Note: This story not passed any moderation (review is pending). Please report it if it violates our rules or contain any prohibited content. All posted stories are fiction! It is safe to link this story, when it will approved - this page will redirect to permanent story url.
Category: Cheating Wifes

Author: barbdahal

Greetings, I am Shoba Deshpande, and welcome to my interview with erotica author, Ms Barbara Dahal. Barb, how are you today?

Barb:

Really good. It’s good to be here. Thanks for having me on your show.

Shoba:

Before we get started, I want to clarify that Barbara Dahal is not your real name, correct?

Barb:

It is not. It is a made up name. I am an established writer in other genres, and I wanted to publish my erotica independently of my other work.

Shoba:

You have come into our studio today to read from your new series called My Second Marriage, but I have a question that I know many of your readers pose, which is this: just how much of what you write is based in reality, you know, real events?

Barb:

All of it, actually. I admit to exaggerating quite a bit, but the basic story line is based on real events.

Shoba:

Great. With that in mind then, let’s get started, shall we? Today, I understand that you will be reading to us Chapter 1 of your new series, correct?

Barb:

That is correct.

Shoba:

I can’t wait. I bet this will be awesome. Please proceed.

[Barb then reads]

Hi, I’m Barb. The only thing made up in this story is my husband’s first name, and I won’t mention his last name. The rest is absolutely how it all fucking happened. This is my story to tell.

The first thing you need to know is that I just plain love it when my husband *Pete* fucks me. I never have to ask him if he wants me. True, I do things to look and act sexy for him, like stripping slowly at bed time, or wearing a cute little white thong that is thin and see through enough to show him how wet I am. Even just brushing a breast against his arm fires him up. He is always very considerate in bed and always makes sure I finish.

We married in late 2016, and in the first few months, we got into a great routine. Pete would fuck me most nights. Two or three mornings a week I would get a special treat. While I was still sleeping, he would very gently caress my breasts until I started to breathe heavily and my nipples got hard. He would then very carefully work his hand up between my thighs and start a slow paced massage of my clit. Most often, though, this would wake me up, with my cunt as wet as slop and me moaning for him to put his cock inside me and work his magic. However, it was even more magical when his soft massage of my clit nudged me into a dream about getting laid. As Pete explained it, I would eventually spread my legs, at which point he would ever so slowly slide his cock up into the warm puddle of my cunt and start to do me ever so gently to not wake me up. He said his long standing (and still unfulfilled) dream was to make me come while he was up inside me, and I was still asleep. He never got me there that way, but he said it didn’t matter. He always said he loved to think of me dreaming of being banged by whatever muscled Adonis might be inhabiting my dreams. For me, I just loved waking up feeling I had been getting gently fucked by genies, fairies, and elves.

Pete loved his fantasies, or more accurately he loved it when I facilitated his fantasies, and one such fantasy kept coming back. He was always asking me to pretend I was spreading my legs for other guys. It was a bit of a turn on, actually. I’d talk in sexy whispers about what sexy fun I’d had with various fictitious guys, and occasionally females. LOL! This fired him up, and he’d fuck me silly.

But he never got enough fantasy. Soon I was breathing in his ear about phantom fucks with his friends and relatives. He wanted every detail. My fictional lovers’ cock sizes were very important to him. Everything I said made his own cock hard, and then harder, and he would come inside me with spectacular and helpless delight.

As I say, life was good. It was just fun. I never actually thought about other men. Why would I?

To put this into context, I am someone who often finds herself feeling, shall we say, friendly. I have a persistent aching yen for hard cock and torrents of semen. Married to Pete, of course, I could get it whenever I wanted it. I already mentioned that I totally knew how to get him hard in no time. I would casually say how one guy or another had gotten into my pants earlier that day, and he would immediately get interested, undoing my bra, caressing my butt and fingering me under my dress. He would plead to know everything about my “adventure,” and I would tease him by slowly leaking specifics.

“Your friend (insert whomsoever) spent the lunch hour between my legs, but that is private and none of your business,” I would say.

“Tell me more,” he would demand.

And this stupid silliness went on and on and on.

Then things changed. We were at a friends’ house for a big party and met a married couple who had just returned from a long holiday in Bora Bora. The wife started out by making a number of pointed references to the sublime satisfaction of relaxing in bed with various local men. The husband smiled and said it was a great holiday. Pete and I then listened to her whole sexual travelogue. It was certainly more entertaining than everyone else going on about house prices and craft beer.

At home that night, Pete said he admired the couple’s open relationship. He said he was sorry that this was something that I would never do. Hmmmm. On the one hand, I had never said any such thing. On the other hand, it was indeed something I would never do.

“Pete, you don’t actually want me to get naked with other guys, do you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Wow.” That’s all I had. It seemed to me this could be a bad turn. I had already experienced one total disaster of a marriage based on missed sexual signals. More on that later.

“Maybe just occasionally,” he offered, helpfully.

“So, do you get to pick out my new boyfriend?” I asked, crookedly. Pete looked puzzled. He hadn’t thought it through.

I ignored the conversation entirely. I was easy for me just to continue to go about my day with all sorts of men looking at me and with me not looking at them.

Some months later, Pete raised it again. “Barb,” he said, “do you think it might happen someday?”

“OK, Pete, listen carefully,” I said. “I will do anything, anything, that makes you happy, but this has me worried. You know I only get wet for you, right baby?”

“Promise me one thing,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“Just don’t worry.”

“What should I do instead?”

“Ok, humor me. Play along. Starting tomorrow, you leave your rings at home, dress slutty, pretend we’re on the outs, you know, that our marriage is over, and tell me everything that happens.”

He was being ironic. My looks always make men stare and gasp. Lots of women too. Just how it is. I get complimented by the minute and propositioned frequently, even with my wedding ring prominently in place.

I smiled. Pete smiled back and began to work my blouse buttons. His cock felt extra hard inside me that night. He was clearly excited. I had made no decision on anything, except that I would play along for now.

I left for work the next day with a ringless left hand. As we were walking out of the house, I brandished my naked fingers in front of Pete to show that I was actually doing this. I turned and flipped up the back of my skirt to flash at him what little was visible of a cute and brightly coloured thong I had been saving for a special occasion. I wiggled my tush at him, smiled, and blew him a kiss over my shoulder. He shook his head slightly and smiled back. He was liking this.

My husband and I work together in his mid sized IT services business, and since everyone knows we are married, my missing rings immediately raised eyebrows. No matter. By lunchtime, I was going around telling everyone that Pete and I had parted ways romantically. I didn’t say if there was a third party involved, despite inquiries.

Propositions increased dramatically, particularly in the offices of the customers, lawyers, accountants, marketers, and the like, where I spend so much of my time for Pete’s company. When you look like I do, men just imagine availability. When availability then gets real and gets publicized, it fucking rains men.

But this was not going to happen. I wasn’t going to put my marriage at risk. I didn’t care what Pete had to say about it. Sure, I was putting myself out there, and if that made his cock hard, then great. OK, I’m not going to lie, I did find it was fun to be flirty, but nothing, as I say, was going to happen.

Pete had rocked my pussy hard one night, and while I was still panting, he asked, “Tell me straight. Would you let another guy into your pants? I need to know. Would you do that for me?”

I had to get real honest with him. I said I was doing the availability/flirty thing. Wasn’t that enough? I mean, really?

I stared at Pete for an answer. He then looked me in the eye and said, “I need to know that the exquisite wonder of that exquisite pussy of yours is not just something I imagine.”

Whatever. I sighed. I just looked at him and shrugged. I could not comprehend Pete wanting a validation of my vagina. I was not interested in other men. If I actually spread my legs for someone just to comply with his stupid request, it would be a piss poor performance on my part. My new lover would wonder what the fuss was about concerning this glorious pussy of mine. How could I get this across to Pete? I changed the subject.

However, one never expects the unexpected. I certainly did not, for there came a day when a thoroughly muscled young, black man came by the office who changed my life instantly and forever. His name was Max. He worked for a company we did business with. Sure, he was very good looking, with serious shoulders, firm jawline and gorgeous butt, OK? But he had something much more. Bottom line: I think he was a sexual hypnotist, and I was his utterly willing subject. I’ll explain next chapter.

Shoba:

Well, thanks for that Barb. I know that our listeners will be looking forward to the next instalment when we come back.

Barb:

My pleasure, Shoba. I look forward to reading it. Also, if your listeners want to read the text for free, they can find it on my Substack entitled The Best of Barb Dahal’s Erotica at barbdahal.substack.com.