The Pussy-Sharer

“Oh, my, yes, baby, do me the way I like you to,” my wife begged the man whose face was pressed against her cunt. “Please, eat my pussy. There! Yes, there!” She was practically shouting. “Don’t stop! Deeper! Please, deeper! Oh, Christ, yes, with your tongue. Yes, like that. Suck, please, suck me! Ooh, yes, put it inside me! Put your cock in my pussy the way I love you to.”

“Does your husband fuck this good?” an unfamiliar man’s voice asked.

“Oh, no, not as good as you,” she panted. “Not at all. He doesn’t even like eating my pussy, and his cock is so puny. I can barely feel it when it’s in me.”

“How could he not like a pussy this sweet?” the male voice said. “What an asshole! A woman like you deserves to be fucked and eaten by a real man, not a peanut-dicked phony who doesn’t enjoy his own wife’s pussy. I could eat this pussy all night long.” The voice was bellowing with pride.

“You like to fuck me in my husband’s bed?” Sarah inquired.

“Of course,” the voice said. “It serves the stupid fucker right to have his wife boned on his own mattress.”

Most men would be outraged to hear such things—listening to their wife in the next room having sex with someone else, running down his sexual prowess while being eaten and having her pussy kissed and sucked. For me, however, the sounds of sex in the next room are sweet music to my ears. Sarah knew I was listening, and raised her voice so I could hear better.

That’s our agreement. That’s the way we do it.

Of course I don’t dislike my wife’s pussy. I crave it, worship it, love the taste of it. But I want her to share it, to fill it with fingers and tongues and cocks that are connected to other people. It’s a game we play since reading in Penthouse Letters about wives who fuck other men, about MILFs who instruct younger guys in the finer points of pussy-kissing and analingus, of fucking and making sexually hungry women scream with delight.

The first time I listened to Sarah have sex with another man was when an old high school friend of hers needed a place to stay and rented a room from us for a couple of weeks. After reading a few stories from Penthouse Letters together while our boarder was sleeping down the hall, I asked Sarah if she ever thought of fucking other men. When she acknowledged that she had, I dared her to screw her old school friend sleeping in our guest room.

I said I would love to see it, but she said she would feel uneasy being watched. “I couldn’t have you be a spectator, like those other women in the magazines,” she explained. “I’d feel like I was a sporting event, and that would embarrass me, make me feel uneasy. I couldn’t relax and enjoy it. I’d feel like an exhibitionist.”

“What about if I were to just listen?” I said.

She thought about it for a minute, then kissed me and nodded. “I guess that would be okay,” she said. “If you weren’t staring at us in the same room, so I didn’t have to see you sitting there like an audience. That would be all right, I guess.” With that she left for the guest room, promising to return with juicy details if Kirby wanted to fuck her.

Of course he would want to fuck her, unless he was gay. That first night I stayed in our room, letting Sarah have the privacy that she requested, forced to imagine what was going on down the hall. The next night I listened to them from the hallway with my stiffness in my hand and my mind full of pictures of them fucking while he made love to my wife. He ate her pussy, fucked her, screwed her in the ass, received her world-class cocksucking, and did some heavy-duty 69. They ended up sleeping the rest of the night away in each other’s arms.

I knew all of that because Sarah gave a running narrative describing each thing he did as it took place, and I cheered her on from the hallway outside the room. When it got silent, I realized they were probably sleeping off some mighty animated sex. Visualizing it as I heard the sounds was fine with me, because it removed the limitations of futile attempts at finding the best viewing angles, or the inability to get close enough without making them uneasy, or avoiding annoying shadows. With the help of my wife’s vivid narration, my imagination, and the squeaking bed, I was able to participate in her infidelity.

We talked about it later in the privacy of our own bed while we relived Sarah’s first sexual experience outside marriage. Since that first night with her friend Kirby, her pussy has received the cocks of many lovers, and I’ve been able to listen to them all, hear their boasts and grunts and praises of her fucking ability and her naked beauty. Hearing each of them has intensified our orgasms later when we fuck and pant and pet the night away thinking about what she’d just done and who she’d done it with.

“Maybe I’ll go down to Kirby’s room?” she said that first night after we read a letter about a wife servicing a friend of her husband’s, the day our sexual understanding began. “He’d probably like a little pussy tonight.” She was smirking.

“He’s wanted your pussy since the ninth grade,” I said, chuckling back at her, giving her a kiss. “Probably has jacked off to visions of it hundreds of times. Go give him the treat he’s waited all these years for.”

As she got out of bed, I suggested, “Let him think you’re a frustrated wife who doesn’t get it often enough and needs someone to fuck her, to satisfy her, because her husband can’t get it up, because you crave to feel a real cock in you.”

She liked the idea and nodded. “I’ll tell you how it goes,” she said, starting for the door. “I’ll win the Oscar for the role of the frustrated wife needing to be fucked.”

“I’d love that,” I said. “And you’d better fill me in on all the juicy details. I’ll give you privacy tonight, let you be with him, but tomorrow I want to be able to listen.”

“You assume there’ll be a tomorrow night?” she said.

“If you like tonight, I’m sure there will be a tomorrow,” I said.

On the second night, she went to Kirby’s room two hours earlier and fucked him while I listened from the hall. The next morning, as we cuddled in our bed, I asked her who she’d like to fuck next.

“Professor James,” she said without hesitation.

“A professor from college?” I said.

“I used to sit in the front row of philosophy class and stare at the bulge in his pants,” she said. “I’d imagine it in my pussy, dream of sucking him off in the empty classroom when everyone had gone.”

“You fantasized about sucking your professor’s cock in his classroom?” I said, energized by my wife’s confession.

“On his desk,” she said gleefully, “while he sat on the edge.”

My listening to her with Kirby had released my wife’s inner wild woman, and she went on to describe in vivid detail what she had visualized doing to and with her philosophy professor. “I’d see myself bent over his desk with him behind me, lifting up my dress and fucking me while I stood with my legs apart.”

“Want to invite him over?” I said. I was becoming genuinely turned on over the possibility of listening to my wife fuck her professor.

“No,” she said. “I’d like to make an appointment during his office hours, like when I was his student and my pussy would be all wet and sloppy but I was afraid to do anything. I’d like to try to seduce him on campus, at his desk in his office in the Philosophy Department building. I want to tell him that I’ve waited all this time, waited until I was no longer his student, so I could suck his cock. I want to see his face when I tell him that I intend to fuck him right there in his office.”

“Then will you let me listen?” I said.

“I may even let you watch,” she whispered.

Sarah got an appointment to see Professor James in his office the next Tuesday morning at 8:15, while most college students were still sleeping off a late-night study session or too much beer. She wore her shortest minidress, dabbed on her sexiest perfume, wore no bra, and put on her skimpiest lace panties. She went into his office and sat in the student’s chair next to his desk. She made sure her dress rode way up high on her thighs, and she opened her legs, giving him a great look at her skimpy panties.

“I want to thank you for the great class,” she said, aware he was gazing at her panty-covered pussy.

“I enjoyed having you in class,” he said. “You were a wonderful student, but I particularly liked the view each class period when you sat in the front row.”

“That was my way of repaying you, professor,” she said, loving the control she felt, “but I’d like to give you something else.”

Professor James got up from his chair and went to the door, locked it, and then returned to his seat. Sarah stood up and stepped to him, her knees touching his, her legs apart, and her pulse rising.

“I dreamed of making love to you during every class,” she said.

“I hoped that’s what you were thinking,” he said.

His hand went to her bare thigh and slipped up the inside of her leg until it was under her skirt. His fingers encountered her panties and rubbed across the material over her moistening pussy.

“That’s what I was thinking about,” he went on. “I appreciated you letting me see so much during class, spreading your legs just enough for me to get a good look at your sweet little pussy.” He lifted the edge of her panties with two fingers and inserted one of them between her labia. “The day you wore no panties, I had to stand behind the lectern. I couldn’t think of philosophy or anything else besides your sweet little slit. That image of your pretty pussy has burned into my memory like a laser beam.”

My wife spread her legs, allowing him better access, and then braced herself with a hand on one of his shoulders. “I’ve wanted to taste that pussy of yours ever since,” the professor said, lifting his fingers to his mouth. “Just what I thought. You taste exquisite.” For nearly ten minutes he fingered my wife’s pussy while she stood at his chair, her head back and legs apart. With the other hand he reached in her top and cupped a boob in his palm.

“My husband thought I should give you something for teaching such a wonderful class,” she said.

“Your husband is a very perspicacious fellow,” the professor said.

“Now I want to do you,” Sarah said between gasps. He removed his hand, and she knelt between his knees, unzipped his fly, and fished out his hard cock. She said it was larger than she’d expected, with a full and round tip. Slowly and deliberately, she slid her mouth over the end of it, then swirled her tongue all around the big bulbous head.

“I give you an A-plus in cocksucking, my dear,” he gasped. “Your skills are superior in every aspect.”

After she sucked him to orgasm, she licked the semen off his shaft and the head of his shriveling cock. “I do think we’re going to have to discuss this matter again here in my office,” the professor said.

“My husband would like to listen,” she said.

“My, he is a chivalrous fellow,” Professor James said. “Of course I’ll accommodate a husband willing to share his beautiful wife’s pussy for the sake of pedagogy. But doesn’t he want to watch?”

“He likes to listen to the sounds of me being fucked by other men,” she said. “Likes me to describe it to him later.”

Professor James fucked Sarah on his office desk that day and on three occasions after that, letting me listen from the adjoining office on their third office-hours “appointment.”

During their first, he fingered her, as I described, and she sucked him off. Then he ate her pussy while she sat, legs wide apart on his desk, her bare feet on each arm of his chair. They ended the “conference” with him fucking her as she stretched on her back across his desk. While he was eating her pussy, someone knocked at the door, and he announced calmly, “I’m with a student.”

(As relaxed as he was fucking Sarah in his office, I half expected him to yell, “I’m busy banging the wife of a charitable chap who likes to listen. Come back when I’m finished screwing this young pussy.”)

He continued to fuck her while students lined up to meet him in the hallway on the other side of the locked door with the frosted-glass window. She said when they were finished, she left the office straightening her skirt and feeling invigorated as she strolled past the ripe coeds waiting to see the man she’d just fucked on top of his ungraded papers.

The most exciting of our sexual adventures occurred when Sarah brought a friend, Cynthia, home for dinner, and told me over clearing the table that she intended to have sex with our guest before the night was over.

“You can listen in,” she whispered in my ear.

“You two are in agreement?” I asked.

“She’s all for it,” she said. “I can hardly wait to get a taste of my first pussy.”

I kissed her, looked back at our lovely guest, and then nodded. “I can see why,” I said.

“Jealous?”

“Of both of you, of course,” I said. “You’re going to have to tell me how she tastes.”

She walked away before I even finished my last sentence, then walked up to Cynthia and took her in her arms. The kiss they exchanged was the hottest thing I’d ever seen outside a porn film. Cynthia put her hand on my wife’s ass and squeezed, then lifted her skirt and slid her hand under her panties.

“You don’t mind finishing the dishes, do you?” Sarah said to me as she and her guest headed for the bedroom. I gave them a few minutes while I worked in the kitchen, and then quietly went to the bedroom door. Sarah had left it ajar just enough to allow me to listen to them from the hallway.

“Your pussy is beautiful,” I heard my wife say. There were moans from both women, and sounds of kissing. As I listened, my imagination filled in the details of their lovemaking.

“You taste so good,” my wife said. They had to be in 69 position, because Cynthia returned the compliment. She began to squeal as my wife played with her clit, probably at the same time sinking a finger in her. The squeal became a shriek, and the shriek a scream as she climaxed. After that came the soft sounds of kisses and moans and whispers I couldn’t make out.

Violating my pledge to only listen, I leaned close to the door and looked in. I saw my wife on her knees over her friend, her head bent over and her face at Cynthia’s pussy. My wife was kissing and licking our guest’s slit, and Cynthia—whose head was just below Sarah’s sex—was doing the same to my wife at the other end of the 69. Sarah forced her tongue deep in Cynthia’s box, pushing her mouth tight against her first pussy. After they serviced each other with their lips, tongues, fingers, nipples, and pubic mounds, they turned in the bed until they were facing one another, then held each other and talked in the afterglow.

“Was that your first taste of pussy?” Cynthia asked Sarah calmly.

“Yes,” Sarah replied, “but I think I’m addicted. You?”

“I’ve tasted a few,” Cynthia said with a satisfied and whimsical sigh. “Does your husband accept you having a girlfriend?”

“He’s probably listening right now,” Sarah said. I heard elation in her voice. “He enjoys listening while I have sex.” She called out, “Are you out there?”

I answered timidly, and she asked me to come in. I sat on the edge of the bed with the two nude women. They continued to exchange brief, soft kisses.

“Did you listen?” Sarah asked. I nodded and smiled and took the hand that she offered. “Did you watch?”

For some reason more embarrassed about watching them, I admitted I had, and said they were beautiful together. I said I’d love to see them together again. My wife motioned for me to come close, and the two of us kissed—a joyful kiss, one each of us gave out of gratefulness. I tasted the flavor of her new lover’s sex on her lips.

“Would you like to taste Cynthia’s pussy for yourself?” Sarah said.

I looked at Cynthia, who smiled up at me as she held my naked wife in her arms.

“Yes,” I said, looking at Cynthia’s bare legs and hips, “I would love to.”

Sarah disengaged from her beautiful lover, positioned her on her back on the rumpled sheets. Then my wife spread Cynthia’s thighs. She kissed her friend on the labia and nodded toward her splayed and engorged vulva. “She likes to have her pussy lips sucked on,” Sarah instructed.

I nodded, climbed up between Cynthia’s thighs, kissed her clit, and watched it twitch under my contact. Then I swiped my tongue across her nub and took her labia in my mouth, sucking gently, pulling her vertical lips against my tongue. As I ate Cynthia’s pussy, Sarah climbed up on the bed and kissed her friend’s soft, sweet mouth. The kisses between them were at first short and tender, and then became long and passionate, with tongues reaching for each other.

With my mouth on Cynthia’s sex and my nose in her pubic hair, for a moment I fixed my eyes on the two women, enjoying their passionate embraces, savoring my first view of hot female-to-female sex. Then I refocused my attention on Cynthia’s labia, licking her tiny clitoris and the pliable pink flesh of her vagina, snaking my tongue in her as deep as I could reach.

Sometimes now when I’m working at home, I listen to Sarah and Cynthia as I sketch, or my wife with Professor James, or some of the other gentlemen my spouse brings home and has sex with. I have never joined in again, as I did that day with Sarah and Cynthia, but each time I listen to her getting fucked, or eaten, we always relive the event later that night.

Right now she’s in the den with the latest friend she’s brought home, named Roy, and I hear the sofa bouncing against the wall as he fucks her. Her screams of joy tell me she’s loving it, and the rapid grunts give an indication of the speed of his thrusting. When I finish a drawing, I may walk down the hall and look in on them, for now she doesn’t mind my watching, although I think I prefer just listening, especially if she tells me while I fuck her how good it felt and what all he or she did.

—G.N., Providence, Rhode Island