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My wife was always sexually conservative.

Though she had dated regularly in high school and college, when I met her she was still a virgin.

Although she remained shy about discussing sex, our first few years of marriage taught me that she was far from frigid. Indeed, she loved to tease me, as long as we were alone. Even nicer, the longer we were together the more her sex drive increased.

Through all of that, though, she retained a certain essential shyness. For me, she would wear sexy lingerie, but only in the house – never when going out. Though she loved it when I ate her cunt, I learned to never suggest it unless she was already hot – she was embarrassed that she could lose control so easily. And though she loved it when I told her my fantasies, and even loved to tease me about her numerous imaginary boyfriends, she would just blush and hug me when I asked her about what turned *her* on.

I don’t want to sound as if I’m complaining – she’s loving, sexy, and very willing in bed. It was just that she was a little – bland – sometimes.


One activity she *did* like, though, was teasing me. She has a very playful side, and teasing me is her way of indulging it. Usually, I will retaliate by reading her sex stories from men’s magazines – the game is to see who loses their self control first.

The night I shocked her was typical, really: she started out teasing, and I retaliated. Her ploy was one of her favorites – the mythical boyfriend who had just left when I got home.

“. . . if you’d been just a little earlier, you would have found us still in bed. What would you have done if you found your wife making love with another man?”

“Wait till he finished, and take you again, twice as hard!”

“You wouldn’t be jealous?” Her voice rose.

“Not really – just very, very, horny.”

“You don’t love me?” She sounded shocked, and worried.

“I love you very much. Why do you think I don’t?”

“You said you’d *like* to find me with another man – and you wouldn’t be jealous! How could you say that? What *would* make you jealous?”

“Honey, I was just being truthful – seeing you with another man probably *would* make me horny. Now if I thought you would *leave* me for another man, I’d be as jealous as you’d like – more jealous, probably.”

“You’re *kinky* – the idea turns you on!”

“Well, yes, it does – why else are you so wet?”

“I *want* you, you idiot!”

The mardin escort rest of the evening, we were too involved for any serious



The idea seemed to persist, though – she kept bringing the conversation back around to it when we weren’t in bed, and I had to think through why the idea turned me on. It soon became evident that though she was shocked, it turned her on a great deal, too. Not that I expected we would ever *do* it, but it became one of the standard stories I’d whisper in her ear in bed.

Even as a fantasy, though, she had limits – the thought of having me watch her turned her on, but I had to make it seem real, and safe, for her to cut loose. We may have had one of the only safe-sex-only, condoms-not-optional, joint fantasies on record.

This was fun, but we both knew this was only a fantasy. After all, this was the woman that would never appear in public bra less, and wore a one-piece suit to the beach. Still, it added a little bit of spice to our sex life, so why not?


When our fifteenth anniversary rolled around, we decided to really celebrate – fly to Las Vegas and stay a week, just the two of us. Even though neither of us gambles a lot, we enjoy the shows, the restaurants, and the charged atmosphere.

The first couple of nights were fun. We gambled a little, enjoyed a famous entertainer’s show the first night, and a large revue the second. The third night, though, was our anniversary. I made reservations in one of the best restaurants in town; afterwards, we would go dancing.

I’d brought my best evening clothes just for this, while she had bought a new dress just for the occasion. When the time came to dress, she took over the bathroom and left me to fend for myself outside. I was just finishing my tie when she came back out.

My first reaction was shock – she was gorgeous, as always, but also very, very, sexy. Usually, her dresses are camouflage – attractive, stylish, but modest. She is short and slender, but she has a lovely figure if she would ever show it. Tonight, she had.

“Attractive” and “stylish” might still apply, but “modest” certainly did not. This was more like the setting on a jewel – intended to draw the eye.

Her long, dark, hair swept down over her bare shoulders. That low-cut dress would make it hard to find a bra to fit; it was rather evident that she hadn’t. van escort The dress was clingy, but almost floor length; any suspicion of modesty was canceled by the slit that almost reached her left hip.

She stood still for a moment, enjoying my reaction. With an impish smile, she then raised her skirt to show me that she was wearing a garter belt and hose, with a tiny, frilly panty underneath. Then I looked again, and gasped, when I realized that she was wearing open-crotch panties, tied closed with three little bows. It took an act of will to keep from ravishing her then and there.

Over dinner, we flirted. She’d already admitted she’d never dare wear that dress at home, but here nobody knew us, and she reveled in the longing glances she got from other men (and the envious ones from other women).

After dinner, we went the dance lounge in our hotel. If anything, the attention she was drawing increased; though her cheeks were flushed, she was loving every minute of it. Though we danced mostly together, we each took a few turns with other partners; she, at least, could have had a new partner for every dance.

After a couple of hours, we were dancing a slow one. As we held each other, I whispered a quiet “I love you” in her ear. She just smiled back. When the music ended, she pulled me back to our table.

“Present time” she told me.

I was a little startled – I had given her my gift, a gold bracelet, before we went out. I stammered.

She grinned at me, her patented, naughty-little-girl grin, and continued:

“No, silly, mine to *you*. I want you to go back up to our room and read the card on your pillow – I wanted to surprise you and it was too big to hide.”

Now I was curious. From long experience, I knew that questioning would only extend the time till she told me – she loves to stage manage surprises. I gave her a kiss, and headed upstairs.

The card didn’t clear very much up. It just said:

“Hide in the closet, but leave the door open a crack. Keep quiet. Love you – A.”

I was *really* curious now. That was probably her intention – teasing carried one step further. I silently vowed that tonight she’d get a fucking she’d *never* forget.

It seemed like hours before I heard the door opening. I was about ready to leap out and grab her when I realized that she was not alone. A bellboy, perhaps? I settled down and waited to be called. ankara escort When the door closed, I saw that her companion was one of the men she’d been dancing with. Surely, she couldn’t really be planning to . . .

Surely, she could. I heard her tell him “Hurry! My husband will be back in an hour or so!”

When he pulled her towards him, she responded eagerly. I nearly exploded when he unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor – his gasp masked mine as he took her body in.

She had his clothes off equally fast. I had to stifle a giggle when she slipped a condom on him – she *was* following our fantasy scenario. That may have been the last straw as far as far as he was concerned, though – a moment later he had undone the bows on her panties and had the crotch open.

Even over in the closet, I could see that the material was soaked, and could smell her arousal. He got the full benefit of it. He growled deep in his chest, scooped her up, and carried her to the bed.

She wiggled around, slightly, to give me a better view, and spread her legs wide. Even from the closet, I could see the exited pink of her inner pussy and hear her whispered “Come on! Fuck me, fuck me *now*!”.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Almost before she had finished speaking, he was on her. I could clearly see his cock sliding into her cunt, and how she bucked up to meet him. Until she got too involved in her own frenzy, she made sure that I had a good viewing angle. Even afterwards, the view was beyond belief.

Was this really my shy, reserved wife, fucking a perfect stranger like a perfect slut just to turn her husband on? Yes, it was – and “slut” was the term, I decided, as she rolled him over on his back and started riding him like a madwoman, all wild eyes and bouncing breasts. Even after they both came, and he started hurriedly dressing, she lay sprawled obscenely on the bed.

The door had barely closed behind him when I burst out of the closet.

“Did you enjoy your present, honey?” she started to ask. Before she could add anything further, I was on her.

I was like a madman that night. I fucked her in the bed, kneeling beside it, and in the bathroom. I woke up twice in the night, and had her again. Even the next morning, I took her in the shower.


I suppose that she is right – I *am* kinky. It’s not that I can’t get jealous – the thought of losing her is more than I can bear; finding a perfect lady may be hard, but finding a perfect, loving slut is even harder.

If I didn’t *know* that she loved me, I would probably explode with rage if she ever did anything like this again. As it is, I just get hornier. She finally admitted to me that she has a fantasy about two men taking her at once . . .

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