I looked over at Natalie.
“I'm not finished with you yet,” I mouthed.
It wasn't the first time we had played this game.
I had more or less confessed my secret desires to Natalie, on many occasions, but Natalie seemed to take the whole thing as a joke. Or perhaps that's not the best way to put it: she didn't think it was funny or even that perverse, she just assumed it was for play-acting only. Like dressing up in a costume. So she had been willing, on a few occasions, to say that she was thinking about some other man while we had sex.
Much less so nowadays. In fact, I couldn't even remember the last time we had indulged in any kind of fantasy, or any kind of sex that wasn't just missionary-style sex. An item on checklist of things that needed doing twice a week, sort of like laundry.
But that night, we walked into the hotel like two new lovers. We were both excited, and I could feel it between us. The feeling itself was intoxicating, and so it fueled even further excitement. By the time we opened the door to the room I could barely think about or feel anything but the ache in my cock and how much I wanted to sate it with Natalie's drenched cunt.
I pushed her against the wall and placed my hand on her chin, drinking up her mouth in mine. I shook off my coat to the floor as I did this. A little awkwardly, my hands got caught in the sleeves and I had to crush against her to get it off. But it was just more excuse to be melted into her body, and she didn't seem to mind.
“You seem really excited,” I said suggestively, sliding my hand up to her panties and pulling them aside to get my fingers into her soaked folds again. My mouth was close to her lips, and I flung a prayer somewhere that she was going to play along. “Care to tell me why that is?”
Natalie was not a dumb chick, which had its advantages (at a time like this) and its disadvantages (at other times). Her mouth turned up suggestively and I knew she was going to go along with it tonight.
“You mean like Ethan?”
Even a sentence like that made me wild. I stroked her clit with my finger now, and I smiled back before I bit her lower lip lightly. “Like Ethan, huh?” I said. “You like thinking about Ethan?”
I saw a little flash of hesitant embarrassment color her cheeks, and her eyes dropped. But then her smile returned. “He has pretty nice hands,” she murmured.
“Oh yeah?” I said, probing deeper into her wet flesh and making her gasp lightly. “And what makes you say that?”
Her eyes flickered up and met mine. Another shy smile, and then she dove in: “Well, you know what they say, the bigger the hands...”
There was, in Ethan's case (and I could attest to this, as could everyone in Yorkdale, because Ethan had no problem getting naked at pretty much any venue if he had the right motivation) a certain amount of truth to the hand-cock comparison. His cock, in fact, was a great deal like his hands: veined, good-sized, and thick.
Natalie pushed against my chest lightly, and I felt a pang of worry that maybe things had gone a bit too far for her. But her hands were hot through my shirt and they slid down my chest and began to work into my pants. She pulled my shirt out and they were back against my skin, moving over my chest. When her fingertips moved over my nipples they hardened and she pinched me softly. Her hands moved back down, into my pants, under my boxers.
“Hmm,” she murmured, when her fingers brushed over my swollen cock, which by now was pressed tight up against my underwear and painfully into the zipper of my jeans. Her eyes met mine again, and my dick flexed with the sensual look she gave me. “You really like the idea of Ethan's big hands all over my body, don't you?”
Her hot fingers disappeared for a moment, and then I felt her unbuttoning my jeans, sliding the zipper down, pulling at my boxers. Just enough to free my cock, which sprang loose, sticky with precum and hard as it had been in my adult life. It rubbed against the silky material of her dress, and I reached down to pull the dress up just as she slithered away from me.
Down.
She slid down to her knees, gently pushing me back a step. The crown of my cock slid over her breasts and along her cheek as she came to rest on her knees. She brought her left hand up to grasp my cock, and gave it a squeeze. Her tongue flicked out to taste the precum dripping from the end of my dick. “You like it a lot,” she said.
My hands, all the while, had been suspended in the air sort of stupidly, because I was so taken aback by what she was doing. I dropped them to her hair, and I pushed it back from her face as she opened her mouth and used her hand to guide my cock inside of her wet mouth.
Her lips closed around the head of my cock, and I felt her tongue darting around on the contours of my glans. Dipping into the hole, sliding over the ridge of the crown, all the while just the aching head of my cock was enveloped in the heat of her mouth.
I sank my fingers into her hair, and then I grasped it and pulled her head forward as I watched her lips slide down my cock. At the middle of my shaft, I felt a slight resistance to going further, but when I pressed her gently she went ahead and took my whole dick inside of her mouth.
I stared at my shaft disappearing into Natalie's mouth until her lips reached the curls of pubic hair at the base.
I looked up at the ceiling, trying to block my mind from imagining that this was Ethan's cock, and that she had filled her whole mouth with his big, thick dick. I looked back down as she began to bob up and down the length of my cock, and her eyes lifted to meet mine.
I pictured the scene as though I were standing to the side, and the cock in her mouth was not mine, but another man's. That she was greedily slurping up Ethan's cock the way she was doing to me right now...
“Nat-” I breathed, and I touched the back of her head. I could feel the cum boiling up and I was about to burst in her mouth.
She released me just in time, and her left hand returned to my shaft. She pumped the cum from dick and let the ropes of creamy liquid streak her chest and her throat while she stared at the cum spurting from my cock.
“Fuck,” I groaned, as my orgasm seized me.
Natalie fell back against the wall behind her, and looked up at me with a smile. Her hair was mussed, and she was sticky with cum all over her chest and even her cheek. I would never admit this to her, but the sight of her looking so defiled was incredibly thrilling – especially, especially if I let myself indulge in the idea that the white cum sinking into her skin was not mine, that the hands that had ruffled her hair were someone else's.
I put a hand against the wall to prop myself up, leaning over her.
“I hope you're not done yet,” she said.
My head was still fuzzy, a light buzz making me half-deaf. I let my other hand fall to my cock, and it twitched when I touched it but I confirmed what I had thought was true: I wasn't done at all. “Get on the bed,” I told her. I pushed myself away from the wall to let her get up.
She rose to her feet, sliding herself up against the wall, her eyes on mine. She was shorter now – she must have kicked off her shoes.
I put my thumb out and touched her lips. A shudder went through me as I imagined what it would be like to find a slippery drop of cum on her lower lip, knowing it wasn't mine. I put my hand behind her head and kissed her forcefully, moving at the same time toward the bed. I turned her around, and pushed her onto the bed on her hands and knees, face first.
Her dress had crawled up body by now, but I still had the pleasure of pushing it up and over the round hump of her ass. Her panties were a beautiful wreck like her hair and her face, damp and twisted from the several times I'd probed into her. I yanked at them and pulled them down to her knees.
I savored the sight for a moment, letting her squirm. She dropped her chest to the bed, so that her ass was turned up to me, her legs bound together at the knee by her dank panties, and her trimmed bush and dripping cunt bursting from between her asscheeks. She was swollen with excitement, and the scent of her cunt was strong.
I knelt on the bed and pried her pussy lips apart with my fingers to e
xpose the rosy-pink folds of her inner labia and the nest little button of her clit, which was engorged by now.
Then I bent over and pushed her forward so that I could explore her with my mouth.
My tongue slipped over her flesh like it was made of silk, because her own cum and her juices were still gushing around in her folds. She tasted sweeter than usual, though it had been forever since she had let me explore her cunt with my mouth. I sucked her clit up between my lips and pressed them together. Her body reacted violently with a shake. I did it again, and she squirmed.
I moved backward onto the floor and pulled her by the feet toward me. I liked her knees together like that, so I pushed her legs to the side and used my hands to hold her butt more or less facing me still. Then I pried her open with fingers and dove in. I pushed down with my tongue to get pressure on her clit, rhythmically kneading her knob, and I used my right hand to plunge into her hole and literally spread her wide open.
By then my cock was ready to go again, and even though it might have been fun to make her come all over my face, I wanted to sink my dick into her. I really wanted to fuck her, as dirtily as I could. I stood up, and Natalie sighed with disappointment because she had been tremblingly close to coming again.
I slid two fingers into her cunt, and cupped her ass with my wrist turned away. “Scoot up,” I said, pushing her forward. She sort of crawled toward the head of the bed, my hand pushing her along. The submissive pose made my cock bounce wildly. I climbed onto my knees behind her, my hand still in her cunt.
I withdrew my hand, and as I did I drew my fingers up and over her asshole. An idea to try and go there, work my finger inside of her tight hole, crossed my mind. But one thing at a time, and better not press my luck, I thought.
I guided my cock to her hole, and I pushed it around in the folds of her pussy. Her hard clit darted around beneath the pressure of my crown, slipping away and making Natalie shake with each rub.
I gave myself a moment to think about how Ethan might fuck my wife. He was a filthy guy, with filthy ideas. Ethan wouldn't hesitate to dip his thumb deep into her ass and hold her in the palm of his hand while he slammed his cock in and out of her soaked cunt.
I wanted desperately to say that. Ask my wife how she thought Ethan would fuck her, and hear her tell me that he would fuck her pussy raw. My cock pulsed in my hand as I imagined in excruciatingly pleasurable detail what Natalie's mouth would look like saying the words, “fuck my pussy raw.”
On that note, I wasn't going to make it much longer. I thrust myself into her, and slid my thumb up and over her asshole as I did, tantalizing myself one final time with the thought of dipping my finger into her hot flesh.
Natalie gripped the duvet cover as I slammed my cock inside of her. I looked down to watch my dick moving in and out of her pussy. It was so slick with her juices that it shone in the weak light of the hallway lamp – the only one we had turned on. I felt her pussy quivering around me, tightening up as she rode the wave of her own orgasm. I was worried I wasn’t going to last until she came, but she came almost immediately after I had that thought. She pushed herself up on her hands and slammed her ass back into the hollow of my thighs, and the juices of her cunt splurged down and over my balls in a hot wave. I grasped her hips and pulled her onto me, sitting back as I did, and then pushed her up and down on my cock as I exploded inside of her spasming cunt.
She leaned back against me, her head tipped back. I reached around her and stroked her breasts through her crumpled dress, no longer part of anything sexual, just a feeling I enjoyed in my hands. Her throat rumbled and for a second I was unsure what kind of sound she was making. A croaking, drunken laugh escaped her throat, and she leaned back harder into me.
Which was extremely satisfying. Until I felt the duvet cover slipping, and we both went backward and onto the floor.
This could have been a very dangerous thing, so if you're laughing, don't. My cock could have gotten bent or crushed, the way this all went down. Natalie flopped onto the floor next to me, and there was a slightly horrible crunch of her knees or ankles crashing together.
“Natalie!” I said, and I'll admit that my concern for her, the way she was curled up in a fetal position and heaving silently, her hair covering her face, came after I looked down to make sure that I had escaped the commotion... er... un-crumpled myself.
I pulled on her shoulder, and my wife unfolded from her curled position. Her hair slipped away from her face, which was bright red like she was choking.
But she was laughing. Laughing so hard she couldn't breathe.
When she was finally able to take a breath, she gave a huge snort.
I was laughing, too, then, and I suppose that's why there was never a serious conversation about what had just transpired. We watched trashy, reality TV while we drank some more wine and we didn't fall asleep until four am.
As I mentioned, Natalie knew a little about my sexual fantasies. At least, she wouldn't have fallen over from the shock of it if she ran into a hotwifing porno on my computer, or someone said to her: “Hey I think your husband fantasizes about you with another man.”
She just didn't seem to really believe they were as... well, real as they were. Which is fair, because I wasn't sure exactly how real they were, either.
It was a long road from when these fantasies started for me, which was pretty much from my first girlfriend, to being able to even enjoy them inside my own mind by myself. Let alone being able to voice them, however “fantastically,” to my wife.
When I first started having thoughts about my first girlfriend, Jessica, making out with some other guy, I'd dismissed it as pure jealousy and insecurity. Just another moving, incomprehensible part of the obsession I had with women when I was an adolescent.
Or, that's how I like to frame it now. I was a fucking teenager; I didn't know myself and I probably didn't have a single thought that coherent in my head. But I do remember those ideas percolating up inside of my mind, and I remember actively chasing them away.
I think I figured those thoughts would eventually go away, like a few other curiosities I had at the time. But with each successive relationship, and in fact the more profound my relationships became, the more that kind of thought – of watching that girl with another guy - would spring up in my head.
It took me a while to even be brave enough to admit to myself, in spite of all the... well, hard evidence... that thoughts about my girlfriends sleeping with other men was a sexual turn-on for me.
I grew up in a small-ish town in South Carolina that only recently got swallowed up by the growing city and became a "gentrified" suburb. Back in school, boys were boys or they got stomped on, so even if you weren't a particularly swashbuckling football-playing tobacco-spitting gongo-head, you sure as hell acted like you were unless you wanted your ass kicked. I had the good fortune (or bad, depending on how you look at it) of being Ethan Cooke's next-door neighbor, and he always took a shining to me. So I was pulled into the circle of jocks, and I assume they would have given me a lot more shit had Ethan not been the consummate alpha-male. It helped that I could catch a ball and run really fast with it.
The point of all this is that if you had a thought in your head like, “I'd like to see my girlfriend fuck another guy,” or anything else off the well-beaten Traditional Testosterone Path, you kept it the fuck to yourself.
I went to community college for a year, and then university on my academic merits. Ethan went to the same school on his athletic merits, so our orbits slowly teased themselves apart. Free of his Jupiter-sized gravitational pull, I got to thinking on my own. Watching my girlfriends when they interacted with other men, feeling it pulse through my cock, lying awake after having sex or going home and allowing myself to think about. Think about it for the sheer pleasure of it. Think about it because I liked it.
I don't have any idea why it took me so long to turn to the internet. I wasn't really a porn guy beyond the average porn-swapping. Ethan's buddies were always shoving
it in my face, and I watched because it was there or someone gave it to me, so there was really never any need to go find it myself. I was a good-looking guy, athletic, and I didn't spend a lot of time being lonely.
When I got to college I really had better things to do – real girls to chase, an identity to carve out.
But eventually, I found myself out there, searching for what it was I wanted, not really knowing what that was.
And I found it.
What a nice revelation it was, that day I stumbled onto a whole universe of porn centered around the idea that there were men out there – and lots of them, by the look of it – who enjoyed watching their girlfriends (and to my shock, I guess, wives) fuck other guys.
It wasn't so much that the porn was really great. It wasn't, in fact, because the whole thing about this fetish is that it has to be your girlfriend, and so it was pretty hard to get some porn going that dug into me the same way. What was great was the realization that this was not just some fucked up thing in my own mind. There were a lot of guys out there who got off to their wives and girlfriends fucking someone else.
For a while, in fact, all the way through to the first two years' of my marriage, I was satisfied with just enjoying that fantasy for myself. A weight had been lifted, in the sense that I now felt free to just enjoy the fantasy instead of worrying about why I was having it. I didn't even really consider actually talking to my wife about it.
But like everything does, I guess, my thrills sort of faded, and I decided I wanted something more. Well, a bottle of wine and I decided together that I wanted something more.
It happened one night when Natalie and I got into a little bit of an argument because I had too much to drink when I was supposed to be driving, and we had to take a cab home. While I had gone outside to have a smoke and clear my head, I'd watched a the husband of a friend of hers, whose party we were at, console her. But yeah, that kind of consolation.
The Houseguest: A Novel About Sharing (and) Temptation Page 3
