I do love my husband. I want to make that clear from the start, because it may not sound like it at times in this fantasy. I don’t know how much of this I could do in real life, even if I were to get the opportunity, but fantasizing about it makes me more excited than anything I’ve ever known.
He’s a good man, my husband. That’s the only way you can really describe him: good. He’s considerate and careful. He runs after me in the house, doing all the washing-up, sharing the laundry and ironing, doing chores without being told. He always asks if we can make love, and if I agree his big spaniel eyes of gratitude make me want to puke.
And that’s the trouble. He’s just too nice. It’s boring. I’m bored.
I have lots of fantasies which I run through when he’s at work and our daughter’s at school, most of which revolve around not being nice. Sometimes it’s Brian who loses his temper and finally lashes out. I have him rip my clothes off and throw himself upon me, spearing his cock inside me before I can protest and fucking me hard. But mostly those fantasies don’t work: the trouble is, I just can’t imagine Brian really doing that, and I dissolve into a fit of giggles.
And so in the fantasy it becomes someone else. I prefer it to be someone I know – it makes it kinkier somehow. I don’t need to fancy them in real life, and in fact it’s better if I don’t. There’s Dave, for example, a regular in the bar where I do evening work. He’s a bit of a shag monster, going from woman to woman in a constant cycle, and I never understand how he does it because he doesn’t turn me on at all, but the very fact he doesn’t makes him all the more powerful as a fantasy figure. He traps me in the loos and forces himself on me, his mouth all over my face and his hands gripping my tits. He unzips his cock and makes me touch it, then pulls up my skirt and twists my panties aside and before I know what’s happening he starts to fuck me.
It’s a good enough fantasy, but in the end it leaves me kind of cold. I feel that it’s Brian’s relentless niceness which forces me to fantasize the way I do: I like to dream about roughness as an antidote to his gentle approach. But those Dave fantasies go to the other extreme – they simply replace gentleness with force, and there’s no scope for sharing the moment. That’s what I crave – a fantasy in which nasty things happen, but where everyone enjoys it.
So my fantasies turned to Brian dressing me up as a schoolgirl and spanking me, or chaining me to the bed – games where I was a willing participant – but they didn’t work either: I still couldn’t imagine Brian doing it. The very fact that in reality I would never dare broach such a subject with him rather proved my point. And that’s how my favourite fantasy came about.
If he wouldn’t do it to me, I’d do it to him.
Once the idea of dominating Brian took hold it swept all other fantasies away. I loved the idea, the notion that I could bully and cajole him into doing things he would never choose to do in real life. But always, in my fantasies, it was important that however much he protested, he really did enjoy what was happening. As I said, I do love him.
They start out gently enough, these fantasies. I imagine a situation where he has annoyed me for some reason – sprayed all over the bathroom, for example (which is something he never does, he always sits down to pee). In the fantasy I scold him terribly and he apologises, but I refuse to accept it because I am so angry. “Stand in the corner,” I tell him, more in exasperation than with any genuine intent, but to my amazement he obeys. I leave him to see what he does next, but fifteen minutes later he is still there, facing the wall. I’m astonished, but slightly intrigued. If he will do that, what else will he do?
At first none of my demands are sexual – they are purely to test his obedience – but he complies with everything I ask. I tell him to scrub the kitchen floor and he does it. I tell him to wear my pink (well, peach – it’s the nearest I have to pink) apron and he does. I tell him to eat his tea outside, in the rain, and he trots into the garden with his plate. Whatever I ask, he always obeys. So far this is probably completely true to life: if I was to ask Brian those things I’m sure he would look quizzical and a bit hurt, but would do them nonetheless.
But now my fantasies begin to adopt sexual overtones. Seeing him scamper after my every command makes me horny and I get the sudden urge to use him. “Brian,” I yell, “come here.” I’m lying on our bed, naked, and he blanches as he enters and sees me. “Lick me,” I tell him. He tries to say something but I tell him to shut up and get on with it. The tartness of my reply shocks him and he immediately folds himself between my legs and sets his tongue to work. He isn’t very good. In reality, he has only done this to me three times, and I haven’t had the heart to tell him he was doing it wrong, but in my fantasy I have no such compunction. I make him concentrate on my clitoris and explain how he should roll his tongue round and round its hood, sucking gently and occasionally drawing his tongue directly over the clitoris itself, slowly and softly. As I approach a climax I order him to speed up and to suck harder. “Harder, harder,” I instruct him, gripping him between my thighs and pressing his head into me.
My fantasy climax is usually accompanied by one in real life, this thought alone enough to bring me off. But then Brian would come home from work, Mr Nice Guy again, and my frustrations with him would grew ever stronger. Those frustrations have been instrumental in the development of my fantasies.
In them, I progress to sitting on him. I force him to lie on the bed and straddle him, pressing hard against his face, making him push his tongue inside me. I force him to stare into my eyes as he does, so that he can see who is making him do these things. His face begins to go red as he runs out of breath and I shift slightly to allow him some air before settling on him once more. Riding back and forward – sliding his nose against my lips and feeling his tongue probe inside me – quickly brings me to the point of climax and I push down so that he can suck my clitoris to finish me off.
Sometimes I vary the action and have him lick my arse. That’s delightful and the idea of it always makes me come in real life. I flatten myself against him and spread my cheeks so that his tongue is pressed hard against my hole. I order him to push inside me and feel his tongue, wet but suprisingly cold, slither into my back passage. I don’t need to dream about that for long before fireworks start to explode in my head and my stomach starts to churn with lust.
Everything I’ve fantasized about so far I would, given the chance, enact in real life. I’ve tried to drop subtle hints to see if he is interested, but so far he has not risen to it and I don’t want to try too hard and offend him. But it adds to my frustration, and in my frustration my fantasies get kinkier. I don’t believe I would ever do any of the following in real life, but dreaming about it certainly gets me going.
In my fantasy (and in real life too, to be honest) I get irritated by his passivity. He never fights back, he never shows any dismay at what I force him to do. So I decide that I need to test how far he can be pushed before he starts to fight back. That’s when I resolve to take a lover. I do it openly, telling him in advance that I am going to look for someone. His eyes go all hurt, but he doesn’t shout or forbid it, or even ask me not to: because I have said it, he accepts it. This annoys me and I push him a little harder: I ask him to recommend someone.
“You must have some nice friends,” I say, “well-hung guys, good looking. Who could I chat up? I want to fuck one of your friends, Brian. Who should it be?”
Finally, I find his breaking point. He refuses, crying and pleading with me. But not for long. I press my hand against his crotch and slide my thigh across him, snuggling close.
“Come on,” I say, using my most seductive voice. “It’ll be exciting. I’ll tell you all about it afterwards.” I slip my hand inside his trousers and feel his cock. It is fully erect. “And then after that, maybe we could have some fun together.” A quick squeeze, a lingering snog and a promise of a good time later and he agrees. He gives me a name and sets up a meeting.
The good thing about fantasies is that you don’t have to bother with boring detail. I get fixed up with Gary (in reality a workmate of Brian’s and very good looking) and we go out for dinner. When I’m masturbating, I don’t usually linger on this bit – it isn’t an important part, really – but occasionally I build the scene. I have Gary fuck me in his flat after our first date, taking me from behind and mounting me like a dog, fucking me hard and rough. He calls me a bitch and a whore and a fucking cheat and I swear back, yelling at him to fuck me, fill my cunt with his hot prick. I like to make it as rough as possible, no romance or sensitivity at all. I make him scratch and bruise me, so that I have trophies to show Brian later.
When we finish fucking I hurry home as quickly as possible. Brian is waiting up, as I have ordered him to. I tell him about my evening, describing everything that happened in intimate detail. I tell him the length of Gary’s cock, how it was much wider than his and stretched and filled me so well. I explain how he threw me on the bed and fucked me from behind, how he was hard and rough and made me feel used. I begin to strip and show him my bruises and scratches.
“That one,” I say as I point to a livid graze across my thigh, “that was when he came inside me. I could feel it pulsing from his cock into me. It was like an explosion. You never come that hard, Brian, you just kind of squirt it out a bit.” He nods morosely as he inspects my graze. “Can you smell him?” I ask. “Can you smell his body on me?” I force his face against me, pressing his nose to my skin. “Can you?” He nods and tells me he can.
“There’s more,” I crow. “I’ve probably lost most of it, but there’s still some of his come inside me.” Carefully, I peel off my panties. “Want to see?” He tells me he doesn’t, but I ignore him. “Lie down,” I order. Despite his protests he complies and I straddle him once more. “There,” I tell him. “My cunt’s still all wet and messy and dirty from his spunk. Isn’t it?” I look down and it is. I can smell it myself, the smell of sex. “I’m all dirty, aren’t I?” He nods. “So clean me up, husband, clean all my lover’s spunk out of me.” I press myself against his mouth and know that he is licking a curious concoction – my stale juices from earlier, the remains of Gary’s sperm and the fresh secretions of my current excitement. I ride his face for half an hour, sometimes smothering him for a minute at a time, revelling in the act I have forced upon my husband.
“And just think,” I tell him afterwards, “every time I fuck Gary you’re going to have to clean it up like that.”
Like I say, I don’t think I could do these things in real life – not unless Brian said he wanted me to, and since he doesn’t talk about sex that’s unlikely. I’m not even sure I’d enjoy it in reality: I’m not big on hurting people’s feelings. But the fantasy is wonderful. I strip myself completely naked, open the windows wide so that I can feel the afternoon breeze on my skin and stretch myself out on the bed. Sometimes I use a vibrator, but mostly I just use my fingers – they’re more delicate, more sensitive, and I’ve got them well trained over the years. Sometimes when I’m fantasizing about sitting on Brian’s face I’ll get up on my knees and adopt that position, imagining him below me, looking down on where his reddened face would be, but mostly I lie back and think of cuckoldry.
It’s a wonderful word, cuckold, so derogatory. In my fantasies I relish using it on Brian. “How’s my little cuckold tonight?” I enquire after a night out with Gary. “Does the cuckold want to swallow up our juices now?” I imagine Brian’s crestfallen face, silently nodding, readying himself, sliding into position below me.
Recently I have developed the fantasy a bit further. Brian and I have been going through a rough patch, and we haven’t had sex for a couple of months. Even now, though, he is still so solicitous and caring, and it drives me mad. It makes me want to punish him more in my fantasies, and that’s exactly what I do.
I decide that it isn’t enough for me to have an affair with his friend: I have to let Brian watch it. In real life, I’m not sure there would be many “Garys” who would agree to this, but in my fantasy he is eager and joins me in goading Brian. The three of us sit on the settee, Gary’s arm around me, his hand lodged on my tit. He looks directly at Brian.
“I’m gonna shag your missus in a while, Brian. That’s okay, isn’t it?” Brian makes no reply, but watches Gary’s snaking hand over my breast. “I love your wife’s tits, Brian. Don’t you? When did you last see them? Probably weeks ago, I should think. Tell you what, mate, why don’t you get them out for us?”
Brian looks confused and I laugh, shaking my chest provocatively.
“Come on, Brian,” says Gary. “Get on with it, mate, I want a feel.”
Brian leans over and slowly begins to unbutton my blouse, undressing his wife for the benefit of his friend. He peels the blouse apart to reveal my white, lacy bra, carefully chosen because it is front-fastening. Gary indicates with a nod and Brian unclasps me, releasing my breasts to open view. Gary grips my right nipple and squeezes, while I croon in delight and rest my head on the settee back, watching Brian as he watches Gary. He swallows hard as Gary lowers his head and takes my breast in his mouth, but says nothing. Gary’s left hand is wandering over my body, across my naked stomach, down my thighs and back up to my crotch, where he rests his palm, fingers pressing into me. At length he raises his mouth a fraction from my breast.
“Be a good chap, Brian, take her jeans off for me, I’m a bit busy here.”
Brian sinks to the floor and wrestles with my button and zip. I raise my bum from the settee and he begins to drag my jeans down over my hips to my knees. Immediately, Gary places his hand on my panties, fingers rummaging against them, while Brian completes the removal of my jeans. He sits back on his heels and watches, as Gary’s fingers seek out my lips through the cotton panties and slide up and down, gathering their moisture against the fabric, creating a damp patch to reveal my excitement. I groan.
Gary gestures once more. “Take her panties off, mate. Let me at her snatch.” Brian reaches forward and slides them from me, revealing my completely shaved pussy. I open my legs wide. “When did you last see that, Brian?” Gary goads. Brian doesn’t answer.
“He never gets to see it any more. He has to lick it, every time I come home with your spunk inside me, but I make him do it in the dark. He’s not allowed to see anything. I’m buying him a blindfold tomorrow.”
“We want him to see this, though.”
“Too right. Every last piece of action.” Gary is fingering my pussy, his middle finger sliding between my lips and his index finger circling my clitoris. Brian, sitting beneath me, watches every move.
“Brian, I’m getting a bit uncomfortable here. Got a hard-on which is threatening to poke a hole in my trousers. Take them off for me.” At first, Brian looks like he will refuse, but not for long. He reaches towards his friend and undoes his jeans, yanking them down and revealing blue boxer shorts with a large, sex-laden shape hidden beneath them. “The shorts too, mate.” Brian eases them down and Gary’s fine, chunky erection bounces into view. Immediately, I grip my hand around it and begin to wank him, feeling it grow even harder in my hand. All the time my eyes are on Brian, while his waver between my face and my hand, following the action, observing my reaction. It is delicious.
I want Gary’s cock in me. I want to be fucked while my husband watches. I pull Gary on top of me and settle him into position, gripping his cock and sliding its silky, purple head against my lips, pushing forward as I press him towards me, and I sigh as I feel him entering me. I look over his shoulder at Brian, who is watching, dumbstruck.
“Fuck me,” I cry. “Fuck me. Show me how it’s done.” Show Brian how it’s done, more like. Gary begins to thrust into me, hard, long and fast. I always imagine this to be rough, almost to the point of being painful: again, I’m not interested in romance, just sex, pure animal sex. He pounds into me, his face pressed to my cheek, biting my neck, fingers scratching at my shoulders and back. He comes quickly, grunting loudly as his spunk spurts deep inside me and I squeal with delight as I watch a pained expression pass over Brian’s face. Gary slides off me, exhausted and I clasp my knees together, panting with exertion.
“Guess what, Brian?” I whisper.
“What?”
“It’s feeding time, baby.” His eyes widen, silently pleading, but I smile and roll off the settee. “Lie down, cuckold,” I say. Without a word, he does as he is told and I stretch myself over him. Already, Gary’s sperm is flooding out of me, some of it landing on Brian’s nose and in his eye. I settle myself above him and part my lips, watching in delight as a string of silver sperm slides from me into my husband’s waiting mouth. He swallows and opens again to receive another drop. When most of it has fallen into his mouth I press myself against him. “Lick,” I tell him. “Lick out every last drop.”
This never fails to bring me to a climax. The thought of my helpless husband hoovering up another man’s sperm from his wife’s pussy leaves me trembling with lust. Yesterday, I had the most shattering climax of my life as this fantasy came to a conclusion. And as soon as I’ve finished writing this I shall be going upstairs to strip off and do it again.
What’s next for my fantasy cuckold? I’m not sure yet. The best ideas come to me in the middle of masturbation so I shall probably find out very soon. I know my treatment of Brian is getting nastier all the time, and yet in real life I still love him dearly. I don’t think I could ever do this to him, but perhaps it would be best if I never have the opportunity to find out.
Meanwhile, I will continue to use my fantasies to spice up what is already becoming a drab, middle-class housewife and mother’s existence. Thank you for letting me share this with you. Writing this story has been a terrific turn-on.