Wives with Benefits: Volume Two (10 page)

“I could’ve been sleeping with whoever I liked… and you would’ve enjoyed discovering me.”

I pushed my cock down and eased the tip inside her, making her open her mouth wide to groan. “If you kept the secret for years, though, and then I discovered it…” I said, sliding all the way into her — filling her easily since she was so wet, “…I might have been upset to miss out on the details at the time.”

“You’d prefer to know everything about my affair, as it happened?”

“Or as soon after as possible.”

I held her knees and plunged into her, again and again. Her whole body bounced with the force of my thrusts, her breasts jiggling as she panted and moaned, trying to look up at me as I fucked her, though ended up collapsing back, taking it from her beloved husband as the thoughts whirled through her head of who she might have been having an affair with, and how it might have felt.

We kissed, and rolled over, wrestling, until Diana rose up on me, the cowgirl taming her steed, riding me, pressing her breasts against my chest, her golden hair draping over my face like some privacy curtain and she rocked her hips to grind her pussy against my cock.

She came, hard, and it seemed to me her juices drenched my loins — my wife had never been one to squirt, surely? But here, tonight, she was ramped up, boosted by the exposure of her husband’s unconventional and filthy, but intriguing, fantasy.

But she didn’t stop — just kept on riding, sitting up, throwing her damp hair back over her shoulders, moving on me like some kind of exotic dancer, her hands cupping and squeezing her breasts, flaunting them for my benefit and hers.

I liked to think she was imagining riding some other guy as she bounced and gyrated and flexed and trembled up there on me as she eventually hit the biggest climax of the night. But while I might have started off imagining Diana as an actual adulteress, someone who had done exactly what I had jumped to conclusions about based on the previous evidence — as it came time for my own orgasm, I was no longer thinking of her that way.

I wasn’t imagining her as anything when I hit that one-way street and kept on going until the eruption was triggered in my loins. I was seeing her as a wife who had been told of my fantasy for her to be unfaithful — only to find such a thought a major turn-on for herself.

That was the biggest turn-on for me: the possibility of what might come next.

And as we lay there in bed, our sweaty chests rising and falling as we gasped for breath, Diana said, “So it wouldn’t be entirely unfair for me to describe you as ‘disappointed’ tonight?”

“‘Disappointed’?”

“That I wasn’t having an affair.”

I pause. Then, “I suppose. Maybe.”

“So what would happen now? If you could actually decide, and not worry about how I would feel about things.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’d want me to start seeing somebody, somebody else?”

“If you wanted to.”

She laughed. “But that’s not the point of this, is it? The point isn’t that I just have an affair — it’s that you want me to.”

“I guess.”

“Otherwise it’s just plain cheating. And I’d never want to do that to you, sweetie.”

I took one very long, deep breath, and it seemed to snap my breathing back into some kind of normal rhythm. Everything suddenly seemed very heavy, very serious. I know what she was saying: if you could make this fantasy real, now, knowing that it has only been a fantasy so far, would you? If it was your choice.

Such a heavy decision.

“I guess… I would want to know what it was like,” I said, finally.

Diana said, “You really were so… into the whole idea.”

I shivered involuntarily. It sounded as though she was arguing the case for this damn fantasy to come true. Jesus. Could I really handle that?

Then she added, “Maybe I’ll have to start… well, looking.”

“Looking?”

She laughed again. “Well, you don’t imagine starting an affair is just as easy as deciding to start one?”

“I suppose not.”

Lying there, my heart was thumping again, loud. And astoundingly for me, my manhood was thickening once more.

I said, “Why did you start seeing a therapist?”

I figured it was bugging me.

“One of my friends from school died,” she said. The pity I felt for her quelled the growing arousal at the thought of my wife considering looking for another man to sleep with.

“That’s awful. You didn’t say anything.”

She sighed. “I don’t know… she was just somebody we knew in grade school. Hadn’t really kept in touch since… none of us had. I don’t know… it wasn’t really clear how she died…”

“So it made you want to take therapy?”

“I don’t know. I just felt stuck in a rut. What happened to Jilly could have happened to any of us, it felt like. It made us all start to wonder if we were really… you know… enjoying life to the full.”

“But therapy?”

“Tasha suggested it. You don’t have to be… you know… sick… to go to a therapist. He made Tasha look at the bright side of life. I just thought I’d give it a try.”

She sighed. “It’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Of course. You do what you want to do, honey. If it makes you happy, I approve. But this shrink… ever since you started seeing him, you’ve been so… sexual.”

“One of the things he showed me was how to stop judging myself. And one of the things I’d been judging myself about was feeling… you know… horny…. When I wasn’t with you in the safety of the bedroom.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, you know I’m a Catholic girl.”

“Not exactly practicing.”

“No. Anyway. So I’m encouraged to go out more, see my friends, talk my feelings through with them. And when I’m out with them, we get all rowdy and we talk about guys we see… and it’s only for fun, right? But now I don’t feel like I should feel guilty about it…”

“You start thinking about those other guys?”

“It’s harmless. Maybe I start thinking about you, too.”

“Hey, you know I have no problem with you fantasizing,” I laughed.

“I guess not. So then I get home and… I have to jump you, or else…”

“Else you have to take it into your own hands, huh?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have a problem with it.”

*

I’d say things settled a little between us after that. I won’t say that things cooled, because after our little revelation that I’d rather hoped Diana was actually having an affair, it only seemed to spur on her own libido, and whenever she jumped me she’d start to tease me about it, and that would get me going.

I would say I probably initiated things a little less frequently with her, just because I was no longer under the impression that I was sharing her with someone else — despite her now frequent hints that she would be open to the idea — leaving me to slip back into my more modest state, libido-wise.

I would tend to just go to bed and actually go to sleep if I was tired in the evening and Diana hadn’t arrived home yet, and I kind of knew she’d be getting herself off when she got home — which was a pretty hot thought, though mostly I left her to it if I woke in the night and she was downstairs alone.

After a while I was looking for batteries for a TV remote and ended up stumbling onto a few new toys she’d gotten for herself, and that seemed pretty hot to me — particularly the large realistic dildo.

I did notice that she started to dress a little differently. She’d come home from work wearing short skirts, tight blouses, outfits that emphasized her femininity and her trim figure. When she went out for drinks with her friends, she’d wear skirts or summer dresses rather than pants or jeans, tank tops rather than sweatshirts or long-sleeve t-shirts.

When I remarked on it, she quite openly told me she liked how guys looked at her wearing nicer clothes.

When the two of us went out, which became a little more frequent as my work settled down, I noticed her being more flirty with men — it certainly didn’t bother me, I was happy about it.

“You can go spend a little time with him if you like,” I might say about someone she was checking out, and she’d giggle about it, but I think the notion of actually doing something outside the bounds of our marriage was still a little startling for her.

“I don’t think he’s my type,” she might say in reply to me, but on nights like that we got home and she was incredibly horny.

One night I couldn’t sleep, and while Diana was there lying in the bed next to me, and I was feeling unexpectedly horny for reasons best known to fate, I decided against waking her up. I padded quietly downstairs to get a drink and see if the feelings dissipated.

But as I crept downstairs, I could see she’d left her purple vibrator on the floor by the couch, and it only turned me on further to know that she’d been using it. Her laptop was sitting on the coffee table, and it made me jump to the conclusion that she might have been using it while she was pleasuring herself with the vibrator.

I know, I probably shouldn’t have snooped. But it was my suspicious mind that got us this far in the first place. And we often used each other’s computers when we were too lazy to get our own, and we needed to check email or the weather or whatever. Usually, though, we tended to keep our computers clean and histories cleared.

Now, I was hoping that if Diana had forgotten to hide her vibrator after tending to her libido that evening, she might have left some traces of what she’d been looking at on her computer.

I fired it up, and took a quick glance at her browsing history. I was actually nervous. What if she hadn’t been looking at erotic material online, what if she’d been messaging someone, or skyping them or something. If something was already underway. That prospect both terrified and excited me.

I scouted through the computer — and she’d deleted the web browsing history, but had left the cache and the cookies untouched. I saw exactly which sites she’d been to — and it came as some relief that they were porn sites, it appeared. She’d been looking at some vanilla stuff, but she’d also been targeting videos featuring “hotwives” and “cuckolds” — and forums devoted to similar subjects.

I had to look up the definitions of those words — and it shocked me.

What had appeared to start out as my fantasy, prompted it has to be said by my suspicion that Diana was having an affair, now seemed to be a central fantasy for my wife as she touched herself on nights when I was asleep.

As I looked into her online evidence, it really blew my mind.

After that, on evenings when Diana was out, I did my own research into the websites I’d found on her computer, and the more I read about guys with similar fantasies to my own, the more it reinforced my fantasy and made me wish my wife would take an interest in some guy for real.

When Diana came home and believed me to be in bed asleep, I started watching her again as she made herself comfortable on the couch and relieved her own tension. She didn’t always make use of her laptop, just as she didn’t always make use of her toys, but when she did, I could see her using it to watch erotic video clips, or read erotic stories, rather than to message or chat with actual guys — that made me feel a little more secure, somehow.

Along with her visits to the gym and her now-weekly nights out with the girls, I noticed that more and more frequently she was late because she had so much work to do at the office. That was fine with me, of course, but even so, along with the sexy new outfits she wore to work, this change in her routine did make me hope that perhaps she had her eye on somebody at work.

One night when I knew she’d been kept particularly late at the office, I ended up watching out of our bedroom window to see her pull into our driveway. Only, when she did pull into our driveway it wasn’t in her car. It was a black BMW, very definitely not her little yellow Toyota.

Diana stepped out of the passenger’s side of the vehicle, and a tall dark-haired man, who I’d never seen before, stepped out of the driver’s side. She was all smiley with him, grabbing his arm to escort him up to our front door. My heart was threatening to pummel its way out of my chest to see this. And I was hard as a rock.

I crept out of the bedroom to the first floor landing, where I could see them open the front door — and sneak inside the house.

“Are you sure about this?” I heard the guy whispering.

“He’s asleep. It’s fine. He sleeps like a log.”

Diana was giggling, and once the man had quietly closed the front door, she flung herself on him, her arms on his chest, hands clutching at his shoulders, pulling him down into a kiss.

Jesus.

Who was this guy? Someone from work — I assumed that. He was dressed in a suit, looked the part. She hadn’t mentioned anything about him to me.

Their kissing seemed quite loud in the still of a suburban night — wet as they sucked on each other’s lips, as they stirred tongues against tongues. I could see relatively easily thanks to the streetlight filtered in through open blinds on all our windows. Diana wasn’t moving to close those blinds, either.

She continued to kiss him, passionately, her excitement clear — and infectious.