She would've never considered it, never thought it possible. She wouldn't dare allow herself to fantasize about sleeping with another man. Not outside her marriage. And definitely not with a complete stranger.
Blame it on the cocktail buzz. Or the feel of that tall, dark, and handsome stranger's eyes on her body. Or her husband's own obvious encouragement, his absolute lust for the idea of his wife sleeping with another man.
She would've never imagined herself to be a cuckoldress, definitely not picture her husband as a willing cuckold. But he wanted it. So badly.
And after she follows his gentle coaxing—one teasing, seductive move after another—at a club this night, she lures in a complete stranger, an eager man with a primal urge she's actually enjoying promising to satisfy.
And, oh, how she does.
Just when is the point of no return? Who's to say it wasn't the very moment her husband first revealed just how turned on he is by his wife taking pleasure from any man—all men—that she pleases?
One thing's for sure: this won't be the last time her loving husband is cuckolded. Or the last time she thanks her husband wholeheartedly for changing their marriage forever.
.... "We shouldn't have teased him."
"Why not? That's what men want. Believe me, that was one of the hottest moments of his life. And I... I love seeing how much you turn on another man. You know how sexy it is to see another man all hot and bothered and dying to have your wife?"
I didn't quite understand, but the look of excitement and pure thrill on Joe's face was obvious.
"I'm going to the men's room," he said and started to scoot out of the booth again, leaving his drink behind.
"But, wait! Now?"
Joe nodded and disappeared into the crowd. I tried to follow his path to the men's room on the other side of the club by the entrance, but I couldn't catch any sight of him. I was suddenly that lone woman in the club, vulnerable prey for all those lonely men hoping to hook up.
I sipped my cocktail through my straw, then fumbled through my purse for my compact mirror. In my slightly drunken state, I caused my favorite lipstick to fall out and off my seat and roll away from the booth. I didn't hesitate to reach down for it; and as my fingertips stretched to reach the tube of lipstick, I glanced up and into the crowd.
He was watching me. That total stranger's eyes were on me, and I realized I was giving him the cleavage view of a lifetime.
I sat up immediately, adjusted the neckline of my blouse, and decided to apply a fresh coat of lipstick, as if I never noticed him at all. With a tiny tilt of my compact mirror, I could see him. His eyes were still on me. And it was so obvious how badly he wanted me.
I traced the curve of my lips with my lipstick. He watched. I pressed my lips together—slowly—enhancing their shape and fullness with renewed color. He watched. I packed away my lipstick and mirror in my purse again, quickly, casually glanced in the stranger's direction. He still watched.
I waited for my husband's return, feeling the buzz of the cocktail in my bloodstream, decided to scoot to the edge of the booth and face the mass of sweating bodies on the dance floor to pass the time watching.
Time was moving by so slowly.
My slender legs dangled over the edge of the seat, crossed at the knee, my foot swinging to the beat of the music. He was still watching.
Something about the piercing look in the stranger's eyes—his obvious hunger—and my own husband's excitement in the moments before made me feel extra alert, on, alive.
I tilted my head to the side slightly, let my long hair slide over my shoulder, the ends teasingly touching my cleavage. Then, I spotted my husband.
Joe wasn't walking toward me. He was still on the opposite side of the room, just standing there outside the passageway to the restrooms. He was smiling at me. And I recognized that look in his eyes, even all the way across the dance floor. He was happy, he was turned on, he approved.
With the most casual movement, my husband slid his finger down the front of his shirt. I interpreted the signal immediately.
I brushed the fallen strands of my hair back over my shoulder, lifted my own finger coolly up to my ear, traced the curve of my neck, and slowly slid my finger over my bare collar bone revealed by my blouse's deep neckline. My finger continued to trail down over my décolletage as I felt the heat of those two sets of eyes on me: the sizzle of being the object of desire of men.
I may have been blushing then, but I was in complete control. Completely confident, completely turned on.
My finger gracefully played over the top of my breasts as I teased my husband and toyed with the man my husband encouraged me to seduce. My fingertip gently—achingly slowly—prodded the cleft of my cleavage and traced its way back out again.
I could feel it: the two crotches pulsing with new desire, growing hot and hard, and wanting me.
My line of sight was focused on my husband when the stranger approached me. I'd caused that. I'd invited him.
My eyes darted, still coolly, to the strange man standing beside me, then passed a quick inquiry to my husband who still chose to maintain his position far across the room.
Joe smiled. A radiant, wide, all-approving smile. Then, it vanished, replaced with a serious look of intent, an expression of anticipation, eagerness.
"Hello," the unknown man spoke first.
I knew exactly what I looked like to that man towering over me in that moment. I knew full well the expression I served up to him, the attitude I portrayed, what my eyes, mouth, the blush on my cheeks, and more, said without me speaking a single word. A woman knows. A woman is always in control.
I fed that stranger and his deep-seated hunger the perfect picture of a deliciously edible—and available—morsel. I communicated my answer to his question: yes, I am the ultimate catch, the best sex you may ever have. ....
Average Rating: 5.0/5.0 from 1 reviews