Flirting with the Wife

My wife is so innocent and naive. She's wonderfully beautiful. Despite being over 35, she looks like a college student, complete with the small frame, perky breasts, and smooth skin. I wish that I could say the same for myself, as I look every bit of my age, especially when I allow my grayish beard to grow out. However, regardless of her youthful appearance, despite her stunning looks, she is convinced that men have no interest in her. She bases this claim upon the fact that a man has never approached her at a bar. I try to tell her that most guys are probably just intimidated, or it could be the fact that she's been with me for years and had other long-term boyfriends before that. But she'll have none of my talk, chalking it up to me trying to make her feel desired.

That's why an idea popped into my head. We would be going out later that week for a date, which we tried to do monthly. Normally, I got restaurant reservations without issue. We would go, eat, drink a little, and come home to make love. This time, though, I decided to "forget" to make a reservation at one of her favorite places. I knew that we'd eventually get a table, but we'd have to wait a bit.

The night arrived. We got dressed up, as usual. She wore a tiny black dress that showed her legs, her neck, and just a little cleavage. She did her best to pretend that she wasn't annoyed at the absence of our reservations. Despite it being a Saturday in a very tourist dense area, we were early enough to get a spot at the bar along with a 45-minute wait for a table. As we ordered drinks, I scoured the room, looking for a man whom she would find attractive.

I spotted a table of men in suits. All of them appeared to be in their early 30s. A few were pudgy, a bit hefty. Two looked to be in decent enough shape, hard to discern totally across a room and through their suits, but good enough. One of those two was our guy. He looked stereotypically Italian, which is her type: olive skin, black, medium-length to longer hair with just a hint of curls, strong facial features.

I told her that I needed to use the washroom. When I was sure that she was looking at her phone, not me, I approached the table.

"Hey, guys. How are you?"

I ditected my next few sentences towards the Italian. "See that lady by herself? The tiny one with the dark hair? That's my wife. She is convinced that she's not attractive enough to be hit on in a bar. Would you mind just flirting with her for a sec? I'll be in the restroom to give you time."

After he eagerly agreed, Mario, which I learned was his name, promised to text me everything that transpired after he was done. We exchanged numbers, and we parted ways, with me towards the bathroom and him towards my sexy wife.

I never made it to the bathroom. I turned the corner down the hallway and spied on my wife and my new friend.

Mario approached. He chatted her up for a few quick minutes, placed his hand on her back, whispered in her ear, reached into his pocket and handed her a business card, and left. It was over much more quickly than I thought it would be, but I scooted back to my wife.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"Some guy who wanted a drink, I guess." She wasn't telling the full truth.

"Oh, I thought that he might have been talking to you."

She responded, "Not really."

I dropped it. Was my wife even more naive than I previously thought? Maybe she couldn't recognize when someone was hitting on her.

My phone buzzed. It was Mario. He texted that he told her how sexy she is. She answered that she is married. He acknowledged, but he told her that our marriage can't make her any less appealing to him. He told her that he whispered to her that he'd love to show her how excited she made him and handed her his card with his cell phone number on it. He asked her to text if she was ever interested. He then promised to keep me updated, which I almost laughed out loud at. As if my wife would do anything but throw that card out later that night?

After dinner, when we arrived home, my wife didn't even want to go to our bedroom before she needed sex. She was wet and aggressive and wild during our lovemaking. It was like we were young lovers again. And it was like that the next morning and night as well. She could not get enough.

Two days later, my phone buzzed. It was Mario. He sent me a screen shot of a text conversation with my wife.

"Hello, Mario. I just wanted to say thanks for talking to me the other night."

His response: "Of course. I never approach women at bars, but when I saw you, I had to. I knew that you'd text me. We have a connection that you can't deny. When you went home, I assume that you fucked your husband. Did you think of me at all?"

She answered: "That isn't appropriate. I'm married."

"You can't help the thoughts that cross your mind. Just tell me."

That was the end of the thread. I couldn't believe that my wife was texting this stranger, and I couldn't believe how happy I was about it. After all, she was fucking me; I was reaping the benefits.

A few more days of intense sex sessions went by before Mario texted me another screen shot.

"Mario, what did you like about me when you saw me?"

"I'll answer your question when you answer mine from the other day," he replied.

"I can't do that," she bemoaned.

"Either you answer my question or send me a nude photo of yourself, and I'll answer. Without either, I'm not returning your texts."

End of thread. That seemed innocent enough. That is, until about four hours later when another Mario text came through.

"Ok, I'll answer. I couldn't help but think of you a couple of times. Now, answer me."

Mario replied, "I loved your silhouette, your figure, your neck, and exposed skin. I liked the aura of class that you exude. Did you think of what my body would feel like with yours and how my touch would compare to anything you've known before?"

My wife responded, "Thank you, Mario. You know that I can't answer that. Tell me about yourself."

"You know the deal. You answer or send a pic, and I'll respond."

End of thread. My wife was thinking of him? No big deal, as Mario said, we can't help the thoughts that cross our minds.

However, that night, while making love, I couldn't help but having thoughts of my own. While she was on top, I started talking about the guy who hit on her at the restaurant, how I could tell that he was hot for her, etc. She responded with her hips, rocking them so hard into orgasm after orgasm. I wondered what his name was.

She screamed out, "Mario!" several times before collapsing, exhausted, on top of me.

In our love making the next morning, I would bring up the name "Mario," and she would always start bucking into a frenzy. It was great.

That afternoon, the text came in.

"Yes, Mario, I've imagined what it would be like to be with you. But it's just a fun little imagined thing, nothing real. Now, your turn."

He responded with facts about his life, as she requested. He didn't live in town; he was just at the restaurant that night on business. But he'd be in town on the weekend. He asked if she wanted to meet up, and this time, he gave an ultimatum: "You say yes to meeting me or you send a series of pics of my asking, whatever I want. Otherwise, I don't want to waste time."

End of thread. It was Sunday. That night and the next day, my wife didn't seem in the mood for sex. It was fine, as we had been going at it like teenagers for over a week, but I suspected that this had not to do more with Mario than with just being tired.

So I asked, "Everything ok, my love?"

"I'm stuck with something. I've got a dilemna with three options. I have one option that is the right one, and two are degrees of bad. But the bad ones are also ones that are fun and dangerous and exciting. I don't know what to do," she said meekly.

"No matter what you choose, I'll love you," I said.

"You don't know what you're saying," she replied.

"Maybe not, but I still mean it. You could do anything, and I'll still love you. You should do whatever brings you the most joy."

She kissed me, and we made tender, slow love. I never mentioned Mario. I didn't even think of him.

The next day, my phone buzzed: Mario. What he showed me blew my mind.

"Mario, I will not meet you this weekend, but I still want to hear from you, so tell me what you want from me."

Mario asked for pictures of my wife in various poses and states of undress. And she complied with every demand. After each pic, he would go into detail about what he liked and what he wanted to see next. He would tell her what he would like to do to her. This went on for about 12 pictures. Then, he asked what she wanted from him. She wanted a face pic...his chest...his abs...flexed arms...his butt... his cock. She commented, like he had, after each, extolling his positive features. The things that she said about his cock were especially graphic: "It's so thick and veiny. lt looks huge. That would stretch me so much. It might be too big for me..."

I never heard my wife talk about anyone's body like that. And the words that she was using made it seem like she was really considering having sex with this man. It was a huge turn-on while also filling me with pangs of jealousy.

The text thread ended with Mario stating, "I need to feel you this weekend. If you can't see me, this is over."

When I saw my wife later that day, she looked like a shell of herself. She was like a zombie, there but not, in a total fog. I asked if she was ok.

Almost in tears, she confesed everything: being hit on, contacting Mario, the text conversions, the pictures, and the ultimatum. She admitted something that was shocking to hear her say: "I never want to hurt you, but I want to experience him, just once."

As I was keeping my jaw from hitting the floor, I felt as if I needed to confess as well: "I asked Mario to hit on you." I admitted to starting everything and to egging her on in the bedroom. I did leave out that Mario had been sharing her texts with me, but said that Mario had let me know some things. I also admitted how turned on and how jealous I was about everything.

She asked with her cutest doe eyes, "Well, what should we do?"

I responded, "You should whatever will bring you joy, and I'll always love you. I only ask that if, you decide to let another man have you, that I'm there to watch."

She just smiled.

The next day, Wednesday, Mario texted a screen shot. My wife was agreeing to let him fuck her in any way that he wanted, to do anything that he asked in the bedroom of his hotel, as long as I could accompany her. She also agreed not to have sex with me until after that Saturday night.

The anticipation was brutal for both of us. It was hard to concentrate on work. And at night, without work as some distraction, the hours seemed to drag. I felt like I had a perpetual erection. I had a ton of questions, but I was far too nervous to ask my wife anything. I didn't want her to feel the pressure to back out, as I wanted this too, but I didn't want to see her go through with it.

Finally, it was Saturday. We arrived at the hotel and rode the elevator up in silence. We knocked on the door, and Mario opened it. He was wearing a robe. He directed me towards a chair and told me that he'd appreciate it if I remained there.

He took wife's hand and led her to the bed. Her eyes never left his, as if she were in a trance. He disrobed, leaving him in only his bikini briefs. This was the first time that I got a good look at Mario. He was taller than I am by a few inches. He was very lean and muscular. His briefs barely contained his flaccid member. I was nervous for my wife for many reasons.

They began kissing, and he paid special attention to her neck. As he gave her little nips on her flesh, he would whisper to her. I've no idea what he was saying, but my wife would always smile and sometimes nod.

I was so entraced by his mouth's work on her lips and neck that I was surprised how little clothing my wife still had on. Somehow, Mario managed to remove her top and skirt and was currently tossing her bra to the side. Each of them had only their bottoms remaining.

Mario then laid my wife back onto the bed. He teased her body, tracing circles over her skin with his fingers, all the while continuing to deeply tongue kiss her. His olive skin was a sharp contrast to my wife's milky tone. He stopped his hand just at her waistband and whispered in her ear. She nodded and lifted her hips. Soon enough, her panties were on the floor and her legs were spread as an invitation to his probing fingers.

And probe he did. He worked his hand over her mound, along her inner thighs, brushing her tender vaginal lips and teasing out her swelling clit. Her hips bucked forward, trying to get his fingers to dip into her hidden honey pot, but he frustrated her. She could do nothing but suck his tongue and reach blindly for his package.

And she found it. It was unavoidable. It was too large and close to her to remain unfound. Mario's briefs were absurdly distended, looking like they'd snap any second from the pressure that they were under. She was desperately trying to yank them downward, to free his manhood. They wouldn't budge, which only added to the frustration.

Then, Mario rocked her onto her side. As he did, he dipped in not one but two fingers, which made my sweet little wife gasp. The maneuver freed his left hand, which he used to loose his ample cock. In this position, he could grind against my wife's ass and keep whispering in her ear as she moaned and moaned.

She must have cum at least twice, and now she was begging, "Please, I need you now."

Mario rocked her onto her back again and got between her legs. He paused at her entrance. Her eyes were closed as he was rubbing her juices all over his bulbous head.

He looked me dead in the eyes and asked her, "What do you want me to do?"

She screamed out, "Fuck me!"

She and I had talked about Mario using a condom, but there was not one in sight. I didn't know if I should protest, but Mario, still looking at me, asked, "Should fuck you hard and deep bareback, or do you want me to stop what I'm doing to search for a condom?"

"I need it, please. Just pull..." her words trailed off.

He turned his gaze back to my wife and pushed at least half of his huge, unprotected erection into her wanting pussy. Her eyes shot open in shock. She yelped out, in pain or in pleasure, I could not say. He withdrew.

She smiled up at him and locked eyes; "More" was all she said.

And more he gave. He was slowly pulling nearly all the way out and plunging forward as much as would go. Inch by inch he was filling her, and with each thrust forward she squeaked and squealed. But she never told him to stop, which only served to prod him on. It took a full seven minutes for him to become fully buried in her. He marked the occasion by rotating his hips as he ground into her.

"How do you feel? he asked.

"So full. It's so thick and long. I feel stretched to the limit," she cooed.

"That was just the beginning. I'm going to start to fuck you now."

With that, he moved her left leg across his front, got her onto all fours, and knelt behind her, all without withdrawing an inch. In this position, I could see how low his balls hung and how tightly my wife's pussy held onto his cock. He began sawing back and forth, in and out of her. His hands messaged her shoulders while also aiding her to fall back onto his rod. My wife was grunting through another orgasm as he began really pounding.

"Tell me how it feels. Am I living up to your imagination," he confidently inquired.

Between each "AHHH" that escaped her lips, she answered, "So good," "Better than imagined," "So deep and full..."

My wife normally isn't one for marathon sex. We normally are done 10 or so minutes, and she orgasms at least twice. In fact, if I ever go on too long, she tries to entice me to hurry. Mario had been on the bed with my wife for at least 25 minutes at this point, and he was showing no signs of slowing his frenetic pace. And my wife showed no signs of complaining about it. Actually, she looked like she was in a state of complete euphoria.

Eventually, Mario must have grown tired of that position, so he pulled my wife onto her side, all while staying locked in behind her. Here, he couldn't pound away as hard, but he had full access her clit, as if my wife hadn't cum enough.

He began rubbing her button, and she demanded, "Press it harder. Fuck me harder."

Mario obliged. The end of his middle finger was white because of the force that he was using to push her clit. And he was doing his best to hammer her from behind while on his side.

He looked at me. "I am going to cum. Do you want me to pull out?"

Without hesitation, my wife whined, "No, I'm so close to a big one. I need it. Whatever you do, don't stop until I cum."

He grinned. A few more pumps along with the pressing of her clit, and her legs began to shake terribly. Her back arched. She threw her arms above her head and put Mario into some sort of headlock. Her eyes and mouth were both gaping, but no sound was being emitted.

She was like this for what seemed like minutes. I was worried that she wasn't breathing. The silence was only broken when Mario grabbed my wife's hips, gave one final thrust forward, and yelled out triumphantly. I could see his tremendous balls spasm as he emptied himself into my wife's tight, pristine, perfect pussy.

He whispered into her ears some more, She giggled and nodded. She released his head from her lock on it. She affectionately caressed the side of his buttocks with her right hand while twirling his curls with her left. He nuzzled her neck, whispered to her, and slowly started pulling away.

Even flaccid, it took effort for him to work out of her tight hole. It was like he was fucking her in reverse. Instead of inching in, he was inching out. Finally, the head plopped out and with it came a torrent of semen.

Normally, after sex, my wife runs to bathroom. She couldn't even move. So I went to bathroom and got a few hand towels and a wet washcloth. And as I cleaned her, she told me that she never will love anyone as much as she loves me.

We got dressed, said our goodbyes, and never heard from Mario again. We fuck like jackrabbits every time one of us brings him up. Maybe if things slow down again, I'll have to find another guy to flirt with my wife.