Unusual for a workday, she wore a pink hoodie and sweatpants. “You’re home early,” I said, kissing her. “Everything okay?”
“It’s all good. I took the afternoon off.”
“Cool. Where’re the kids?”
“Inside watching TV. I was waiting for you. Meet me upstairs. I’ve got a story.” Her eyes danced.
“Ooh. A sexy story?” I kissed her for real this time, with tongue, putting my hand on the small of her back. To my surprise, the skin was slick and slippery. “What the—?”
“Upstairs. Don’t be obvious.”
In the living room, I greeted our three grade-school-aged kids while my mind raced. What did my little wifey have in store?
After a decent interval, I made my way to our bedroom. She was waiting for me on the bed wearing nothing but bra and panties. “Lock the door,” she said.
I locked it. “What’s going on?”
“Take off your clothes and lie down next to me.”
As I undressed, she said, “You’re going to want to do it after you hear this, but we can’t because the kids will hear. But I will give you a hand job.”
I laid down beside her. “Okay,” I said. “Fair enough.”
“So, I left work early to get a massage at the new spa in town. I get there, and the masseuse is a young black guy.”
“No way.” My dick sprang to life.
“This kid could’ve stepped out of one of your stories. Handsome, built and like 6’3.”
“You said young?”
“Twenty-six. I asked.”
“Holy shit. So 18 years younger than you.”
“Yup. Does that turn you on?” She wrapped her hand around my cock. “Mm. Feels like it does.”
“A massage. That’s why your skin is oily.”
“Mm-hm. Right when he gets started, the lady who runs the place says she’s leaving, and he should lock up when he’s done. So now we’re in there all by ourselves…”
I was astonished. It was both horrifying and insanely arousing all at once. My dick strained against her soft hand as it moved up and down.
“I was under one of those sheets, totally naked, alone in this tiny room in the back of a spa with this incredibly good-looking man. It was totally inappropriate, but I could feel myself getting really turned on.”
“Did he notice?”
“He must have. My nipples were poking right through the sheet. When he asked if it was too cold, that’s when I knew.”
“Oh, God, wait, slow down or I’m going to cum.”
She released my cock and it bobbed up and down, spitting droplets of pre-cum.
“So then he oiled me up. Can you feel?” she placed my hand on the slick skin of her tummy. “And then he massaged my legs and feet. You know how I love my feet rubbed. And his hands—oh my, his hands—they were so large and strong. It was all soooo sensual.”
“I can’t believe this. What was going through your head?”
“I was just…” She looked away. “I thought about all the pillow talk we’d done over the years, all the stories about wives going with ‘endowed’ men or whatever. I know we never considered doing it in real life, but it seemed like something you might want me to explore. So I just went with it.”
She looked back at me. “Are you mad?”
“Do I look mad?” I gestured at my steel-hard dick, but honestly, in that moment, I wasn’t sure what I was feeling outside that one, single-minded organ.
“Good. I mean, I was thinking about you the whole time. I knew it would make a good story, if nothing else.”
“You’re right about that. You can use your hand on me again.”
“Hmm. I haven’t felt you this hard in a in a while.” She bit her bottom lip coquettishly. “I’m glad you’re taking this so well. I hoped you would, but I wasn’t sure.”
“Ah, fuck. Ah, yes. I’m loving it. You’re such a naughty wife.”
“Good. Because what I have to tell you next gets a little bit, more, uh, risqué…”
It’s one thing to fantasize about something. It’s quite another to face the reality. Laura’s story was worlds beyond playing with a sex toy. This was a living, breathing, third-party male looming at the edge of my marriage. It created a turmoil of conflicting emotions. For starters, gut-wrenching lust slammed directly into an equally strong wall of shame. What kind of loser gets turned on by his wife’s lust for another man? Fight-or-flight adrenaline surged through my veins. I looked at my cock in disbelief. It was bigger and firmer than I’d ever seen it.
She could tell, too. “Oh, my. Will you look at this!”
“Please,” I croaked, “tell me the rest.”
“Okay, so like I said there was a lot of, um, sexual tension in the room. I mean he definitely knew how excited I was. But he was very nonchalant about it. And I realized, you know, he’s probably used to female clients acting like this, going all ga-ga for this hot black stud who’s touching them all over…and that fact kind of turned me on even more…So then he, then he,” she stammered. I could tell this confession was starting to arouse her as well. “He was working on my upper body and he rubbed his, he rubbed his…”
The skin on her neck and chest flushed pink as she tried to get the words out.
“Go ahead, baby. You can tell me.” But I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear.
“He rubbed his c-cock on my arm, and I could feel it that it was, it was—”
She grabbed my wrist and pulled it to her crotch. I rubbed her clit over her panties. She seized my arm tightly and clamped her legs shut. Her body started bucking.
“Oh fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming. Oh shit. Yes. Unnhh,” she rasped. Then she finished the thought driving the orgasm. “Ooooooh God, his cock was soooo fucking huge!”
“Goddamn, baby!”
After finishing cumming and catching her breath, she was silent for a moment. “Whew! I needed that.” She seemed more relaxed now. The orgasm had eased some of the sexual tension.
I, on the other hand, still trembling on the brink of cumming, asked, “So then what happened? Did he take it out?”
“No,” she replied breezily. “But he asked me if I wanted a ‘zone therapy’ session in a more private setting, which I took to mean, well, you know…”
“So…nothing else happened?”
“I told him I was on my period. That old excuse.” She raised herself on her elbow. “I wanted to discuss it with you first. He said we could meet at his house for our next ‘session,’ or at a hotel. My choice.”
“Jesus, Laura. This is all so much. I can’t even...”
“I know. How do you think I feel? This just happened, like, an hour ago. Maybe we should just leave it be.”
I thought for a moment. “No. Let’s do it. You should make an appointment.”
“Okay. But I need to hear you say it.” She started stroking my cock again.
“Say what?”
“You know,” she said, teasing the shaft up and down.
“Ahh. What? No, I don’t know.”
“You…have…to…say…” she purred drawing out the words, “that I have your permission to fuck him.”
Her blunt phrasing hit my psyche like a sledgehammer. “Oh, God, Laura.”
“C’mon. I need to hear it,” she teased.
“Arahh. You have my permission to, to…” I literally could not get the words out of my mouth.
“C’mon, hubby. Use your words,” she said in patronizing voice.
I clenched my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut. “To, to, to…to f-f-f-fuck him. You have my permission to fuck him. Aragh!”
The emotional cocktail of lust, fear, guilt, jealousy and angst converged in my balls and blasted out through my cock shaft, sending gobs of jizz raining down on my chest and stomach. Again, the copious cumload rated as one of my all-time best.
“Oh, baby what a good one. So much volume. I’m impressed!” She took a tissue from the nightstand and mopped up the cooling sperm.
“So then its settled,” she said matter-of-factly, tossing tissue toward the wastebasket. “I’m seeing him again on Saturday,”
“What? You already have an appointment?”
“Yeah.” She smiled sheepishly. “I kinda knew what your answer would be.”
