While a wife and her lover enjoy themselves on the bed
It was so much fun advising my wife Jennifer how to proceed with her crush on a business acquaintance of mine. John was extremely handsome, salt and pepper beard, tall. He had a wife, Sara, and their grown children. He was a very respectable guy, big in the Synagogue, always doing charity work.
“Do you think he would cheat on Sara?” my wife asked.
“Well, I think he would cheat with you,” I assured her.
The two of them, my wife and John, had an undeniable connection, that had been going on for years. They would dance at the holiday party where we always ran into them. We weren’t close friends but since we ran in the same circles we did see them a lot.
I saw the way John looked at Jennifer, and I saw the way my wife looked at him. They really had that chemical attraction. Any stupid joke my wife would make, he would crack up like she was Chris Rock in female form. And the way she looked at him — dreamy.
“He’s so dreamy,” she always told me.
She knew how excited it made me. The question of how to proceed was the tricky one.
“I’ve never been the other woman,” my wife said to me one night when we were talking about John. “I’m not sure how I feel about it. I mean, doing that to Sara.”
“What would you be doing to her?” I countered. “It’s not like you’re going to steal her husband. You just want to have sex with him.”
“True,” she said. “I would never leave you.”
She was quite devoted to me, my wife. I never felt threatened in the least by her flirtations and crushes on other men. Because I knew we were soulmates and nobody could ever take my place in her soul. It was a fact that my wife was very attractive and a lot of men wanted her, and I happened to have a voyeuristic, cuckoldish streak. I found jealousy the biggest turn on. When most men see their wife flirting they want to have a fist fight — I would get a hard on and want to immediately jerk off.
But as of yet, she had only flirted. She hadn’t cuckolded me really. I felt that she was getting close, though. Very close.
“What should I do?” she asked me.
“Well, why not text him and see if he wants to have coffee with you sometime this week?”
“Coffee? Hmmm. That would be weird. I mean, we’ve known each other for what, six years, and we’ve never had coffee together.”
“No time like the present,” I said.
“Alright,” she agreed. “I will text him and invite him for coffee. But if he tells Sara she will be so mad at me.”
“He won’t tell Sara,” I assured her. I know men. Men love to micro cheat. Even good men like John. This would absolutely make his day, getting invited to coffee with a beautiful woman. Why would he spoil that by telling his wife?
Sure enough, that night when I came home my wife greeted me with a beaming expression.
“Well,” she enthused. “I did it! We’re meeting for coffee tomorrow morning! What should I wear?”
Oh my gosh. I was so aroused when my wife spent an hour or so trying on different outfits and hairstyles for her date with our mutual friend. We went over everything. Makeup — not too much. Hair — back and informal. Don’t want to make him nervous! Dress — a nice sun dress showing off her legs, but wholesome. Shoes — goddess sandals, because she is a goddess.
Bra and panties she said wasn’t going to matter because he wasn’t going to be seeing those on their first date.
“Are you sure?” I said. “I mean, you guys practically drool at each other. If you start kissing I’m sure your clothes are going to be ripped off.”
“But where?” she said. “In the restaurant? We’ve got nowhere to go. We can’t go to his house. And you’re here at our house.”
“I’ll go out,” I said. “If you want, you know, some private time. Just text me, and I will vacate the premises.”
“Oh come on, not on the first date,” she said.
I could hardly sleep that night. While my wife slept next to me I jerked off like ten times thinking about their coffee date and the various things that might transpire.
Finally the morning came and she got herself ready and gave me a little kiss.
“Bye love,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said. “You don’t know how happy you’re making me.”
“Oh, I know,” she said. “I know exactly how happy I’m making you. I love you and I want you to be happy.”
“I’m so lucky,” I cried as she left.
“I know,” she yelled back at me, and went out to her car.
It was a disappointing result, this first coffee, I have to admit. And so I really had to step in as my wife’s “relationship advisor.” Seems that John was kind of playing it cool with her. They had a coffee and a pastry together and then he said he had to get back to his office. He gave her a little peck on the cheek and that was it.
“That was it!” I said, stunned.
“Yeah,” she said. “Sorry. What should I do now? Maybe he doesn’t want me.”
“Of course he wants you. I’ll tell you what you do. Listen to me.”
So I told her to text him and say how much she enjoyed having coffee with him and how great it was to see him. I waited with her for a return text to come through.
“I enjoyed it too,” he texted. “It was great to hang with you.”
I told her to type, “Maybe we should do lunch next time,” and she obeyed.
“Great,” he responded immediately. “I have time on Friday. Where do you want to go, my treat?”
I suggested a pretty informal but nice little place called Bloom, where my wife could get the salad that she adores and he could get a hamburger or something. Plus, they had wine and beer, so maybe they would be able to loosen up a bit.
Friday morning came and we spent another hour debating the right outfit. I pushed for something a little more sexy to give John the right idea. She wore one of those black mesh see-through blouses with a black bra underneath. Man, she looked hot. A little black skirt. I wanted to fuck her so bad. That John would have to be gay not to jump on her. This time I sent her off with some sexy heels and some nice red lipstick. If you looked up “fuckable” in the dictionary this is what you would see.
So, the results of this second date were a little better. According to my wife, they got a little flirtier after they shared a glass of wine. He asked her if she had told her husband — me — about this lunch. She lied and said no, it didn’t come up. She asked him if he had told Sara. He looked at her in the eyes and admitted that he didn’t tell his spouse either.
“So,” she said. “It’s kind of a little secret lunch we’re having, eh?”
“I guess so,” he said.
Then, when it came time to go, instead of the kiss on the cheek, he gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
“That’s it?” she said, disappointedly, while they were waiting for the valet to bring around their cars.
He looked at her. Then he put his mouth on hers again and they made out for about ten seconds. Then the cars came.
“Oh my gosh!” I cried. “It’s on!”
“I don’t know,” my wife said. “Look at this text he sent me.”
“Wow,” he texted. “I think I had too much wine. Sorry about that.”
My wife asked what she should reply.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Come on Cyrano,” she said. “You’re the writer. What should I say?”
“Cyrano!” I said. “I like that.”
And so that’s what I became. My wife’s Cyrano. Helping her navigate these stormy waters of emerging infidelity with this very good man, John. It was a tricky balance I had to hit, between respectful and tempting. I wanted John to believe that this was totally innocent, and yet the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him. I wanted to subtly remind him that one day — very soon — he would be dead and would no longer have a chance to romance sexy ladies like Jennifer.
“Text this,” I said. “No, it was my fault. I’m so sorry.”
“Really?”
“Trust me,” I said. “If he thinks it’s all your fault, his conscience will go back to sleep, and then we can proceed.”
“You know how fond I am of Sara,” I had her explain in the next text. “I would never come between you two. I just…got caught up in the moment I guess. Please forgive me. This will never happen again, I promise.”
“Are you sure?” my wife asked, skeptical.
“Trust me.”
So she typed that. Adding another “Never” at the end with an exclamation mark.
There was about ten minutes of text silence, and my wife kept bugging me about sending something else, to keep him on the hook. I told her not to worry, he was well hooked. We just needed to wait. Sure enough, the text came through at last.
“I really enjoyed kissing you though,” he texted. “I have to admit.”
My wife looked at me with a smile.
“Good job, Cyrano,” she said. “I never should have doubted you. What should I respond?”
“Keep telling him no,” I said. “He’s had a taste. He won’t be able to let it go, trust me.”
So my wife texted him that she enjoyed kissing him too but that it was a terrible mistake. She loved hanging out with him though, and promised to keep it platonic at their next lunch. Which, surprise, surprise, John insisted take place as soon as possible.
“I want to see you again,” he texted, desperately.
So they met up for another lunch, and my wife was keeping it platonic. In the middle of lunch she had to excuse herself to the bathroom where she texted me.
“He keeps putting his hand on my hand,” she said. “I keep taking my hand away.”
“Perfect,” I said.
“I told him we can’t do this to our spouses,” she texted. “He told me he hasn’t had sex with Sara in six months!”
“Oh gosh!”
“I feel sorry for the guy,” she said. “Do I really have to keep playing so hard to get?”
“Yes!” I demanded. “You’re building him up into a frenzy.”
“OK,” she said.
So my wife tried to keep John in the friend zone. When they said goodbye, though, she couldn’t keep it up. She grabbed him and started kissing him passionately, admitting that she wanted him. This was exactly as instructed by “Cyrano” earlier. John told her how much he wanted her. And then, mortified, acting distraught, she tore herself away and got into her car.
“I’m sorry,” she texted him. “I have to block your number. I don’t trust myself any more.”
She blocked his number so the poor guy couldn’t text her. But he was able to email her.
I can forward you the email thread if you are interested. It was some of “Cyrano’s” best work, but it really slows down the narrative unnecessarily so I will just skim over that part here.
Suffice it to say that in their emails they finally resolved to have a one off, one night stand in a week when her husband (me!) was going to be away on business. He would be able to come over on Friday afternoon and Sara would not suspect, since he was obviously still working.
Of course, I wasn’t going to be away on business at all. I just parked my car down the street so he wouldn’t see it, and I got myself into my spot. It was a big wardrobe in the bedroom, right opposite the bed. I got inside there and waited. I had drilled a little hole that gave me a perfect view — with one eye — of the bed.
Oh, and I decided I wanted to be completely nude in there. I don’t know why. I mean, I knew I wanted to jerk off while watching, but I could have done that with my trousers off. I took everything off, though, and stood in there completely nude, with a raging boner, for like a whole hour before they showed up. It was such a great hour. I jerked off a little bit, but not much. Just enough to keep myself on that edge of euphoria. In a minute my wife would be on that bed with John, and I would get to watch everything. Every little detail.
This was Cyrano’s big day! Everything I had worked so hard for. I was about to get my well earned reward.
Finally I heard a car park in the driveway, and voices, as they came in. They lingered a little while down in the living room, then I heard them coming up the stairs. At last, I saw them enter the room — she was pulling him in by the hand.
They collapsed on the bed and began kissing passionately. He was very handsome, this John. I could see why my wife was so crazy about him. She was thoroughly flushed, and looking so beautiful as he kissed her all over her face. She was lying back on the bed, and he was beside her, kissing, and stroking her hair and telling her how lovely she was.
“Take off your shirt,” she told him.
He took his shirt off, and she sat up and started embracing him and kissing him. Then, she put her head to the side and squeezed him, while looking directly at me in the wardrobe. She then gave me the thumbs up sign and grinned.
Oh my wife! I have the best wife in the whole world, don’t I? Isn’t she amazing?
Then he adoringly untied the straps of her dress and let it fall down onto the bed. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her ample bosom was John’s to feast on now.
I have never felt anything quite like that, watching a man put his hands on my wife’s breasts, loving on them, stroking them, amazed at them. He kissed her deeply then, and told her how much he wanted to fuck her. How he’d wanted to fuck her for years. How all their flirting had fueled his fantasies. How he’d fantasized about this very thing — taking off her dress and touching her beautiful tits, and kissing them, and more.
He took off the rest of the dress and then he pulled down her panties, telling her how much he had imagined this moment, the moment of putting his face into her pussy.
My wife came very quickly, as he ate her pussy. She was cumming like crazy.
“Oh, I’m cumming!” she cried, for my benefit. She never announced it when she came with me. She wanted me to know. “Oh thank you, thank you, I’m cumming so good!”
John thought she was thanking him, but she was thanking me, for this chance. I mean, after all, she was going to die one day too, and would never have the chance to have her pussy eaten by a hot guy with a salt and pepper beard, which must have been tickling her thighs now as he feasted on her pussy.
“I’m cumming so hard!” she cried. “So hard! So damn hard!”
She lifted her ass up and shoved her pussy hard into his face to get some more licks as she came, and he accommodated her. He grabbed her ass and pulled it into his face adoringly.
“Now I want to suck you,” she said.
She knew I wanted this more than anything, to watch her suck John’s big dick. I knew it was big because once I had been a guest at the tennis club he belonged to, and I saw him coming out of the shower. He greeted me casually, and I took note. It was seven inches flaccid. I couldn’t wait to see it hard.
“Oh my,” my wife said, when John removed his pants and briefs and came onto the bed.
It must have been about nine inches hard. It was a real sausage. And my wife took it in her hands and put her luscious mouth on it. John started moaning. My wife gave a good blowjob — she had the kind of lips that women pay big money to achieve with collagen — but hers came naturally that way. Succulent lips, sucking that cock. John was going crazy. She took the whole thing in her mouth at one point. I was worried that she was going to gag, but she handled it quite well. John pulled himself out of her to avoid cumming.
“I want to fuck you!” he cried.
“Alright baby,” my wife said. “How do you want me?”
“I want to fuck you from behind so I can enjoy your sweet ass,” he said.
My wife did have a nice ass. One of those asses, you know. Thick. She looks great in leggings with that ass, on her way to yoga class. That whole yoga class of guys must be enjoying that ass as she does her downward dogs — that’s the kind of ass she has.
She got herself on all fours then and John mounted her. I watched the big cock going in her and I heard her gasping with pleasure.
“Oh yeah baby, fuck me, fuck me,” she cried. “I want you so bad. I want you to fuck me hard, baby!”
It took him a few minutes to get it all the way in, that big cock. But soon it was all the way in my wife, and soon it was pulling all the way out of my wife, and going all the way back in my wife, and she was screaming with pleasure.
“Oh! I’m going to cum again!” she yelled. “He’s gonna make me cum again!”
I thought that was a little risky, using the third person like that. She wanted to tell me he was making her cum. But I don’t think he noticed, because he was just worshiping that ass as he fucked it. He was cupping it with both his hands adoringly. He started telling her how he had imagined this ass but that it was even sexier in person, this lovely ass.
There in the wardrobe I was pacing myself. I wanted to cum at the same time as John. I wanted he and I to have simultaneous orgasms as he fucked my wife. I was trying to get a read on how close he was. He was fucking her harder and faster, and my wife was coaxing him on.
“Yeah, harder, faster, harder, faster! Make me cum! Make me cum one more time.”
And as my wife had a third orgasm, I saw that he was about to go too.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh my God!” he cried. And he pulled out and shot a big load up into the air and onto my wife’s ass.
I let my load go too. It was unbelievable. It came out of me like a rocket.
It came out of me so strong that it blasted open the wardrobe door. That door never closed quite properly anyway. But the force of my ejaculation blew it right open.
John had fallen back on the bed after cumming, and was looking right at me, naked, with my little hard on still leaking cum.
“What the fuck!” he said, horrified.
“Oh my God!” my wife screamed. “I’m sorry honey! I’m sorry! Please don’t hurt John! It wasn’t his fault. It was all my fault. Please don’t shoot him!”
“I thought you were away on business,” John said, still trying to get a grip on this strange reality.
“I knew you two were up to something,” I said, playing the role my wife had cleverly suggested, the angry husband with the gun. I didn’t have a gun, of course, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know how to use one.
“Please don’t shoot him, honey!”
“Shit!” said John, looking up at me in fear. He quickly grabbed his clothes and ran out of there faster than a freight train.
My wife looked up at me and started cracking up.
“Cyrano, you idiot! What did you do!”
“I came so hard it blew open the door!”
“Oh my God!” she said, coming over and embracing me. “I came hard too, honey. So damn hard. Thank you. Thank you. That was amazing.”
We heard John’s car starting and he peeled out of the driveway.
“The poor guy,” my wife laughed. “I think he almost had a heart attack when he saw you. Standing naked there, shooting cum out of your dick. What a sight.”
“Ah, don’t worry about him, he had his fun,” I said. “And you too, from what I saw. How did it feel getting fucked by that big dick?”
“Like a slice of heaven,” she said. “Thank you so much my darling for letting me have that.”
“Next time, I’ll make sure to fix the door first, to avoid that kind of awkwardness,” I said.
“Next time,” my wife said, “we’ll get you a custom made wardrobe. You know, it will have a little seat for you to sit on inside, and a two-way glass on the door so you can look out but we can’t look in.”
I looked at my wife. Would she really do that for me? A tear came to my eye as I hugged her, and held onto her so tightly.
I really do have the greatest wife in the world!
