A Wife's Fantasy Read online

  New Dawning International Bookfair

  Presents

  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?

  She caught my eye with her gaze and held it as she walked confidently toward me. It was as if she knew that these uncomfortable thoughts were tumbling around in my head. My anxiety, my fear evaporated. What I saw now was a sexy, confident, stunning woman – my woman. The woman I love more than anything. The woman I would do anything for.

  On the one hand, she was forcing me to do things I wasn't sure I really wanted to do, but at the same time, she was giving me signs of reassurance. The signs indicated that she was doing this for me; that this experience would only make our love, our relationship stronger. The stockings and heels were part of that. If this were only about her, she would probably be nude. She knew I had a thing for stockings. And heels, these were a weakness of hers. She never saw an elegant pump or a sexy ankle strap version that she could pass up, but she didn't like to wear them in bed. Things that touched the street or the sidewalk had no business being near our 600-count sheets, let alone our unprotected, white sofa. But I love the way heels make the muscles in her calves tighten and the way they elongate her slender ankles; and I worship her long legs when she wears them. So we compromise. She actually has 'bedroom' shoes – shoes that never go outside; shoes that have never touched the street. These are not the trashy, platform-style that strippers and porn stars wear, but genuinely exquisite, 4-inch, Italian heels. And these she occasionally wears to bed. She wears them to make love. She wears them to fuck.

  She coaxed me toward the end of the sofa so my head hung slightly over the edge and placed one of her shoes – her street shoes – next to my face. The message was clear. She was doing this for me.

  "Come here," she said, beckoning to James. "I want you right behind me, ready when I give you the signal."

  James snapped to attention and had his hands on her hips in an instant. Like something out of Risky Business, he was still wearing his shirt and tie, but naked from the waist down. Straddling me, she lowered herself onto my face and rubbed aggressively against my mouth. "Lick me," she ordered, "Make me nice and wet so James can fuck me." I lapped her juices greedily, but still couldn't keep up. Her juices flooded my lips dribbling out of the corners of my mouth and down my chin. She clearly didn't require the extra lubrication she demanded of me. She knew it too, but by insisting that I prepare her for James's cock she was making me an active participant of what was to come. There was no chance I could be a passive observer on this one. All too soon, she rose and tilted forward, placing her forearms on either side of me. The maneuver placed her out of range of my tongue and no doubt gave James an excellent view of her dripping pussy.

  "Take his cock," she told me.

  I extended my arm toward James and no sooner had my fingers curled around his shaft than she reached back and grabbed his tie, pulling him toward her. "Put him inside me now. Guide that thick cock of his into your wife's pussy. Do it slowly, I want you to watch every inch penetrate me."

  I did as I was told. I guided his penis into her and watched her open up to take him. Her inner lips parted smoothly, inviting the thick head of his cock into her wet, warm pussy. It was too easy. Somehow, it seemed to me that it should have been more difficult. Perhaps out of some biological sense of loyalty, her pussy should have balked a little at the invasion of this strange, new penis. But it didn't. My wife's gorgeous pussy was eager to swallow him up. She arched her back and her inner lips opened even further. I guided him into her – slowly, deeply all the way in – and let go to watch him slide all the way out of her. A few drops of her juices ran down her outer lips. I caught them in my mouth, the heady taste stronger, richer when she was most aroused. This unmistakable sign of her pleasure strengthened my resolve. I could never deny her.

  My wife kissed my penis. She captured the tip between her lips, flicking her tongue across it. On one particularly deep penetration, courtesy of James, she gasped and collapsed to her elbows, but she didn't lose contact. Her lips slid down the underside of my cock and when her mouth came to rest at the base of my cock, her tongue resumed its efforts, this time on my testicles.

  We played like this for several minutes, none of us saying a word. Her teasing me mercilessly with her mouth, me guiding a stranger
's sizable cock all the way into my wife and then watching as he slowly pulled out and waiting, almost hungrily, to see the tip of his penis reappear glistening with her juices.

  Her breathing shortened and she began to let out an audible gasp with each stroke. The kissing, licking, biting of my penis suddenly stopped as she slid forward on her elbows a little further and spread her legs a little wider.

  Involuntarily, I pushed my hips toward her, not wanting her attentions on my penis to stop. Until I realized that her little maneuver had also accomplished something else. Her clitoris was now resting directly on my lips. I attacked it.

  James slowly teased his cock back into her pussy, but this time she pushed back into him hard, impaling herself.

  "Enough!" she spat out, "I brought you here to fuck me. Now do it!"

  Before I could even adjust, James responded. He pulled out of her and slammed back in. I was immobile, mesmerized. Nothing else existed. It was all about his cock and her pussy. They seemed to have forgotten about me.

  She gripped my balls a little too firmly. "Lick me, damn it. I want you to lick me while he fucks me!"

  I teased her clitoris, giving it a light flick of the tongue each time she pushed back into him. Then I matched his strokes and attacked her clitoris directly.

  "Fuck!" she screamed and her legs shook with the orgasm.

  I hesitated, surprised by the force of her orgasm. James seemed to do the same.

  "If you fucking stop, I'll kill you both," she growled, grinding against my tongue and his cock.

  I resumed with a flurry of kisses and small bites on her clitoris. James slowed a bit, but kept driving into her.

  Ana's legs trembled. She threw her head back, only half-voicing a series of animal-like grunts that seemed to get caught somewhere in her throat. Her come flooded out between his cock and her engorged lips. Her juices coated my chin and lips in a torrent and I luxuriated in her taste. It had the richness and depth I know only accompany her most intense orgasms. Not wanting to miss a drop I swallowed anything that came within reach and even lapped her juices off the underside of James' cock.