Our Dark Secret

by Derrin Hart

  There was really nowhere to go from there. I thought perhaps we were heading into more talks, but I was devastated and so was she. We dropped swinging again and tried to find some solace in each other. We put family first and stayed home a lot. I was bored and wondered if we could get back on track with at least a few hookups in the future. I let it go for some time.

  The Halloween party we had planned was coming up, and Sara loved dressing up in costumes. It was only a party, and I would go on to tell her, we’d just go and have fun, no need to hook up with any guys or couples. We just needed to get out of the house.

  The problem was, after the phone number debacle, she knew we’d never met Tyron again.

  She was thinking, why go and meet anyone, why not stop cold turkey? However, to satisfy me, and not make it into a Tyron-or-bust thing, Sara had no choice but to feign interest. I had no idea she had turned to her confidant at work. Her new friend was her ear for all our married-couple secrets.

  Sydney would listen to Sara everyday at lunchtime. Sara told her EVERYTHING! I had no idea about these conversations. I was, however, concerned that Sara was keeping secrets from me.

  Once I had found that phone number, my faith in her loyalty had crumbled. I would now check the cellphone bill myself. I would search her cellphone for texts and numbers unknown to me. I would constantly wonder if she had taken a lover on the side.

  Halloween was one of Sara’s fun holidays, and since we had helped arrange the party a long time back, she agreed to attend the bash. A constant debate went on in my mind these days. What was my role in this wife-sharing scheme? What did my wife really feel deep within? I knew that seeing her satisfied in bed was such a big turn-on that I could hardly imagine our life without it. I was myself constantly masturbating to the vids and pics I had taken of the encounters; they were all that could get me hard. I would be open to anything she really desired now. In truth, I guess more and more I was becoming a more traditional cuckold. She could probably demand anything of me as long I could see her nude legs spread and a hung guy making her moan.

  There had to be a way to find better candidates. I searched for long hours looking for that perfect stud. I went out and bought Sara more sexy panties and g-strings that were so hot they burned. I picked up new bra and panty sets, lingerie, high-heeled boots, more thigh-high stockings, better belly-piercing styles, and more and more extra large condoms. I made sure she had new skirts, tops, and even invested in the new glass-made dildos for her pleasure. She was well equipped, to say the least. I gave her more sex, bought more Viagra. We discussed the cervix and how experts claimed that it had very sensitive nerve endings that would take flight when penetrated by a larger organ. I asked if she would prefer we meet couples only now. This would avoid issues perhaps.

  She confided that the light-skinned guy named Don had even made comments that were “not right.” I had never heard that one before. Other than Tyron, he had been the only guy we had met twice. I became interested in what he had said to her. She went on to say he offered to be her boyfriend if we ever split because she was so incredible. It was after the first time we had partied with him. He did not ask again the second time. For God’s sake! I did not know that. All these swinging, open marriage wife swapping wife-lending situations packed too much bullshit. I, too, began to wonder if it all was worth the effort.

  Before Halloween came, I managed to become online friends with a hot black guy from the Midwest. He was a very rugged dark-skinned dude with a big smile and even bigger dong. He had personality, was very funny, and I liked his style. To make matters interesting, he liked to fly, and was more than willing to fly into our home state and meet up. He and Sara would look incredible together. I set up a phone conversation one night, and they hit it off quite well. He made her crack up, and his English accent made her hot. His pictures online tickled her fancy, too. We had a great match in the works.

  A date was set for an August weekend get-together. The idea was a Friday-night meeting and then another on Saturday, the day after. We had never done this before—a weekend fuck fest for my little baby doll. They got along well on the phone. I wanted my wife to be really into this unique set up. She loved the idea of a lot of sex with someone hot. We’d skip out Friday, getting a sitter, and on Saturday relatives could help out while we “went shopping.” We would skip the shopping of course and meet again for an afternoon bang. I mean, he was traveling so far on an airplane that it was the least she could do—offer sweet pussy all weekend. Sara was excited and all for it.

  As the weekend approached, a phone call was supposed to confirm the weekend’s festivities.

  However, Marlow did not answer the call. We got his voice recorder, saying he was unable to come to the phone. I began to panic and kept calling and emailing. But we heard nothing. The weekend came, he never called and we were out of luck. Sara was like, “This is ridiculous. Why do we even try?” She had a point. When, days later, I made contact with Marlow, he said in his best English accent that there had been a flood in his area and he’d had to deal with a big mess.

  We did not know what to think. But, we never did meet the guy. Another excuse came up the following weekend—a baseball game for his son—so we just gave up.

  I envisioned so many fantasies that could be fun for us to try. If there were no good studs that turned her on, we’d try new things and go in other directions. Sara, however, wanted just one hot guy. All my plans were not coming to fruition. I suggested we try a truck-stop setting, maybe some flashing on her part. I offered the idea of a glory hole, where strange cock came through hidden holes in booths. She could suck or fuck them without being seen. None of my ideas piqued her interest.

  October finally arrived, and we put together costumes for the Halloween swinger’s ball. Sara was going to be a sexy bunny. I was to be a gothic vampire. The party weekend came and I could only hope the darn single studs all showed up. We arrived early, and the hosts Ted and Tia were friendly as usual and welcomed us with open arms. Their place was amazing—decorated with great spooky yet sexy flair. As I said early, there were three floors, and the woodwork was beautiful. Sara tried on her bunny suit but decided it was not to her liking. She had brought along a superhero outfit as a backup and slipped into a spandex one-piece in no time. Wow, that thing clung to her curves like magic glue. The spandex was shiny black with silver sparkles all over it.

  Her ass popped out from the fabric, and her bosoms sprung out too. She put on long leather black boots to complement this black-and-silver superhero cat suit, and she was a knockout. The thing looked painted on her.

  I, of course, had made sure to invite five hot single men to the party. This was a couples-only party, but the ladies would not complain if a few handsome single men mingled about. The problem was that none had shown up by the time most of the sexy guests had arrived. The music was loud, the drinks flowed, and everyone was having fun. These swinger- type Halloween parties are amazing. We charged the couples to attend and the pot was up to seven hundred dollars in no time. I told you these swinger folks had no concern for money when it came to fantasy and sexual exploration. Inhibitions are out the window and the woman dress so sexy it should be illegal—

  well, it would be at any other normal party.

  A few guys finally popped in—one white fellow who looked okay and a black guy who I thought Sara may find interesting. People mingled about and sex was on everyone’s mind.

  Couples went off to private rooms and some even played in public on the balcony overlooking the dancing guests. A few couples made advances to us. Men mostly would chat with Sara, hoping to get in her cat suit. The wives told me we should all join together for some fun. But, this was just not our thing, and Sara found none of the men really that great, other than that one black dude. The wife of one couple told me we should have a foursome—that I was sexy and her husband was immensely attracted to my Sara.

  We were just not that interested in such a proposition.

  The party moved
downstairs to the open-room play area. We watched the couples making it all in the same room. Naked bodies writhed all about, and even the black guy Sara fancied was joining in. He offered his large, thick penis to a wanton Chinese-American wife who was thrilled with its size. He was also first to mount a black hotwife during our little watching period. Sara seemed disappointed that he had already given it up.

  Later in the evening a friend of ours—a lovely woman called Jules—invited us to the loft.

  There she and her husband were entertaining another couple, and all of them were fondling her naked body resting on the futon. She was an attractive thirty-something lass, and this was her first breakout party. Naked, she spread her legs for the onlookers.

  I touched her too, and man, I liked the fun. A hesitant Sara joined ever so slowly in touching her, and the black fellow from earlier in the evening made an appearance as well. Now Jules’

  husband badly wanted Sara. Earlier in the hallway, he had told me that she was so incredible in her costume he had a constant woody for her. Of all the wives, what a doll she was! He loved class—

  no tattoos, no overdone makeup, just pure beauty, and her hair, the hair of an angel. He said she was one of a kind.

  He, however, would not get Sara. The black guy dressed like a pimp made his move. He fondled Sara from behind, touching her most sensitive parts. He wanted her, and she was sort of indecisive. The entire scene played out and we all kept fondling Jules, even as the guy behind Sara worked to slip her costume off. His fingers moved to her breasts and finally slid into her pussy.

  She was moaning, yet concerned that too many people were watching. It made her nervous. He pulled his large penis out for her, and the more she stroked it, the bigger and thicker it became. But she did not take the bait. She did not want everyone watching; it was too much attention.

  I offered a suggestion: “Honey, would you like to take him to a private room where the three of us can have our own little party?” She looked at me with a horny yet stubborn expression. “I want him, but he was with all those ladies earlier. I’m no second fiddle, so tell him no.” I took him aside and explained, and he dashed off without asking anything.

  There was a young blonde at the party who Sara and I could not help but notice. She looked a lot like Sara and was a doll. The two of them chatted in the later part of the evening and actually shared a kiss. That surprised me. Sara even went so far as to say she was really attracted to this young lady, and that it would be fun to meet her at another party or privately some night.

  The party ended eventually and we helped pick up before hitting the road for the drive back home. We wondered why we even went to those parties. Sara said, “I never find anyone good to be with.”

  I said, “It was still fun, right?”

  She said it was but she felt like some sex should have gone down. Yet she did add, “It helps get us in the mood at least, right? You can do me good with we get home, honey.”

  I stopped at a gas station and popped my Viagra pill without hesitation.

  We laid low in the months ahead. Sara was still thinking that swinging was not for us. There were just too many bad meetings when compared to the good. Now I knew that, with Tyron out of the mix, this would probably be her probable response to our future partying. I, too, was starting to think our days were numbered.

  As time passed, I still had no idea that Sara had confided in her co-worker her experiences with swinging and all the emotions that went with it. Our lifestyle had always been just between us, for sake of our families, professions and the like. However, Sara had more building up then I realized when she talked with this younger woman during lunches.

  Now, any typical twenty-something-year-old married woman would probably not approve of the idea of swinging, even more so of the idea of a wife who was shared with black men. Sara had told her she was debating stopping forever, but did not want her husband—good ol’ me—to be mad or lose affection for her. She wondered now if we could ever have a real relationship—a monogamous lifestyle. They had been confiding in each other, unknown to me, for months. Much to my chagrin, her pal found swinging stupid, dirty, and horrible.

  We celebrated Christmas and on New Year’s Eve I suggested we meet someone.

  I wanted to bring in the New Year in style. The best guy I could think of would be the light-skinned Don; his long lasting gigantic beer-can-thick prick was perfect for the job.

  Sara debated the idea, but ended up saying, “You know what? I could use a great three-hour fuck, so let’s go for it.” So early New Year’s Eve, we teamed up with our good friends Ted and Tia for bar-hopping. Don would meet us later on, and we’d meet at a hotel for the big deep-dick-pounding celebration later in the evening. I was so glad that rockets would burst and my little Sara would be satisfied.

  Don called in between bars to say he was unable to meet. Something had come up, and he would be leaving the state as soon as possible. Sara took the news badly. She was mad, horny and upset. By then I was desperate to please her and ready to be the cuckold I thought I’d never become. I was willing to talk about my lack of sexual prowess and give her permission to randomly meet men. I even considered allowing her the freedom to go condom-less and consenting to eat her afterward. A cream pie was not on my list of fantasies. In the past I would never have gone anywhere near another guy’s jism, let alone clean it up.

  As we rode to another bar, these crazy thoughts lingered in my mind. The whole planning-to-meet a guy thing was not working out.

  None of these thoughts mattered because, unbeknownst to me, our swinging days and my marriage were about to blow up in my face. As the night wore on, I had no idea that what was about to happen in the near future would rock my world.

  We went to a few more bars, even hit a swing party. Couples were out in full force. We ended up hanging out at a bar, just the four of us. It was still fun, but there was no one she found remotely interesting. There would be no sex this New Year’s Eve, and no satisfaction for either of us. The anxiety caused by our failure to hook up was killing us.

  As the new year began, Sara was not open to any talk of swinging. She was not interested in another failure or taking a chance with anyone new. She was secretly talking about us with her co-worker, and she and this so-called friend was debating our lifestyle big-time.

  Her friend heard only Sara’s side, which left out anything positive and spoke only of her emotional pain, guilt, and concern for the future.

  The woman, younger than Sara and recently married, could not understand how any man could share his wife. Her husband would be far too jealous. She told Sara, “He would kill a guy who even tried to hit on me.”

  Hearing this sort of talk day in and day out took a toll on my wife. She was convinced a monogamous relationship would suit her better. Having someone to back her up gave her the strength to confront me. I received a letter that spring. It was placed by my computer screen early one morning.

  Dearest Derrin,

  I’ve come to a point in my life and in this relationship that I must speak out. I am through with swinging. The person I have become needs security. I want to live a regular life. For many years I have tried to please you, to do what you wanted. I went along with these encounters to make you happy. But I can’t separate the body from the spirit. I get way too emotional and it’s killing me. I know that what I am doing is right for me. I feel, however, you will not be able to handle it. You like the thrill and the adventure too much. I love you, but if you can’t live with my decision and be happy, then our marriage is over. I’m afraid that our marriage is done in any case.

  —Sara

  My world came to a sudden halt. I was at a loss for words. I sat in silence pondering what she had said. I loved her dearly; she was a great wife and a good mommy too. Here I was, almost fifty years old and forced to face a new reality. There had been so many signs that had led me to believe she loved the nights out. I know some of the encounters had turned out badly, yet others had been rea
lly exciting and she had seemed so into those … The question was, could I live without them myself? In her letter, she might have hit upon the truth—that I couldn’t handle a monogamous marriage.

  Once one has embraced the cuckold lifestyle, the thought of plain sex minus the voyeurism is daunting. And Sara … how could she ever go back to our vanilla sexual play? How would I ever satisfy her? I loved having a hotwife, but I loved Sara more. I wanted our family to stay together.

  The choice was obvious; I would learn to be happy in a monogamous relationship. If Sara never took a lover again, I would be fine. We spent a long evening discussing everything. She finally admitted she had confided in a co- worker and that woman had given her the strength to come to the decision to never swing again.

  I was not happy with that. People talk, I said. She will tell everyone. You will be looked down on and so will I. Our sexual life is no one’s business but our own.

  None of my ranting mattered. Sara was adamant about her choice, and that was that. We were done with the lifestyle. I was no longer to be the cuckold. I would have to carry the load and learn to satisfy my younger wife. Our marriage held together and months passed by.

  Once things had settled down, a dangerous opportunity presented itself. I just had to mention it to Sara. A pro-athlete swinger was coming to our very town in two weeks. He was doing a clinic for a youth organization and he wanted to meet with us. He had made contact a year earlier; I had not initiated it. I had totally forgotten about him. He was younger than Sara, a current player, built to the max and very handsome; she’d go nuts over him. I debated whether to tell Sara about his visit.

  I decided to let Sara know. If she said no way in hell, I would be fine. I had grown accustomed to the new normal. She in turn was getting used to going without outside sexual play.