“I wouldn’t call it cheating.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wanted you to do it.”
I stood up, stepped over to the bed. The scent of sex was strong in the air, it made me feel a little light-headed, stirred the blood a little quicker around my veins.
“And you’re not just saying that?” she asked.
I looked down on her, surveying her post-coital form. God, I’d never wanted her more. Perspiration mottled her brow, her chest, her stomach. The little patch of her between her legs was drenched.
“Why would I just say that?” I asked.
“Because you’re a peacemaker. It’s your nature.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, leaned down to kiss her mouth. She flinched, pulled away.
“Wait until I’ve showered,” she said.
“No need.”
“Rico — “
“Rico’s just giving us some space. He thinks he’s broken our marriage.”
“And has he?”
I kissed her. “Of course not.”
She kissed me back, uncertain at first, since she’d just been so intimate with another man, before she seemed to grow in confidence, figuring either that I just wasn’t generally squeamish about a woman fresh from coitus — or that I was accustomed to picking up Rico’s leftovers.
I smelled him on her. I tasted him on her lips. It didn’t bother me. It had the strange effect of unsettling the familiarity I had for her, perhaps emphasizing the sense of adventure about her for going through with this, for sleeping with Rico in front of me.
I pulled off my shirt, and now Isla unfastened the fly of my pants and shoved them down just far enough for my hardness to spring free.
She was all smiles as her fingers found their way around my shaft, feeling for herself just how turned on I was by her after what she’d done.
I kissed her again as she began to slowly pump my cock, brushing the hair back out of her face, sucking on her lips, tangling my tongue with hers. She was passionate in response, showing me what she felt for me, how much she loved me still.
“You forgive me, then?” I asked her as she eventually broke away from our kiss, and moved down to remove my pants completely.
“Forgive you?”
“For… you know… Mary Parker.”
She laughed. “That’s why you let me sleep with Rico?”
“No. I let you because I wanted to.”
“But you still think I should just forgive you?”
“I thought it might make you understand… that Mary Parker didn’t mean anything.”
Isla went back to slowly pumping my hard cock. “I’m not sure it’s as easy as that,” she said, teasing me.
I kissed her again, and my hand swept down over her breasts, her stomach, feeling her hot, damp flesh, skirting over her mound and through the sodden patch of hair between her legs before dipping down to find the slickness of her pussy, all rose red and dripping from use by another man.
She moaned as I touched her there, and lay flat on her back, granting me access. I kissed my way down her body, swirling her nipples in my mouth, sucking on her breasts, winding my way down her stomach.
And with two fingers inside her, stroking her from within, I took her clit in my mouth, doing nothing much more than covering it in my heat to start with, before beginning to very gently suck. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of her arousal, of her sex.
“I can see… what he meant… when he said the two of you had different… skills…” Isla said, although she should have known it immediately Rico had entered her.
I looked up to see the bathroom door open, and now Rico stepped out, fresh from a rinse under the shower. He quietly dropped onto the bed beside Isla, reaching over with one hand to touch her breasts.
“You guys’ve worked things out, then?” he smiled, then groaned as Isla reached to take hold of his cock in her hands.
“Uh-huh,” she said.
She stoked the back of my head as I licked her clit and around her pussy, sliding my fingers inside her to seek out her g-spot. Rico began kissing her mouth as she continued to stroke his thickening cock, but then it wasn’t so long before he was moving up to her head so she could take his hardness in her mouth again.
It had been an awfully long time since Rico and I had taken a girl together, but because this was my wife, it just about blew my mind. The way she moaned as I swirled my tongue around her clit and she swirled hers around Rico’s cock, it was just heaven to me.
We took things slowly — it had always been like this with Rico, but with Isla being the focus of our attention, it seemed extra important for me to go slow with her to avoid a premature end to my enjoyment of it.
Isla moved, swinging her hips away from me, then urging me up on the bed, to lie on my back. Then she was leaning over me, taking my hardness in her mouth, and Rico was sliding his great cock back inside her pussy. He wasn’t pounding her this time, though. He was moving only very slowly, perhaps an inch in and out. It was more about allowing her to experience being filled by another man while she tended to her husband’s cock.
And Isla came that way, once, maybe twice. She didn’t need long. The whole thing was just too incredible for her, taking two men at once.
Then after a long while, Rico stepped up his pace a little more, his hands clutching Isla’s breasts as he began to fuck her a little more actively. My wife’s slow moaning turned into a breathless panting again, and the distraction was a little too much for her to concentrate on sucking my cock. A lashing from her tongue, some kissing around my shaft was what I got, though she took me inside her mouth now and then.
Rico rolled out of the way after a while, though he hadn’t come again. Let Isla straddle me and take my cock inside her hot, soaking wet pussy. I wasn’t imagining it that her pussy felt slightly different than I remembered around my hardness. Rico tended to have that effect on girls. It only spurred on my arousal, though.
She rode me, and I thrust inside her, my arms sweeping over her body as we moved together, our lips pressing against each other, tongues slipping inside mouths, reconnecting on a seriously deep level.
Then Rico was back, feeding her his cock, giving her that experience of being filled at both ends by two men.
It was so decadent, it seemed so wrong considering that she was my wife, and yet it was the most sensational experience I’d ever had. The three of us rolled around that bed taking pleasure from the contact of male on female in whichever way seemed good at the time. Isla fucked me while sucking on Rico. Isla leaned over me to take me in her mouth while Rico took her from behind. Isla stroked Rico with her breasts while I slid into her from behind.
We’d pause sometimes, sometimes even sleep a little, then wake to start with it all over again.
It was sweaty and messy and smeary and sweary, as the three of us came time after time, as though trying to break some kind of record.
And I even watched as Rico slid his big, hard cock into Isla’s tight asshole, something she’d never ever done with me. Something, as it turned out, that she’d never done with anyone up to that point. But it was a night for busting taboos, it seemed. Things just happened like that.
It was only when the sun was coming up that the energy among us was completely depleted, and we collapsed splayed out on the bed, spent.
After that, when eventually we rose and hit the showers, dressed and said our farewells to Rico, Isla did forgive me for Mary Parker.
“But it’s conditional,” she added as we walked across town to my office building, where the car was waiting patiently.
“Conditional?”
She grinned. “Conditional on us seeing Rico again.”
“You know we’ll see him again,” I said. “He’s a good friend.”
“I mean seeing him again,” she said, emphasizing the word ‘seeing’.
I felt my heart do a little pirouette at the thought. “Sure,” I said. “I don’t have a problem with that.”
<<<>>>
Fertility Rites
I shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have known. She was supposed to start the “dating” without any fuss, without even letting me know it was really happening.
And on this night, I should have been following our established routine — I would get home from work somewhat later than normal, since I wouldn’t have anything to rush home for — I wouldn’t have to be home for my sweet wife because she would be out. I’d happily assume Lisa was out with her girlfriends, nothing to concern myself with.
Nothing to get jealous about.
Only, as it happened, on this particular night I didn’t stay at the office too late. I arrived home just as she was leaving the house, all dressed up for her “date” — looking phenomenal. I was parked up in the street, opposite our house. She could have spotted me, except that a lot of cars in our street were black, and since she wasn’t expecting me to be there, she wasn’t looking for our car.
I saw our front door open, and Lisa stepped nervously onto the street. She looked so beautiful in a smart black dress that dropped down to mid-thigh level — sexy, though not slutty. Her long dark hair was tied back in a plait, dropping just about to her waist. Her trim legs were clad in black nylon.
My heart felt crushed by some invisible vice. I could have pulled myself out of the car, stood up, called out to her. Stop, please. I can’t do this after all. Only, while my heart felt crushed, the rest of me felt alive like never before — and my manhood was so hard in my pants, I had to adjust the way I sat in the driver’s seat for fear of injury.
Lisa adjusted her dress and lifted its hem briefly to check for lint, and the tops of her stockings were revealed. Jesus she was hot. She so rarely wore them, but this was a date, her first in ten years. She was dressed up especially for the pleasure of another man.
My hard cock throbbed in my pants, as if trying to remind me of the central reason for all this. Or trying to offer me some kind of consolatory prize — unexpected arousal from all this, because biologically things between my thighs had failed us, leading to this drastic action of ours.
I wasn’t supposed to see Lisa leave our house like this. That had been the strategy, a strategy based on the expectation that I would be devastated when our plan actually went into action, despite all my sharing of Lisa’s desperation to have children. When we’d first raised the idea, all those months ago, it hadn’t started off as a serious suggestion. We’d laughed about it. Of course it would never happen.
Then came the stark reality of our situation. There had been tears, stony silences, much thinking outside of the box in order to come up with some kind of solution. I’d even offered her a divorce — she shouldn’t be childless just because my biology was faulty. Of course we’d researched the medical alternatives — and we’d stretched to three cycles of IVF using donor sperm.
It hadn’t worked. And at £5,000 per cycle, we couldn’t keep going. And even if it did work on the sixth, seventh, eighth cycle, how would we even afford a child, if we spent all our money on conception? Then there were the effects of the process on Lisa herself — extreme nausea, fatigue, depression from all the hormones. That couldn’t go on, either.
So the curious plan of Lisa conceiving naturally with some willing donor — in the form of a date — re-emerged. Maybe we could just get someone to supply a cup, she’d suggested. Implant it manually inside her. The scientific method had failed us three times, we were hardly persuaded by the possibilities of a donor providing his sperm in a cup.
I bit the bullet and said she should just do it. Find some suitable man, willing to do what we needed, and sleep with him. Maybe even back then I felt the early stirrings of this strange sexual fantasy deep inside. I was hardly in a position to understand any of it if I did.
The way we talked about it, she could do it on the quiet — not even tell me when it happened — and then if we were lucky, she would conceive naturally and we might even come to believe the baby was naturally mine, with Lisa even suggesting she could bury the secret of how it actually came to be, forget about it.
After three troubled nights without much sleep, we came to the decision to do it.
“And you’re sure about this?” she said to me. “You definitely want to do this?”
The way she looked at me, I felt like a fraud. Because she was going to have to do all the work. Find the guy, make sure she liked him, make sure he was on board with the conditions of donation. Sleep with him.
“It’s our best option,” I said, and it was decided.
We both thought about the process. In the beginning, it seemed safer to Lisa to go ahead with it, and I wouldn’t know a thing. But I wanted to feel like I was contributing — and there was that whole strange buzz about thinking about Lisa going on a date with some stranger.
At first, though, it seemed that I could detach myself from the personal nature of what was happening. I could act like a potential parent, rather than a potentially jealous husband. Think rationally, rather than emotionally.
But I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to know — and yet oddly, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with Lisa knowing I wanted to know. It would embarrass me to be caught being fascinated with this strange semi-secretive compelled adultery on her part.
Chances were, she’d have to sleep with the guy more than once. We could do all the scientific ovulation tests we liked, but chances would increase if attempts at conception happened more than once. Lisa was concerned that sleeping with another man more than once would be difficult to hide from me. I’d know where she was — if not the first time, then the second, the third.
My rational self said it didn’t matter. I’d have to know it was happening at some point anyway. I just had to deal with the hardship. Her sleeping with someone else wouldn’t mean she no longer loved me. I knew she’d only be doing it to have children. And if we had the money, we’d be using donor sperm anyway.
My inner self was quietly keen on feeling how it would be to be cheated on in this way.
We put a profile together on an adult dating site. We were clear from the outset what was happening, what we wanted. We weren’t going to dupe someone. At the same time, we made it clear we were not looking for a donor to be involved in the child’s upbringing. I had a few stiff drinks as Lisa’s profile went live. The only other thing we really talked about was the idea that the man she was looking for ought, if possible, to look like me. That would make everything more easy all round.
After that, the process was in Lisa’s hands. I wasn’t supposed to know anything about how it was progressing. She would tell me only when she became pregnant, or if it did not seem to be working. She took up some evening classes, made her gym visits more frequent, started going out more regularly with her friends — all so that when she did have a date, she could slip me a white lie about keeping one or other regular commitment, and I would be none the wiser.
At the same time, she cut back on her alcohol with the simple explanation to her friends that we were trying for a baby.
For my part, I aided her by starting to work fairly late into the evening at the office every night, unless she told me ahead of time that she’d be home for supper. On the surface, I was able to strike a cool, neutral pose, as though I really wasn’t thinking about any of this any more. Underneath, though, naturally I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I came to like the strange buzz from knowing it was really going to happen. Initially I even told myself it was simply part of the excitement from knowing we were about to become parents for the first time. Yet in quiet moments, I thought about Lisa sifting through profiles of other men, perhaps messaging a few of them, chatting about the prospect of sleeping with one. I thought of Lisa arranging a date, secretly slipping away to meet a man in a bar somewhere, perhaps booking a hotel room in case he turned out to be suitable.
I thought about my beautiful dark-haired temptress taking another man to bed — and enjoying her first taste of strange in a
decade. Lisa being unfaithful, with my underlying consent, so that we could start a family. Lisa, enjoying the experience way more than she should.
Lisa coming back to me after sex with another man.
Lisa lying in bed with me, quietly satisfied after being filled by someone else. Lisa kissing me on the cheek after getting home from what I believed to be a night class, or a night out with the girls, and in reality she would be full of another man’s come, hoping that it would be working miracles inside her.
Those thoughts made my little ongoing buzz surge into all-out excitement. They made me so hard, I had to worry about hiding my erection for the first time since adolescence. It was clear to me why I couldn’t stop thinking about it, why I felt such a thrill.
I wanted Lisa to sleep with another man. I wanted her to experience the pleasure of a new sexual partner — the flirting, the giggling, the sighing, the moaning as another man worshipped her, showing her just how gorgeous she was, since her husband was duty-bound to compliment her, which reduced his compliments’ power.
I wanted my Lisa to be a naughty, dirty, unfaithful sex goddess.
So. While I was supposed to forget about the whole “dating” thing, the whole conception thing, in reality I didn’t. I didn’t even try to forget. I monitored every tiny detail I could for clues as to how Lisa was getting on. She’d get home from her job as a publicist for a small theatre in Hackney, and she’d make me believe she was doing a little work while I made supper. I’d know from her little half-hidden smiles, the flashes in her eyes and the soft pink blush on her cheeks that the ‘work’ she was engaged in was really to do with that dating site.
She’d giggle or sigh or react in some other way every now and then, and I’d bang and crash about in the kitchen to make it appear that I hadn’t heard her involuntary vocal response to something some other guy had told her in an email or a message, or whatever.
I watched how my wife started dressing a little more like a single woman, how she bought some new perfume — how she bought some new lingerie, as though she could hide that from me. It caused little pangs inside me, that she would buy sexy new underwear for dates with other men, and not for her husband. And I won’t say I didn’t experience fear — fear that somehow, Lisa was forging a relationship with a new man, that when she slept with him she might choose him over me. He would be the father of her child, after all, biologically.
Wives with Benefits: Volume Two Page 3
