A Wife's Fantasy

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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.

After watching me,
speechless, try to grasp what was happening she simply laughed. It
was almost a giggle. "So," she drawled and threw my own arrogant
wink back at me, "when you said 'anything' you thought I was
incapable of asking for something like that." It wasn't a
question.

I may or may not have
nodded, but she saw it in my eyes. "I love you honey (again that
unmistakable note of sincerity), but you need to stop
underestimating me," she said not unkindly. Then she lowered her
voice so only I could hear, "I also know that deep down inside you
really want this and you will enjoy it. You want to give up control
completely. I know it."

Again, I wasn't sure if I
nodded, but she had laid me bare. I thought I knew her, but she
still had some surprises for me. She knew me even better than I
claimed to know her.

"I want this, so you will
do it for me," she finished more loudly and gave me a push in the
small of the back.

I trudged over to the
door, kneeled down and unbuckled the pants of a total stranger. The
same stranger whose cock was about to be the first one I had ever
sucked. The same man who would soon be fucking my wife.

Alessia and Thalia also
knew us well. His suit was elegant and he was impeccably groomed –
manicured even. Armani, I surmised, but was surprised to see the
Zegna label come into view as I pulled his zipper down. This guy
was either upper class European (too refined for the ubiquitous
"Euro-trash" label – they would be wearing something garish and
obvious like Valentino), or old money from a cosmopolitan east
coast city, most likely New York. He hadn't said a word yet, so I
couldn't even tell if he was American.

In a daze, I removed his
trousers, then carefully folded them and set them on the table next
to the door. I was moving slowly, trying to get my head around what
was happening. I swallowed hard and caught my wife's eye. She would
push me if I faltered, but she wanted me to do it on my own. She
smiled gently and the love in her gaze melted my
reservations.

I pulled his boxer briefs
down and felt the weight of his already semi-erect penis in my
hand. It was a handsome cock befitting the owner. Men can't help
but compare; it's biological. Salvaging at least a drop of pride, I
noted that I was longer than him, but he was thicker – really
thick.

I raised his cock to my
lips and James leaned into me. This ensured that I didn't lose my
nerve. I didn't have time to balk as his cock invaded my mouth. It
pushed open my lips and slid down the length of my tongue. His cock
felt heavier and warmer than I anticipated, but the taste was not
unpleasant. The texture was also smoother than I had imagined. I
closed my lips around him and started to suck. He hardened and
pushed deeper.

My wife called out from
behind. "Take it out and lick the tip."

I obeyed and ran my tongue
all the way around the head like she does to me, flicking it across
the underside of his glans.

"Now push your cock all
the way into his mouth. Do it firmly and deeply before you are too
hard for him to take it completely." James complied. "Mmmm, so
delicious looking, so sexy."

After only a few thrusts,
I pushed him away. He had hardened almost completely and I could no
longer take him fully in my mouth. The image of a penis-shaped can
of Pepsi popped into my head – short, but stout as hell.

My wife suddenly appeared
behind me and held my head. She placed the tip of his erect penis
in my mouth again and gently guided it in and out for a few more
strokes.

"Good boy." She patted my
head. "I think he's hard enough now."

She pulled me to my feet
and pointed to the sofa. Again, I trudged across the room with my
head down and imagined them sniggering behind my back as I lay
down. I turned my head back toward them in time to catch Ana's
little black dress dropping to floor around her ankles.

My gaze traced the long
line of her shapely legs and I froze when I reached the top of her
stockings. The dark spot at the front of her low-rider, white
cotton panties was obvious.

This unmistakable sign of
her arousal was a slap in the face. James had aroused her. The
thought of fucking another man had made her wet.

With a deep breath, I
pushed down the wave of jealousy and tore my eyes off the wet spot.
I composed myself enough to admire my wife fully. Ana's luxurious
demi-cup bra barely covered her nipples. Together with the black
lace garter belt, they framed the flawless olive skin on her flat
stomach. The effect was completed perfectly by sheer, back-seam
stockings and a pair of elegant heels…well…almost perfectly.
Something was off.

She was wearing her
panties over the garters. This was not the sort of mistake my wife
would make. She had made a conscious decision to wear them on the
outside. The conclusion was inescapable. She intended to be fucked
tonight. And she wanted to have her stockings on when it happened.
That realization triggered a number of other questions in my mind.
When had she made this decision? Was it before she went out this
evening? After she had told Alessia and Thalia our fantasy? After
she met James?