When my husband first told me that he fantasised about me fucking other guys, its fair to say I was a little bit surprised. I wondered if it was some kind of test. If he was going to start calling me a cheat and a slut if I said I wanted to do it. Then he told me what he liked about it: the thought of relinquishing control, seeing the woman he loved animalistically fucked by someone with all thought of emotion taken out of it. I was very keen on the idea.
We began to explore his fantasy slowly at first, as appears to be the done thing. I made a profile on a dating app and we would spend a couple of hours every other evening swiping through the never ending barrage of horny guys that we were faced with. I would talk about the ones that I thought were hot and we’d send them a couple of messages. It took a while before I became completely comfortable with the idea but I soon began exchanging dirty messages with the guys on the app. And I would read them out to my husband while he fucked me and I’d feel how much harder it made him and how much more it made him want me. I’d talk about other men we’d seen, telling him how I wanted to be used by them. That led to some of the best sex we’d ever had. It’s safe to say we were both into the idea.
The dating app soon led to being a bit more flirty and open in bars and clubs when we went out. I’d point out guys that I thought were hot, give them a smile, a wink or a wave. I’d go to the bar and leave my hubby at the table. I’d welcome the advances of men who fancied trying it on with me. I’d flirt with them and my hubby would watch. He always had his eyes on me and a grin on his face. If I flirted hard enough the men would put their hand on my arm, or their arm around my waist or in some instances their hand on my bum. I loved that. My hubby loved it more.
I was there to be shown off. An object. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Then, one day, we decided to take the plunge. There was a guy that I’d been messaging for a week or so on a dating app. I’d made it clear to him what the idea was: we were looking for someone to fuck me while my husband watched. He was into it. My husband was thrilled that it was a black man. One drunken Friday we exchanged a couple of photos. I sent him (Marcus) one of my cute pale 32C boobs, pink nipples on full display. He replied with a dick pic. Precum oozing from the head of his cock down the shaft. It was very artsy for a dick pic, but it did the trick. He was at least twice the size of my husband’s four inches. I don’t know who was more excited about me taking it: me or him.
We arranged to meet at a neutral venue. A hotel in town. It was a Thursday night and my husband and I were in the hotel bar first. It was very quiet, almost nobody around. We grabbed a table and sat opposite one another. He was in a t-shirt and jeans, I was dressed up. My brown hair was curled to my shoulders, I had on bright red lipstick and a pink dress. It was low cut enough to show some cleavage and supportive enough to make my 32Cs look at least a cup size bigger. The dress was short and came to just below my bum when I was standing. It rode up a little when I sat down. Underneath the dress: no bra, a black thong. I felt naughty.
I was already wet with anticipation of what was to come. Hubby had been hard for an hour already and he’d had a wank before we’d left the room too. He had picked out my dress and my underwear based on what he thought Marcus might like. He had good taste. And he would be proven to be correct.
Almost half an hour later, Marcus strode into the hotel bar. He was taller than I expected. He’d said he was 6’4 and I’d assumed he had added a couple of inches but it was apparent that he hadn’t. That meant he was a good few inches taller than my husband and more than a foot taller than me. He looked the part too. A perfect white shirt. Black trousers. Black shoes. His shirt stretched tight against his sculpted arms. God I wanted him.
Hubby and I stood to greet Marcus. He towered over us both. His hand eclipsed my husband’s as they shook. He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. It made me weak. He sat at the table beside me and ordered his drink.
We’d agreed to get a couple of drinks first, make sure that we were comfortable in each other’s company. And it didn’t take long for Marcus and I to get comfortable. Before he was halfway through his first drink I felt his strong hand on my thigh. He didn’t grip me, but his hand was placed with force. The way he did it and the way he looked at my husband, it was clear that I belonged to Marcus already. And the three of us knew it. My husband was excluded from the conversation fairly quickly. But then, he was there to watch so it was all good practice.
During the time it took for us to finish our next drinks, Marcus had moved closer to me. He had ran his fingers through my hair, stroked my cheek, kept a firm grip on my thigh and even pushed my dress up a little higher as his hand had moved further up my legs. I suggested it was time to head upstairs.
Marcus and I led the way, hand in hand. Husband trailed behind. Beaming.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ul8ujh/my_husband_wanted_to_see_me_fuck_another_man_i