I posted on the 10th June about how we’d introduced some spice into our sex life, when my wife confessed to a double fuck while we were courting. We’ve been married nearly 40 years and she has always maintained she’s been faithful for all that time. The turn on from that confession in June has upped the ante on our sex life since, and she’s managed to keep the whole thing alive by denying that there is anything else to confess, while conveying that there might be! As I described last time, we try to put time aside as “us” time to have a proper sex session. Age has stopped some of the spontaneity of the quick fuck and, I’ll be honest, I much prefer it long and sensuous. A bit of time invested in preparing some good food, opening some decent wines and indulging in a bit of proper conversation, might sound a bit boring but is real foreplay and bears wonderful fruit. Spending time getting in your lady’s head makes a big difference when you finally get into her body, which is why we exchange fantasies during sex. On the occasion I wrote about, fantasy became a genuine confession. That particular incident blew my mind, but I have been very careful since. As I wrote last time, I used to be a very jealous man. I think she’s been waiting to see if the confession had any negative come back, either by me getting angry about it, or obsessive about it. The latter has been hard because I found it so arousing, I would like to come back to it more often, but have picked up on the vibe and stayed silent. I suppose you could say that approach has borne fruit in that another confession has been forthcoming. The sexual high has, again, been extreme and remains something that can bring me hard at the thought, but this one was bigger altogether and is taking some getting my head round. As I mentioned last time, my wife’s turn on is reading. Whereas I get off on porn, she likes to read erotic books. She has a few, with well-marked pages, that she turns to for a wank, or when we’re having one of our sessions. Recently I wrote a short story (about 6,000 words) detailing a fantasy that I know flicks all her switches. In brief, the story is that I’ve persuaded her to go to Cap D’Adge, on a strictly look only basis, just for the experience. We have a few warm-up sexual adventures, then in one of the clubs she is chatted up by a guy, who is the spitting image of a footballer I know she has the hots for (tick 1). While I’m away at the bar, I see her breaking the no touch rule, by sucking the guy. When she goes to the loo, I arrange with him, and his mates, revenge in the form of a gang bang (she’s never confessed to a gang bang fantasy, but I know the idea of guys queueing up for her gets her off – tick 2). Of course, the gang bang is a gentle affair, in which we all delight in her body as we enjoy her mouth and slopping pussy. It climaxes when the footballer’s friends lift her bodily in the air and lower her onto the footballer’s cock, which I am holding and feed into her (there is a similar scene in one of her books that she often returns to – tick 3). Needless to say, his cock is huge and we all take more turns in her mouth as she rides him cowgirl. All this takes place in a room in the club, with a smoked glass viewing window, the other side of which we can dimly make out guys wanking. Being watched is another turn-on of hers (tick 4). Just as an aside, in support of the being watched kink, I remember her once backing into a shop doorway, as we walked home from a nightclub, and lifting her skirt to reveal stockings and no knickers. I did her there and then, to the ribald applause of other late-night revellers staggering home. She loved it and was blowing them kisses over my shoulder while I humped her. The short story’s gone down well. She’s read it more than once, when we’re having a session, and I think has used it for a couple of wanks. So, a couple of days ago, we were lying in bed, a good porno on and me licking her, while she re-read my story. I’ve written before about how I love licking, and she has the juiciest, tastiest pussy. I believe Cardi B’s new song, WAP, suggests swiping your nose, in a “wet assed pussy,” like a credit card. I love doing that. Running the bridge of my nose along her slit, once it’s truly drooling, with a long, flat tongued, lap of her clit on the upstroke. I love the deep pink of her lips, I love smearing her juice all over her thighs, and probing for her G spot with two fingers deep inside. I could do it for hours, just for the pleasure it gives me. The moans and shivers she gives out are an added bonus. She got to the end of the story, and put it down, spreading her legs slightly wider and put her hands behind her head. I lapped on happily, when she said “I’ve never really thanked you for that story have I?”. There was just something in the tone that sent all the hairs on the back of neck upright. I thought “take it easy, don’t blow this” and made an appreciative noise through the lapping. She thought a little while longer then seemed to come to some decision and said, “lie on your back.” I like cowgirl. She usually sits up, one hand busy on her clit, the other playing with her nipples. What’s not to love about watching a woman masturbate, particularly when you’re deep inside her, and her pussy’s dribbling all over your balls. Now we’re a bit older, squatting, to maintain an up and down movement, is no longer possible, so she was fully straddled with that gentle to and fro hip movement. It’s gorgeous visually but not great for a pounding finale. She sat for a little while, moving her hips and masturbating, until she finally looked me in the eye and said, “do you want another confession?” Same as last time, it all kicked off. The surge of adrenaline, the churning stomach, the rush of even more blood to an already rigid cock. I just nodded. Again, she looked quite searchingly and asked, “are you absolutely sure?” To be honest I wasn’t. Clearly this was shaping up to be something I really might not want to hear, and part of my head was thinking “don’t go there.” Of course, to have got this far, and not know, would have been impossible and, anyway, the cock always rules in these circumstances. I nodded again. I’m really ambivalent about true cuckoldry. I get off on the super sexuality of the woman in these circumstances. Woman as slut, woman as nympho with voracious sexual appetites, that is what I love. When that woman is “my” woman, the charge is quadrupled. The humiliation aspect is, for me, a massive downside. Was I about to hear she’d been fucking my best friend for years? What would that do to us? “Do you remember the Coyname Xmas do,” she said. The first emotion was relief. This was an incident 30 years ago and in another country. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to cause massive disruption now. I nodded. I did remember it well. We lived in the Southern Hemisphere at the time and her company had thrown an Xmas bash for all its salespeople. It was held in a huge marquee on a site just out of town and was a company only do, so I wasn’t invited. It had started at lunch time and at about 5.30pm she’d phoned me, clearly pissed, to say “come on down it’s a great party.” To be honest I could have done without it. It was a good 40 min drive away and she sounded so arseholed I envisaged an evening holding her hair out of the way while she was sick. Anyway, she was very persuasive, and I went. It was the most extraordinary do I’ve ever attended. When I got there, it was still light. I eventually found a space in a huge field, packed with cars, outside the marquee. As I walked over to it, I passed a girl sat on the bonnet of a car, holding a bloke’s cock while he had a piss! Inside the marquee there were two perspex baths at the front. Apparently, there’d been strippers, but the baths were now being enjoyed, in a wet T shirt way, by a number of drunk women. I eventually found the wife, who seemed to have sobered up slightly, and was full of smiles and kisses. “I’m so glad you came, I love you so much, it’s such a brilliant party etc etc.” Her boss, Sue, told me she was hammered and I ’d better take her home, but I stayed for a few drinks. The party was just wild, everybody dancing, snogging, drifting in and out of the marquee in clinches. There was one girl, not from the wife’s crowd, in skin-tight pants with an odd vertical black and orange design, that more or less asked me to fuck her. It just wasn’t viable and, eventually, we went home and that was that. “Well” she said, “do remember how pissed I was?” I nodded again, a bit confused. She’d phoned me specifically to ask me to come to this party, quite early, so what was the story likely to be? “Well I’d been dancing a bit with Gary.” Gary! That made me take notice. Gary, the colleague I used to hear about all the time, Gary that once phoned the house when I should have been at work, Gary that we’d argued over and she’d always vehemently denied. “It’s is all a bit vague, I was really pissed” she went on, “I remember we’d been flirting a bit, and done a bit of slow dancing. We went outside for a fag and somehow finished up at his car, where I think he said the fags were. I remember smoking and then we were snogging.” She was getting quite dreamy now, eyes closed, clearly lost in the memory, hips moving a bit faster and clit finger very busy. “I do remember him sliding his hand up my skirt, and me telling him not to, but also thinking it was quite nice. I still had a fag in my hand and remember breaking off from a kiss, to take a drag, and seeing there were people dotted around in the car park. You know how that always turns me on. I think we snogged, and he fingered me, for quite a while. There was a lot of giggling and ‘stop it’ and ‘people will see.’ I don’t remember getting his cock out, but one of us must have because I distinctly remember it going in, and it being a bit of a surprise. We were standing up leaning against the side of his car and he must have had to bend at the knees, quite a bit, to get low enough. I’m not quite sure how he managed it, but he just stood up and it went right in, to the balls. Once it was in, I remember he moved me a bit sideways and sat me on the edge of the bonnet, just in front of the windscreen, so he could stand up properly. I remember lying back on the bonnet, with him holding my legs up, hanging over the crook of his arms. It was so dreamy, the sunshine, the chatter of nearby people, this cock sliding in and out of me.” She was really into it now and fairly obviously getting close. “Please don’t judge me,” she whispered, “it was surreal. You know what it’s like when you’re drunk and not really able to make things add up. All I remember was it being blissful. I kept my eyes closed, kind of fantasising about how public it was, and who might be watching, and occasionally heard him say something, which didn’t seem to be aimed at me. I distinctly remember him coming. Not so much the fact of it, I remember the thought going through my mind ‘Ooo, I can feel him coming, that’s hot.’ I’d been married 10 years, and had two kids, bringing a guy off, so easily, in a car park, felt like a real ‘go girl’ moment.” She was moving quite fast on me now, really grinding down onto my pubic bone, when she opened her eyes, looked right at me, and said, very deliberately, “then he stepped back and another guy slipped into me” at which point she went into a very long orgasm, really shuddering and making a lot of noise. It’s not about size, or muscle, or technique. It’s about planting land mines all over your psyche and then setting them off. My mind just blew with really extreme sexual excitement, hyper charged by something else – some kind of mental melt down. As soon as she’d finished shaking, I flipped her into doggy and just hammered her. I shot my load in about 10 strokes. When we’d settled, I struggled to stay controlled. Obviously, I wanted every detail. I also wanted to rage a bit, but I really didn’t want to put her off ever doing this again. I tried to stay as calm as possible and even feigned some enthusiasm. “Christ” I said, “tell all” It turns out that at the point the second guy slipped in, Sue, her boss, had turned up. She’d seen them leave the marquee and, when they didn’t come back, had come looking, knowing how pissed her star saleswoman was. She’d dragged off the second guy, who was just some random who’d come across the scene and decided to try his luck (apparently with Gary’s encouragement) and sent him packing. She’d also given Gary a real dressing down, including a couple of slaps. Then she’d taken the wife into the ladies and tried to sort her out. She’d made her phone me to come and get her “before she got into any more trouble” and had been filling her full of coffee in the time it took me to drive there. Now I’m left trying to unpick this. When I’d finally found their table, I remember shaking hands with Gary and some of her other colleagues. He must have still had her juice on his fingers and known full well his load was trickling down her thighs as she leaned on me. Did they exchange a little smirk while we shook hands? Had he told anybody else? Did the whole table know? Was the other guy somewhere in the marquee, pointing us out to his mates? I really, really hate those thoughts, even now, 30 years later. She came explosively as she remembered the second, completely unknown, cock sliding into her. I really, really love that. I’d suspected Gary, back in the day, and she’d always convincingly denied it, which leaves me in a mind shattering limbo. She assures me there was only this one off. Is that possible to believe? There have been three other “Gary’s” over the years. Colleagues at different workplaces that she’s mentioned just a few too many times. Is it possible now to believe all these denials? She’s come in very pissed from numerous girl’s nights out, how many ‘go girl’ moments do they include? In three months, I’ve had two confessions about people I already suspected, but had believed repeated convincing denials. On both occasions, she’d had not only the guy I’d suspected, but somebody else as well. Do I want more confessions? Well in truth, yes, so I’m playing it cool. It’s really, amazingly, fantastically, good for our sex life. We haven’t stopped fucking since, and on every occasion, she drags up some small forgotten detail, which intensifies the whole thing for me. Is it so good for everything else? I’m not sure, time will tell. You can never really know a woman, any more than you can know a cat. Is that why they’re so intoxicating?