A story for you- 'Unfaithful Wife' Pt1

OK, here you go!

Unfaithful Wife Part2

As I turn the corner into our street, I see Paula, framed in the light of the bedroom window, smoking a long, all-white cigarette. She watches me take out my jacket and briefcase, and lock the car. I look up as I walk up the drive towards the door, and with her cigarette dangling between her red lips, she lets her silk robe fall from her shoulders, exposing her nakedness. After watching me for several seconds, she reaches up and closes the curtains.

“Hey!” I say, in the bedroom. “You’ll get us talked about!”

“Huh,” she replies, blowing smoke as she pouts “like they don’t already!”

I laugh. Can’t really argue with her on that point. “But we do have some friends down here…”

She puts her arms around me, and kisses me, pressing her sex against my thigh, moaning. “Babe, I’m a slut, what do you expect…?”

She has certainly made good progress, in recent months, in that direction; our status as a well-off, youngless couple affords us much latitude in terms of how we conduct our sex life (or lives), and as the arguments that had nearly caused us to split were now firmly behind us, we really were able to give free reign to our fantasies. Ironically, the arguments had started when Paula suspected me of having an affair; I denied this, of course, and it soon became apparent to us that I was far more excited by the prospect of her infidelity than my own! Within a very short time, and with my consent (and fascination), she became sexually active with other men.

I smile and point out to her that she most certainly is a slut, and she kisses me, gasping with lust. Having been away on business, I am nicely pent up and the taste of delicious, smoky breath and thick lipstick, for the first time in a week, drives me wild. We kiss frantically as she undresses me, and her cool, soft hand on my cock is exquisite. After several minutes of this, we are both coming close to orgasm, and it’s no surprise to me when she breaks off, and sits up in bed, reaching for her Silk Cuts. Her smoking is an enormous turn on for me, and she likes to prolong foreplay by lighting up.

Her lighter clicks. “You know how much it turns you on when you watch me getting fucked…” She always emphasises the ‘f’ word, and always makes eye contact as she says it.

I nod an assent.

She smiles cheekily and smokes languidly, blowing out a series of perfectly formed rings. “Well, wouldn’t you like to see it more often?”

My pounding chest and rock-hard erection would suggest I would, much to her amusement. It had been over a month now, and I’m actually craving it, dying for it to happen again soon, to be in her presence as she takes more cock, the bigger and more numerous the better. “Uh huh, I thought so…”

She’s kissing my neck, that doe-eyed look on her face. “But Paula, you have to think about the practicalities of it…”

“Mmm…” she replies, breaking off our kiss with a smack and reaching under the bed, to produce her two enormous, black dildos. “You won’t be thinking about practicalities…”
She kneels upright & straddles one of them, penetrating herself with a sigh, and grinding down onto it. The other she holds horizontally, and begins to suck, producing lots of saliva.

“…when you see me doing this…”

I find myself masturbating, and it’s good.

She opens her mouth, and her spit runs from her mouth in an entirely convincing facsimile of semen. Her eyes narrow, devilishly. “…Every- fucking- day.”

I jerk and my spunk erupts skywards in a wonderful, spontaneous orgasm. As I pump out the last of it, gradually returning to earth, there’s no denying it any more; the smug glint in her eye says as much. We both know it. This is how we want our life to be; we want Paula to be a total, 24/7, exhibitionist slut.

Now, I’m fairly shy, and I blush easily. Paula, on occasion, plays to this by acting slutty in public; sometimes, even, to punish me for some small infraction. Once, when we received a surprise wedding invitation from a cousin (who was not especially close, but had recently made a lot of money and wanted to show off her sumptuous and tasteless residence), she agreed to meet me at the garden-party style reception on the pretext of needing to be elsewhere beforehand. She arrived, dressed in a parody of the traditional middle-class summer dress; a flowery Laura Ashley frock and wide brimmed straw hat. Any semblance of respectability was forfeited, however, by the dress being open almost to the navel, and so ridiculously short that it failed to cover her obviously naked buttocks if she leaned more than five degrees forward, an action that would also cause her too-small lacy bra to give up the fight and spill out its jiggling contents, at which point she would feign shock, her over-painted lips forming a surprised pout. As she tottered around in six-inch heels, with a glass of champagne, and a cigarette hanging almost constantly from her mouth, the women stared at her with hate and envy, aged relatives eyed me with pity and the men at the party openly salivated. At one point she disappeared from view; I strolled discretely over to where I thought she’d be- in a quiet, wooded part of the extensive garden, to be rewarded by the sight of her putting the finishing touches to a hand-job with one of the groom’s friends. As I spied through the bush, she slowly stroked him off, showering spunk, obviously deliberately, over her hand and his shirt and trousers. He seemed quite annoyed at this, but Paula just shrugged nonchalantly and continued smoking as she wiped her hand with a tissue. Despite my embarrassment, I was aroused beyond belief, and our sex that night was mind-blowing.

As we lie in bed, we chat excitedly; we know things are going to change for us, but we’re not going to deny what we want any longer. What seemed extreme to us at first- Paula’s serial unprotected stranger-sex in that alley, and her passionate and protracted glammed-up bedroom romps with other men (with my blessing)- though exciting, didn’t go far enough. That much we agree on, but we resolve to give some thought to the nature of our intended new lifestyle, and how it would progress. I fall arelax soon afterwards, but despite my post-coital relaxation, dream feverishly.

* * *

A couple of weeks ago, I had posted an account of our activities, to date, on an erotic literature website. Checking my emails a few days after our revelation, I discover I have some feedback from the website. One reader had said how much he had enjoyed the ‘story,’ and that I had described Paula very vividly, and also my feelings as her ‘cuckold.’

I’m a bit surprised to hear myself described in this way; I just like watching my wife being fucked, to feel that heart-wrenching pang as she blatantly displays her preference for another man’s cock- surely this is a fairly common fetish. Does it make me a ‘cuckold?’

I resolve to find out. My first port of call is the permister who left the feedback, fortunately not anonymously, leaving an email address. It actually turns out to be a middle-aged woman, called June.

In my email, I tell her that the story is in fact true, and I also tell her a bit about us, and the subject of our recent conversation. She replies very quickly, saying she was surprised and pleased to hear that it was a true story, and that I most certainly was a cuckold, and the sooner I realised, it the better.

I tell her that we don’t really have a domme/sub relationship; she replies again, saying that the cuckold lifestyle was subtler than that, but certainly required presentation on my part. She included some links to websites I might find interesting, including a discussion forum, of which she is a moderator.

As Paula and I peruse the sites, we are amazed by the permisteral stories, from the people who subscribe to that lifestyle. An inevitable question was ‘why?’ For anyone brought up on the middle-class mantra that a marriage should be between equal partners, it seemed bizarre that people would want to live this way. Bizarre, and erotic.

I ask June her opinion on this, and she asks if she can meet us for takes one evening, and discuss the subject. As we are not far apart, in different suburbs of London, it seems like a good idea.

The following Thursday, she joins us at our table in an exclusive piano bar. I stand up to greet her- she is early 50s, slim with short auburn hair and ‘European’ glasses. Wearing a pinstripe suit, with fine, manicured nails and low heels, she looks expensive. She exudes a stern, bitchy confidence. Sitting down in the sofa opposite us, she reaches in her Louis Vuitton bag, and takes out a pack of More menthol 120s. She sees Paula is smoking already, so she doesn’t offer her one of the brown cigarettes. Extracting one from the green pack, she looks at me as she delicately places the filter between her lips with the tips of two fingers. I reach across with Paula’s gold lighter, and June touches her tip to the flame, breathing a smoky ‘thank you,’ with a smile.

I pour her a glass of wine. “It’s lovely to meet you, June!”

Paula agrees. “And thanks for replying to our emails, too! We must come across as being completely ignorant…”

“Not at all,” the lady replies. “I loved to hear of your adventures. Particularly so,” she smiles, “now I know they’re true!”

“What’s your interest in the subject we’ve been talking about?” I ask.

She replies, in a normal conversational voice “I cuckold my husband. We’ve lived the life for ten years now.”

I glance around; the other takeers present are enjoying their takes and chat, obliviously.

“Don’t worry,” she smiles, taking a drag. “They won’t register what we’re talking about.”

Paula smiles back. “It’s so nice in here, we can’t possibly be discussing anything dirty!”

June agrees, exhales slowly at the ceiling, and resumes. “He married me for that purpose; he’s a rich man, and knew what he wanted. Very soon after we were married, I took a lover, then another and another. My latest lover is just 30.”

“So, what’s in it for your husband?” I ask.

She fixes me with an icy stare, her cheeks hollowing as she takes the deepest of drags on her More. “But Philip, surely you of all people know the answer to that,” she says coolly. Leaning forward to stub out the cigarette in the ashtray, she pauses to exhale an endless stream of thick smoke in my face, which lasts several wonderful seconds. Paula grins.

June goes on. “He’s had bimbos; they still throw themselves at his feet, but they hold no interest to him any more. Now, he gets to watch his powerful, sophisticated woman being fucked to distraction by young men. I don’t let him fuck me, and he says the excitement and longing he feels is beyond belief. Oh, I love him, but he worships me, just as I worship my lover’s cock. And my lover is very well endowed...” My gaze drops to her mouth as she talks. She has beautiful, painted lips, I note, and perfect teeth. I realise I’m hard for her, a woman almost twenty years my senior. “In other ways, we have more of a traditional domme/sub relationship. I won’t go into that, now…”

Paula lights another Silk Cut, smiling her slightly asymmetrical smile. “It all sounds lovely….” She’s wearing a dark, pleated skirt, a couple of inches above the knee and a tight-fitting red top that exposes a generous amount of cleavage. Her sheer stocking-covered legs are crossed, and a platform-heeled shoe hangs off her foot. She smokes in her usual unhurried, unselfconscious style, holding her cigarette between her fingertips just a few inches from her mouth, occasionally pouting as she slowly places it in her mouth and sucks the sweet smoke into her lungs.

“It is, babe. Your hair is gorgeous, by the way! It really suits you,” she flirts. “God, I bet you look good in that alley. No wonder Philip here is so obsessed with you…”

“Oh, thanks!” She blushes, tossing it from her eye. It tumbles down to her shoulders in loose, brunette curls, with blonde streaks. June is right; it’s extremely sexy.

June resumes again. “It certainly works for us. My husband’s business interests have escalated beyond recognition; he hasn’t been so hungry for thirty years, he says. He’s lost weight, he looks healthy. His wealth keeps me dripping in Chanel, Prada and young studs.”

She reaches for another cigarette; I light her again. She sits back in the sofa, stretches out her arms, and says “and that was a party political broadcast from the cuckold party!” A young guy smiles over at her and she winks at him.

Paula grips my hand with both of hers, and snuggles close to me, with an excited “mmmm!”

“Now, I know that your situation is probably very different from ours,” says June, “and I can’t tell you how to live your life, but I know from what you wrote, and what you’ve done so far, that you won’t accept the cuckolds brownie, that this lot..” she looks around her, at the uninspired-looking crowd, “…laughingly refer to as a sex life.”

Smoke drifts from her open mouth as she regards us. “Paula, you’re a highly desirable woman, you deserve to have men all over you, literally and figuratively. Are you imagining that, Philip?” I am. “Then give her what she wants, what you both want. You’re both still young, with no ties you say. You really should try this, you won’t regret it.”

* * *

During the next few weeks we plan, refine. June suggested that we devise a plan, and the closer we stick to it, she said, the more exquisite and intense our experience will be. She will offer advice and encouragement, however we choose to progress, but from now on, we agree, she will only converse with Paula, as this will enhance the aspect of her female superiority over me. I am sceptical about this whole D/S side of things, embarrassed even, but June said we should trust her; she had some experience in this, after all, and she could tell, deep down, I long to be submissive.

We continue to peruse the websites, and registered on the forum, too. Now we have a frame of reference. One night, as we play, discussing the possibilities, I ask her “how far are we going to take this?”
I’m unsurprised by her reply. “Do you really have to ask? We’re going to take this all the way, baby. And I mean all the way.”

We read more real-life stories; the more extreme and specific the story, the more it appeals to us. It’s fun to pick and choose various aspects, until we have a plan. To get things started:

-She would advertise on a ‘swingers’ permisterals website, for a group of guys to fuck her. It appears one can be very specific on these sites; we hoped to find a couple of black guys with some experience in this.

Why black guys? We discuss this, at length; neither of us consider ourselves racist, and we do have black friends and work colleagues. Possibly, however, we are perpetuating racial stereotypes, deep-seated ones within us. Quite apart from the obvious benefits of the average black man supposedly being well endowed, and the visual impact of that marvellous contrast between a large, ebony member and a pale-skinned European woman, we wish to use other stereotypes to our advantage- that of the smart, intelligent, middle-class white woman degrading herself, presenting herself, willingly and enthusiastically, to be used by a supposed socially-inferior black man, simply because it makes her feel like a slut, and she craves that feeling. That arrogant swagger that a young black man has when he escorts his blonde girlfriend in his BMW, the slightly insecure possessiveness, the idea of black guys socialising in groups- all are appealing aspects; the thought of my wife, dolled up, blushing and vulnerable, in the middle of a group of sexually-dominant black men, is intoxicating.

-She would be free to do this ‘research’ as long as she wanted; once she had found the right group, she would broach the subject with them of a regular arrangement.
-We would sell our house. There was nothing keeping us where we were, after all. The house was worth a fortune, and we would move to be closer to Paula’s new lovers.

I work as a sales executive for a large company, which means I travel all over the country, and occasionally in Europe; it doesn’t particularly matter where we live. Any midlands town would provide an anonymous new-build house on a large development, where our sordid life could be lived out to the full. We would pocket a considerable amount of cash in the deal, which means Paula would not have to work (in the traditional sense!); and some could be put to good use as described later…

Paula currently works as PA to a businessman in London; I think he’ll be sorry to see her go, because she’s sucked him off every morning for the past three months. She even allowed him to fuck her, cynically in return for a hefty Christmas bonus. She told me she gone to town with the whole ‘slut secretary’ scenario for him; standing up, with her skirt up around her waist, and her top buttons undone, leaning on a cabinet, smoking and filing her nails as he screwed her. I know she’s not kidding- it’s her style, completely. She’s also been having a torrid affair with one of his associates; he believes that I know nothing about it. We wonder how he’d react to learning of my eagerness to suck his cum out of her when she gets home in the morning…

The time spent devising the plan is, if anything, more exciting even than Paula’s exploits over the past few months. Every little nuance sends us into a frenzy of lust; we can’t keep our hands off each other. The anticipation, of how things could be, is palpable, although I acknowledge, with some sadness, that if I’m going to be a real cuckold, I soon won’t be able to fuck her any more.

Paula’s responsibilities to the plan were particularly enjoyable to devise:

-With the assistance of her lovers, or ‘group,’ she would degrade herself completely; become their slut, be available to them or any of their friends to fuck day or night. They would relax with her in our bed, while I stayed in the spare room, or she would visit them. In short, she would utterly worship black cock. In rare circumstances, a white friend of her group could use her; otherwise, for the rest of her life, only black men could fuck her.
-She would entertain as many as wanted to use her, at the same time, and actively pursue double- and triple-penetration if possible. She would never wear panties in their presence, except perhaps a tiny thong when it would enhance the beauty of, but definitely not hide, her engorged vulva. She would dress provocatively, in skirts, stockings, heels and halter-neck tops, always willing and available; in fact, she would be forbidden to refuse the advances of a friend of her group, in any orifice. Eventually, she would be stretched wide open by the sheer volume of traffic up her vagina and anus.
-She would live the life of a spoilt bitch; always pampered, made up, manicured and, of course, clean shaven below. She would sit and smoke in cafés in expensive, provocative dresses, until required for sex by one or more of her group. If they wanted to kiss and touch her in public, she would open up to them.
-She should always seek the audience of her husband, when he was around, for her activities. She would try, whenever possible, to make eye contact with him while enjoying the attention of her lovers.