror – the image of a loving and loyal wife wearing the sexy underwear she bought especially for her first date with another man since two years before she met and then married the love of her life. Then came the classic little black linen dress. It fit me perfectly, not too baggy, not too tight. The top swooped across my chest just low enough to give a glimpse of cleavage and just under two inches above my knees. I didn't look overtly sexy nor obviously frumpy nor overly conservative.

I gave a lot of thought to that dress. The first part of this night would be to serve as a volunteer hostess at our annual community art expo, so it was important for people to me to see me as the happily married woman they knew, and yet without advertising or even suggesting in any way that when the show closed at ten I would be off to fuck the young art gallery owner from upstate NY who would be there to meet our local painters and sculptors and, hopefully, to sell their pieces in his trendy boutique. He would see how sensual and wanting I was but nobody else would have a clue. As far as they knew the only reason my husband wasn't there with me was because he had an important out-of-town meeting coming up and needed all the time between now and then to prepare. After closing the expo for the night, however, at first glimpse of me in my new undies, the ones I bought specially for this night, this other man would see that the woman in his hotel room was the same sexy and wanton slut my husband saw looking at her fully dressed image in the mirror.

My husband and I sat on stools facing each other at our breakfast counter sipping wine, smiling and communicating with our eyes. His cock poked into the fabric of his pants, and my pussy felt warm, moist and wanting. He had already told about his insecurity and jealousy as well as his excitement and arousal, and how everything inside him was at odds with his decision for us to go forward with this. When it came right down to the nitty-gritties his arousal won over his doubt. Something that did not come easily for him.

Then it came time for me to leave. He walked me to my car, we kissed, and I got behind the wheel. I looked up into his eyes and said it wasn't too late to change his mind. He just smiled, closed my car door then took a few steps back. I knew that had he called this off I would have been disappointed but it would have been over in a heartbeat. My husband and his feelings, along with our two kids, were my whole life. Nothing but nothing was more important to me than they were, especially something as unnecessary as the opportunity to fuck another man without having to cheat. I backed my car out of the driveway and onto the street, and as I shifted from reverse to drive I looked over to see him standing there in our garage. I looked at him for a long moment, waved, took a deep breath and then drove off.

My heart immediately started pounding with anticipation. Over the years I had seen a few men who caught my eye, some of them enough to fantasize about while working my vibrator on my pussy, but not one near enough to even think about cheating. I just didn't have cheating in me and neither did my husband. The trust we shared from the moment we decided to share a bedroom during our junior years in college was too perfect, too priceless to risk damaging in any way. Besides, I had had enough sex with other men – even though most of it was good – to know that love took sex to a whole new level, one I could not even imagine possible until I met the love of my life, the man I married. The same man who just moments before stood standing in the garage smiling at me though he knew that before I returned home I would have sucked and fucked another man.

Until mid-morning yesterday I would never in a million years believed I was even capable of fucking someone new. Then, wearing old clothes that I didn't care if I ruined, while positioning pedestals and setting up tables and hanging paintings and working up a bit of a sweat doing so, I noticed a young man, probably mid-twenties at most, walking around talking to the different volunteers and expo sponsors. I also noticed the way he kept looking at me. Actually, I kind of liked the way he looked at me, not that I expected anything to come of it. Then a bit later in the morning as I took a coffee break he came over to introduce himself and to say that he owned a new but upscale art boutique in the thriving resort town of Saratoga Springs, which was thirty five miles north and a bit west of Albany in upstate, NY, a town that catered to the wealthy. He said that he was on the last stop of a six city tour looking for promising artists to represent, and was told that I was the most knowledge person there so would I mind telling him a little something about our local artists and their art? Being a long-time supporter of our art community and working my fourth consecutive expo I was only too happy to promote our artists and their works.

I have to admit that I was attracted to him right from the start. At 6'2" he towered above me. He had a lean, athletic build and weighed about one-eighty. About the same as my husband only he was 5'10" and more stocky. He was handsome in a rugged near chiseled way, though no more so than my husband. His brown eyes were warm yet seeing, in a way that didn't miss much. He was unassuming and respectful, and had long, dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail which set him apart from most of the more conservative people I knew, even my husband. I liked the way he talked, and the questions he asked. I was especially impressed by his comments and interpretations. He seemed strong and confident, though no more so than my husband, but there was also something uncommonly sensitive and delicate about him. The truth is that I just plain liked everything about him, including the way he moved and smelled. I still had pieces to place and paintings to hang, and as he helped me with them we continued to discuss the various artists and their pieces.

I continued to grow more and more attracted to him. So much so that within two hours of our meeting we looked into each other's eyes and we both knew that we wanted more. Much more. My pussy was so wet that I feared that I might leak through and leave a dark spot in the crotch of my worn and faded denims, so much so that I went to the ladies room to line my panties with toilet paper. When I returned I heard him tell the expo director that he had to leave but would return the next night when the showing opened. Then he came to politely and respectfully thank me for taking the time to discuss things with me, then after looking around to see if anyone paid attention us, in a voice barely a whisper asked if I would like to have a drink with him at his hotel after the showing closed the next night. At that very moment I knew with every fiber in my being that I wanted to fuck him. Just like that. I told him that I needed a few minutes before I could say. He said he would stall for a few minutes before leaving and walked off toward the door. I called my husband to ask if he was serious about wanting me to have sex with another man, something we both fantasized about and explored for over two years. I caught him off guard, to say the least, and there was more to this than just telling him I actually, really wanted to fuck another man but after a few minutes he said to go ahead and make the date. I looked across the room and nodded yes. He smiled and left. I immediately looked all around the room to see if anyone had noticed. Nobody had so I hurried to arrange the rest of the pieces then left to go shopping for clothes to wear for my date.

The community center was only a ten minute drive from home, which meant I would be there close to six-thirty to help with setting things up before the doors opened at seven, but setting things up was the farthest thing from my mind. I was so aware of the stirring feelings in my pussy. In a way it felt like my whole universe was centered right there between my legs. I've been incredibly horny before, too many times to count. I remember the day I found that copy of Varieties. I sat on the basement steps and thumbed through it, then I read some of the letters. Husbands and wives writing about their spouses' extra-marital sexual escapades. No sneaking. No cheating. Just exciting sex for fun and pleasure. That entire concept was so foreign to me and yet as I read these stories I got excited. Then I thought about how incredibly horny my husband was for close to six months. Before then our sex life had settled into a comfortable routine then just like that he returned from a business trip absolutely ravenous for me. I wondered what got into him but didn't press it, I simply enjoyed every second of it.

Then, reading the letters in Varieties, I began to understand why. But which letters turned him on the most? The ones about swingers? Threesomes, both FFM and MMF? The ones about watching a spouse have sex with someone else? The ones about the husband waiting at home for the wife to return with the details of her having sex with another man? The ones where the wife had sex with another man to humiliate, degrade and punish her wimpy and/or tiny dick husband? There were so many varieties, hence the name, so many different kinks. So I went upstairs and logged on to the internet and checked through the history of sites visited. Then I came upon a cuckold forum site. I had no idea what a cuckold was but no matter I brought it up on the screen. And right there before me were hundreds of pages of letters and stories submitted by husbands whose "hot wives" had sex with other men. And here too I got horny reading them. At least most of them – the humiliation and punishment ones actually turned me off.

Though I thought it was strange that my unquestionably dedicated and committed to me husband would get turned on by the thought of me having sex with another man, as evidenced by his going online to read letters submitted by husbands whose wives had sex with others, I decided then and there that I wanted to be a part of his fantasy, but only as a fantasy. It started that very night while making love I described a situation where I fucked another man on the back seat of his car in a grocery store parking lot. It wasn't true but no matter, my husband went absolutely wild, and I benefitted from his surge of sexual energy. It was wonderful. That's when we opened up about our fantasies. But they were fantasies, not reality. There was no way I could even force myself to have sex with another man. And there I was – wearing all new clothes I bought especially for this occasion, fully aware of the want I felt in my pussy, on my way to an art expo that, afterward, would have me in the hotel room with a strange man -- with my husband's knowledge and support. He was about to become a cuckold and I was about to become a hot wife. I was in my car and on my way. It was actually happening. This was not fantasy. It was real. Very real.

I parked my car toward the back of the community center so I wouldn't be obvious when I left. I just sat there telling myself over and over again that no matter how excited and anxious I got I could do nothing to give anything away. Not even a hint. I had to be the Camille they knew, there to help in any way I could to promote our local artists and their works. And when the object of my lust appeared I would have to play it even more cool and casual than I had the previous day. Everything in me wanted to get naked and wanton with him. I still didn't fully understand why or even how so quickly it came to this. All I knew was that there were at least three hours between schmoozing potential art buyers and small talk with people from the community who knew me and getting to his hotel room. And not even the most desperate ache to fuck him was more important than my standing in the community. I was the happy and loyal wife of a successful, respected and very much liked man, the mother of two beautiful children and involved member of our community. That is what I had to keep in mind no matter what my inner slut wanted.

I was asked to work the doors, that is, the "gate," with a first time volunteer, a wholesome looking, slightly chubby woman in her early thirties married to a teacher, and mother of three. Our job was to collect tickets and to sell them to those who didn't take advantage of the pre-expo discount price. We took up our places and promptly at seven opened the doors. The 16th annual art expo was open for business. People of all sizes, shapes, colors and ages, all in an upbeat mood, some dressed to the nines, others totally casually were there for the same reason, to look at the art created by our local artists. We greeted them warmly as we took their tickets.

We were very busy for the first thirty minutes then things tapered off. I thought I saw my volunteer partner light up when a particular couple entered, something I chalked up to friendship, but then I noticed that both ladies wore ankle bracelets. I remembered an article I read about how women involved in swinging wore ankle bracelets to signal such to other swingers. I took another look at my chubby housewife partner. She smiled warmly at me then turned to greet the people coming through the door. Could it be? She looked so everyday PTA and soccer mom, but then that was me too and I could hardly wait to get into a hotel room with a man who wasn't my husband. But then maybe their ankle bracelets may just have been coincidence. No matter, I made it a point to not light up the way she did when the man I looked for arrived. That was just ten minutes later. He didn't have a ticket because as a gallery owner he didn't need one. I introduced him to my gate partner, they shook hands, he smiled nicely at me, nothing out of the ordinary, then went on his way to talk to the artists whose work caught his attention. No clues, no hints from either of us, even though I felt an urgent and major quiver in my pussy, so much so that I excused myself and went to the ladies room to line my panties with toilet paper, something I made a mental note to remove before leaving to meet him at his hotel.

During previous expos time always flew by. But not on this night. I kept myself busy doing this and that and, mostly, I kept a safe distance from him. We exchanged a knowing glance or two from across the room but nothing that would be obvious to anyone. Then at nine-thirty I went to the main entry and as I gathered the tickets and cash the chubby housewife said that she noticed the way I looked at her anklet and then at her. She smiled warmly and asked if my husband and I were swingers. I said that we were not. She said that she and her husband were, been doing it for four years, and how she was sure that it saved their marriage. I said that our marriage didn't need saving, that my husband and I were perfectly good just the way things are. She said that she and her husband, a teacher at a local community college, didn't believe that, biologically speaking, humans were monogamous animals. And that human beings, both men and women, needed the validation that having sex with others provided. The validation that they were desirable, and besides it was a lot of fun. It was that that kept them feeling alive and emotionally healthy. I thanked her for her input then left with the receipts.

Sitting next to two others as we counted and documented the receipts in a ledger I thought about what the swinger lady said about validation. My husband more than validated me. He completed me. But then why all of a sudden did this pressing want to be with another man find its way into my being? I had everything. A loving and trusting, and supportive and attentive husband. Two wonderful children. A beautiful home. No money worries. The freedom to spend my time as I choose with no need to explain to anyone. What else could any woman ask for? It was then that I gave serious thought to going straight home to my husband. To not say a word to the other man. Just get up from that desk, go to my car and drive straight home. Surely my husband would understand. Maybe he would be disappointed that his fantasy was not fulfilled. The same held true for me. I didn't need to feel validated, certainly not by fucking another man, and my husband had no desire to have sex with another woman. And yet I so very much wanted to fuck a man who was not my husband.

My husband had waivered in and out, and I gave him every opportunity to ask me to stay home with him but right up to the moment I got into my car and he wanted me to go forward with this. This after almost two years of trying to understand why any man would even want his wife to have sex with another man. But so much of what we found online convinced us that so many men wanted just that. More than we dared even imagine. And they came from all walks of life. There were even sites dedicated exclusively to helping husbands find men to fuck their wives. And they did so for so many reasons. Many sought size to stretch and stuff their wives' pussies to the max. Others felt inadequate to please their wives. Many wives had higher sex drives than did their husbands. But the vast majority of these men seemed quite normal. These men just got a charge out of their wives enjoying sex with others. In most of these stories their wives were at first reluctant but were quite happy once they finally took the plunge. None of those motivations seemed to fit my husband and me. About the only thing that we never experienced in our relationship was jealousy. Maybe that is what my husband missed.