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A Wife's Fantasy
An Erotic Ménage Short Story
By
Cesare Ancona
Copyright © 2011 Cesare Ancona
Smashwords Edition
Chapter I
"Do you remember that fantasy you told me about?" Ana breathed into my ear.
I was still too taken aback to respond. She looked a little flushed and smelled like tequila and cigarettes, but that was normal for girls' night out. Every Thursday, she and her two best friends would go to the theater or simply have dinner and a bit too much to drink at one of the trendy bars in town.
What wasn't normal is that my elegant wife had just walked in the door followed by an attractive man in a well-tailored suit. "Man" was perhaps a bit generous. He looked maybe 25; about a decade younger than us. "Who's he?" I managed to get out.
"He's here to help us." She hesitated "Of course only if you want." She dropped her gaze on those last few words and her shoulder slumped slightly. Suddenly she didn't look quite so confident and mischievous.
I adore my wife when she has that take-on-the-world look. The mundane weight of kids and work made it appear less frequently, but I had glimpsed it again when she marched in the door. My response here was crucial – a slight hesitation, a tone of disappointment at my reaction had crept into her voice. I would do anything to ensure that the confident, sexy woman I had convinced to marry me ten years ago stuck around a little longer. The years had been kind to us and we were still very much in love, but not quite as wild and idealistic as we had been.
"Sure," I drawled and kissed her playfully on the neck, trying to buy time. "Tell me what you had in mind." I wasn't at all sure which fantasy she was talking about. Cursed with an overactive imagination, it could have meant anything from a luscious hot-fudge sundae on the back of a camel in the Gobi desert to a full-scale Roman orgy. Judging by her mischievous smile, I suspected it had more to do with the latter.
"Well, I told Alessia and Thalia about it tonight. I hope you don't mind." She pulled back to look into my eyes.
I sensed that she was trying to gauge my reaction, but I had no idea whether to be upset or not, so I smiled and told her it was OK. I mean, they are her best friends, if we can't trust them, who can we trust?
"I'm so happy you are OK with it. I never would have had the nerve to go through with this without them. But they loved the idea and said they were jealous I had such an open-minded husband.
They found this guy at the bar, told him the whole thing and brought him to me. I never expected to get this excited about it." She finished her sentence without taking a breath, then took my hand and placed it under her skirt. My breath shortened at her risqué behavior.
The white cotton of her panties was drenched. As I brought my hand up to examine the drops of moisture on my fingertips, the mingled scents of her arousal and the tequila on her breath hit me hard. Exited and apprehensive at the same time, my mind struggled to make sense of what was happening.
She pulled me closer. "But I have a condition." She lowered her voice.
I half nodded as we embraced and tried not to give away my confusion.
"You have to do whatever I tell you, even if it isn't part of your original fantasy. This is my fantasy now. When I tell the two of you to do something…to me…for me…you have to do it. James has already agreed. Do you agree?"
I froze, but managed to cover it up well by hugging her a bit more tightly. I had almost forgotten about James standing there in the doorway, but now I remembered which fantasy she meant.
About six months back, I told her a fantasy about watching while a young, handsome guy fucked her. Our lovemaking is usually passionate, but sensual; this fantasy was about a raw, hard fuck by a stranger. And I wasn't just watching, I was licking her as he drove into her just centimeters away. She had asked if I would be willing to touch him too. I had told her it would depend on the situation and most importantly, it would depend on how much she was really into it. There is nothing I love more than to see her lose herself in the moment. In those instances, I would do anything she asks.
Neither of us ever brought it up again…until now. In an instant, I weighed the possibilities. When my wife is in this mood, she is sexy and passionate almost to the point of being aggressive, but vulnerable at the same time. She can be kinky, but never really pushes the envelope too far. I smiled to myself. I know her so well, but despite that knowledge, that comfort, our marriage is definitely not stale. We had remained happy, satisfied and in love.
I knew what she wanted. She would ask me to watch or maybe she would get up the nerve to ask me to hold his penis and to guide it into her. Psychologically this would prove to her that I was OK with it and that she could feel free to let herself go. Of course I'd have to hesitate and make a small show of protecting my manhood by being shocked at the request, but it isn't really a stretch for me. I'm not homophobic and there's something about the detachment of watching my wife in ecstasy from afar that I find quite enticing. At times when we would pair up with another couple, I would find an excuse to just watch as she had sex with our new friends. I never felt like a cuckold, like the prerogative to make love to my own wife was being usurped. It felt more like an out-of-body experience. Like I was the one fucking her, but instead of the tunnel vision intercourse and its localized pleasure often causes, I had a better view of the whole erotic tableau from a few feet away.
"I'll do it," I whispered and winked at her.
She straightened, pushed me back and gazed more fiercely, into my eyes. "Are you sure? I said 'anything'."
I grinned, confident in my assessment of her intentions. "Sure love, anything you ask."
"Good," she said, more to herself than to me. She took a few deep breaths and for a painful minute or two James and I looked awkwardly back and forth between each other and her, waiting while she decided what to do with us. After what seemed like an eternity, she leaned forward, kissed me gently and said softly, "I love you." She said it as if it were the first time she had ever said those words to me. Then she straightened and, loud enough for James to hear, commanded: "I want you to go over there, take his pants off and suck his cock until he is hard enough to give me what I need. Then you will watch him fuck me. Now, please."
My jaw dropped open and I stared at my wife in disbelief. This was definitely not what I had signed on for…and who was this woman? My wife didn't talk like that. She hated the word "cock". She said it sounded crass. For her, sex could be erotic, kinky, dirty even, but it should always be done with class. She wasn't afraid to talk dirty, but she believed many of the rougher words too often demeaned women.