Wife’s Fantasy

“Remember, Nikki, you’re not being unfaithful if your husband watches.”

Nikki was sitting on the edge of a strange bed, in a strange hotel room, wearing nothing but lingerie and a blouse as she waited for a strange man, but for a moment, with her husband kneeling before her, staring into her eyes, she felt at ease. Almost.

Reaching out, Nikki touched Carl’s face, sliding her fingers through his soft, familiar beard. Flecks of grey had turned it salt-and-pepper, but Nikki liked the look. This man only got more handsome as he got older.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” she said. Her nerves were back, leaving Nikki shaking and jittery as adrenaline raced through her. She took a sharp, heady breath, as her husband did the same.

He said, “Only if you still want to.”

Nikki’s lips curled up before she could stop herself. She wanted to. She really wanted to. It riddled her with guilt and left her feeling like a terrible wife and mother, but she *really wanted to*.

The look of hunger that passed across his wife’s face sent excitement stirring in Carl’s gut. Everything about what they were about to do came with a rush—from watching her roll her black thigh-highs up her legs, to helping her shave her pussy into a neat, cropped wedge, to making love one last time last night before she gave herself to another man—but seeing how *into* it Nikki was topped all of that. She wasn’t doing this just because he wanted her to. She wasn’t just entertaining his fantasy. At some point along this improbable journey from wife to hotwife, his fantasy had become hers as well.

“I want to,” she said, colour leaping to her cheeks. She cast her eyes down, batting her long lashes as she bit her lip, then shyly looked back at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked, holding her.

“I shouldn’t want this as much as I do—”

“I love that you do.” He was so hard, so turned on, that he nearly threw her back on the bed and had his way with her. He could read Nikki’s body language well enough to know that she wanted that, too. Her breathing was shallow, her pupils dilated, and she couldn’t stop rubbing her fingertips together nervously. “I’ll be here,” he said. “The whole time. Right in that chair.”

Nikki nodded, glancing at the ornate, hotel chair they’d positioned in the corner. It comforted her to know that he’d be watching.

“But I want you to pretend like I’m not. I don’t want you to hold back.”

“I’m not sure I’m going to have that problem,” she said, blushing hard.

Carl grinned. Reaching into the pocket of his sports coat, he pulled out a blindfold—white and lined with frilly lace. Nikki’s breath caught. “This should help you forget me.”

“You don’t have to…” Her voice trailed off as Carl went ahead and slipped the blindfold over his wife’s eyes, tucking her blond bangs out of the way.

“Can you see anything?” he asked.

Nikki shook her head, a shiver running through her. She couldn’t, and she felt so vulnerable because of that. She sensed her husband stand, his warmth leaving her side. She pulled her blouse around her. The room was warm, but goosebumps formed across her bare arms anyway. Her nipples pressed hard against the black lace of her bra.

The mechanical whine of Carl’s old Polaroid camera sent a jolt through her. They’d played with it before, taking dirty pictures of each other and revelling in them in the hazy afterglow of sex. But this was different. This was documentation of this ultimate line being crossed. She shivered.

A moment later, she felt something press into her hand, cool and smooth. A wine glass. She lifted it to her nose and sniffed the earthy aroma of the white wine.

“To calm your nerves,” Carl explained.

“Thanks,” Nikki said, licking her lips. “Carl?”

“Hm?” Carl paused, stepping back and surveying his wife. She sat perched on the edge of the exquisitely made bed, looking stiff and nervous and so beautiful—innocent in the sexiest way possible. That sight would greet another man in just a few minutes.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too, honey. No matter what happens.”

She smiled beneath the blindfold. “Go on and get our man. I’ll be right here, waiting.”

Carl smiled, heat rushing through his body at the order. He nodded, looked her over one last time, and left.

Nikki heard the door click, and for a moment, panic tightened around her. With the blindfold on, she felt so defenseless—ready to be a plaything for a strange man. She should have hated that objectification. She still felt the stirrings of indignity and shame. She’d always kept her sexuality to herself, walled off, even from Carl. Until Carl had walked in on her masturbating.

She lifted the glass of wine and drank quickly as her gut churned and her face burned with mortification. She’d tried covering herself, but it was too late. He’d seen. He knew her secret. Even now, despite being all alone, she wanted to bury her face in her hands. But she didn’t. She fought back the wave of panic, called on all those hours of yoga, and calmed her breathing. What was done was done, and as it turned out, that moment had been one of the healthiest they’d ever shared.

​

Carl’s heart raced as he waited for the elevator to arrive. His breath came ragged. He let himself laugh, but it came out a nervous titter. When the elevator chimed open, he was thankful that he had it all to himself.

The elevator dropped, and he fought to keep his stomach from dropping with it. He could still back out. Instead of getting out of the elevator when the doors opened, he could ride it back up to her. He could pretend that he was the stranger, use the blindfold to his advantage. They’d played that way before, and it had been fun.

When the doors opened to the hotel lobby, though, and he heard the murmur of conversation spill from the hotel’s bar, he knew they wouldn’t be pretending tonight.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Carl stepped out and crossed over to the crowded bar. It was busy with business travellers and conventioneers unwinding after a long day, many looking for some evening entertainment. The bar wasn’t so crowded that Carl couldn’t pick him out immediately—the man who was going to fuck his wife.

Ridge was a good-looking guy, but very different than Carl. First of all, he was younger, and athletic in a way that Carl never had been, with the close-cropped hair of a soldier. He held his broad shoulders back, exuding confidence as he flipped through his phone. A trio of young women floated past him, giving him a long once over. Ridge ignored them, although his secret smile let Carl know that their appraisal wasn’t missed.

Carl dove into the bar, weaving through the sea of bodies without seeing them, barely feeling them. He closed in before he lost his nerve.

“Hey, man,” Ridge said, rising to his feet and offering Carl his hand before he was close enough to take it. It was the only outward sign that this man was as nervous as Carl. His smile was bright and delivered without hesitation. “Good to finally meet you in person.”

“Ridge,” Carl said with a nod. He still felt like melting into the floor, but it was a little easier now that he was face-to-face with their fantasy maker. “Let me get you another drink.”

Ridge shook his head, picking a glass of whiskey off the bar and handing it to Carl. “I’ve already got you covered.” He lifted his matching glass in a toast. “To your wife.”

Carl’s heart palpitated. “To Nikki.”

He was proud that his hand didn’t shake as he tipped his glass against Ridge’s, or when he lifted it and took a swallow. It burned against his throat.

“So where is the lady of the evening?” Ridge asked.

“Up in our room.” Carl reached held up the Polaroid. It was still filmy, not quite developed. He hesitated only a beat before holding it out to Ridge. “Waiting.”

Ridge took the photo, confused for only a moment. When he looked at it, his eyes went wide. “Blindfolded,” he said without taking his eyes from the image as it slowly darkened into sexy crispness. “Nice touch.”

Carl and Nikki had sent photos to Ridge before tonight, including one of her completely nude, except for stockings—they’d been careful enough to blur her face, but the vulnerability had been intense. This was on a different plane. Carl watched Ridge study the photo, the other man’s mind drifting somewhere pleasant, somewhere that drew his smile into his eyes.

Ridge blinked, seemed to remember himself, and tucked the photo into his own pocket. Carl didn’t protest. “She’s very hot,” Ridge said. “Are you sure you you’re going to be okay sharing her?”

He didn’t ask if Carl *wanted* to share her—he asked if Carl would be okay. Ridge was a man who’d been in this situation before, a man who advertised himself as a bull for new couples getting into this lifestyle. He’d been a perfect gentleman through all of their emails, someone who could show Nikki a good time without complicating it up with emotions or talk of a relationship. And this man knew the right questions to ask.

Carl took another sip of his Scotch, really considering the question. He’d been harboring this fantasy for years. He’d seen the way other men always looked at Nikki when they didn’t think he was looking. He’d watched them flirt with her when he was busy doing something else. The jealousy was there, tangled up in sticky insecurity, but more than that was this intense, profound arousal.

Before he’d confessed his fantasy to Nikki, he wasn’t sure. Since that frightening moment, though, they’d spent hours together, talking through their emotions, exploring the confusing and sometimes contradictory emotions that came with it. It was her reassurance that made this question an easy one to answer.

“I’ll be okay.”

Ridge swirled his Scotch without sipping it, studying Carl with a stare that seemed to dig through him. “You’re going to be okay watching your wife take my cock in her mouth?”

Ridge’s words struck him like a lightning bolt, crackling and powerful. His mouth went dry; his pants tightened. He lost the ability to speak as Ridge leaned closer, never releasing him from that stare.

“You’re going to be okay when I sink myself into her pussy?”

Carl gasped, seeing it, imagining his wife—his best friend—with her legs splayed around this guy.

Ridge said, “I’m going to fuck her until she begs me to fuck her harder. Until she screams, Carl. Will you be okay then?”

“Yes.” He downed his drink. “I believe I will.”

Ridge grinned, finishing his drink with equal enthusiasm. “Okay then,” he said, glancing toward the lobby. “Let’s go.”

​

Nikki sat fidgeting in the dark behind her blindfold. Time lost its meaning as she waited, nervous and excited and vulnerable. Her mind wandered to Ridge, the stranger they were about to invite into their bed. He was the kind of guy she knew she shouldn’t want—the bad boy, worldly and hardened around the edges because of it.

She’d written him off almost as soon as she saw his photo—a shirtless pic of him taken at the gym. This was a man who’d be too cocky for his own good. At Carl’s urging, she emailed him anyway.

The real surprise was how down-to-earth he had seemed. They’d had a lot of questions about the arrangement—have you done this before? Is it okay if my husband watches? Can we take photos? He’d answered them all sincerely, offering tips from his past experiences, getting them comfortable.

She still blushed thinking about the first time she’d sent him a picture of herself—a bikini photo with her face cropped out. She’d worried that he wouldn’t write back. Instead, he’d responded with one word—more.

She’d obliged, asking Carl to take more and more risqué photos. She’d got a rush each time she’d sent them, each time she’d waited for his response. He’d never disappointed. *You’re beautiful*, he’d write. *So sexy*, he’d text. And always, always, *Send me more.*

Tonight, he’d see more. So much more.

The wine glass trembled in her hands. She took a sip—the tiniest sip—knowing it left the red smear of her lipstick along it. Would Ridge find that sexy? She reached down, touching the lace at the top of her stockings. She knew he’d like that. He’d requested them.

*I want you to wear stockings for me. Black and wicked, because tonight you’re going to be bad.* She still had that text on her phone. She considered taking the blindfold off to read it.

Before she could, she heard the click and felt the pressure in the room change. Her ears opened, trying to fill the blindness. Was that another man’s footsteps across the plush carpet? Was that stride longer, different?

And then she smelled it—smelled *him*. Carl didn’t wear cologne like that. Carl didn’t wear cologne at all. Beneath it, though, she smelled the musk of another man, hungry for her. He smelled exactly the way he imagined Ridge would smell.

His hands touched her fingers, caressing the backs of her hands as he took her glass of wine. She turned her head in the direction of his face, wishing she could tear the blindfold away—loving that she hadn’t.

But it wasn’t Ridge who broke the heady silence. It was Carl, saying the exact thing she needed to hear.

“I’m here, honey. And remember, you’re not being unfaithful if your husband watches.”

She smiled to himself, the moment before Ridge bent down at kissed her. Yes, she was ready for this. *They* were ready for this.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/akzb95/wifes_fantasy