“I want to see you being fucked,” John grunted returning to a theme we’d discussed several times as we’d had Sex over the years.

“Why?” I asked.

“I want to see how you react to having it with another guy.”

“Oh God that’s so good,” I groaned slightly lifting my stomach from the bed, hoping that would divert him from asking more questions.

As he arched his back, he grabbed my hips and lifted his chest up. That gave him more leverage so he was able to push harder and deeper into me which was lovely. I opened my legs further, pulled my knees up a little and raised my bum. He surged in and out of me several times making me grunt and moan with the lovely feelings that came from the depth of penetration that gave him.

“Wouldn’t you like this from another bloke. Another bloke fucking you, another bloke’s cock up your Hot, wet cunt as I looked on?” he mumbled through my short blonde hair in which his face was buried.

“Stop it John, we’ve been here loads of times, just leave it please.”

He did just leave it but went on fucking me until we had a lovely mutual climax.

Usually, I managed to avoid fully answering John’s questions. It wasn’t that they annoyed or revolted me, for they actually intrigued and, in many methods, excited me. It was that I didn’t want to confront the situation with him in the cold light of post orgasmic Sex. I didn’t want to discuss it, didn’t want to figure out more or hear precisely what he meant. I didn’t want to address the idea myself for, deep down I knew that if ‘push came to shove’ my answer would be yes. The idea of being fucked as John watched, turned me on.

After a session like that where we had made great Love and had cum together, I didn’t like to think of being with another guy but, like many women approaching, well in really, middle age, the idea appealed. But at the same time being unfaithful, having a fling or an affair didn’t. The eternal conundrum, I guess.

*

I’d been to the gym and having forgotten the urgent work before I went out, I didn’t change when I got home, but settled down and started working. I hadn’t showered, so my yogas and white with black edging tank top and my short, blonde hair that clung to my scalp were slightly damp with perspiration.

At times, I amazed herself when, for instance, I was supposed to be reading a book, but was actually miles away thinking of something entirely divorced from the project in hand. I had a innovative yet very flittering mind. Today was no exception. The only difference being that what was in hand was not the project, but my rounded D, almost DD cup breast. The full boob, which I had eased out of the white sports bra. It wasn’t the extremes of copywriting that was going through my mind, it was the wondered of being fucked by another man, albeit a faceless one, as John looked on. It was not the problems confronting the advertising message that filled my mind, but having a stranger’s cock in me. It was not completing the copy that concerned me; it was completing my Masturbation that was uppermost in my mind. All thoughts of some smart sentence construction were pushed to one side in just the same way that my singlet was pulled up so that I had full access to both my breasts. I had yanked them out from the big, tight sports bra. My hands no longer held the brief and my fingers no longer fluttered across the keys of my new laptop. Instead, my hands slid my tight, black yogas down my thighs and my fingers found the folds of my wet, ready and so demanding cunt.

It didn’t take me long to make myself cum but then it rarely did these days.

Since John had once more raised the subject of watching me with someone else, I’d been confused. I was sure that I loved my husband as life without him seemed unimaginable and was the reason I had forgiven him when he had been unfaithful the couple of times I found out and others when I suspected that he was ‘playing away from home’. Deep down I suspected that he was looking for Sex whenever he was away on company. I didn’t dare, though, raise it for fear that he would leave me. He had threatened that several times and the wondered of being a single mum scared the life out of me. It was that fear that had made me promise to think about going with another guy so he could watch. It was that plus the excitement it gave me that was making my life so confusing these days.

*

“So will you think about it?” John asked as I lay in his arms in the large bed on the thirtieth floor of the St Regis Hotel in New York where he was on company and I had accompanied him as a few days holiday.

“Oh John it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly Jayne. It’s a fantasy. Yes, it might be unusual and it might be something that your friends at the fucking golf club wouldn’t like, but I bet your many fancy friends in advertising would Love the idea.”

Jayne knew he was right. Many couples I knew and even more I had heard about needed diversions as the tedium of fucking the same person for twenty years or so hits home. Affairs, swinging, orgies, threesomes, both combinations, photographing one another, exhibitionism even trying S & M and other slightly deviant practices had all been mentioned in conversations and not just at the ad agencies either. And several times I had heard of girls whose husbands had asked for precisely what John was proposing or even more extreme, with another woman.

It had taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that deep down I was game for it and that he was quite eager to ‘sacrifice’ me to another man. I’d had other men before John and, occasionally when he was away, I was tempted to add to my list, but I knew it would all be just too complicated. The lying, the excuses, the making sure his aftershave hadn’t lingered on me, the meeting him, whoever ‘him’ was, in places where we wouldn’t meet anyone I might know. And all the other considerations of an affair, which were bad enough with a single guy, but got multiplied many times if he was married. So, I didn’t take up the opportunities offered to me at the gym, the tennis and golf clubs and the ad agencies I visited to be briefed on work projects.

But I did want other men. No, that wasn’t quite true, other men were all too messy. It was the difference I wanted. And wanted wasn’t even really true for it was more thoughts than actions that I needed. It was something different to John I wondered about; the alternate methods of doing things, the different feels on my hands and body and inside me. That’s what I wondered about and often imagined as the difference to my husband was my hands and fingers as I brought herself off, usually when he was away. When he was home there was no need as we had Sex frequently. Now though it was dawning on me that his suggestion could enable me to have that without all the lying, cheating, guilt trips and sheer messiness that the other options, an affair or one-night stands would necessitate.

But I didn’t want to appear too willing. I didn’t want John holding that over me in years to come, maybe when one of his exceedingly smart and even more ruthless lawyers he retained was negotiating our divorce, I imagined with dread. So, I had held out. John had taken it to be sexual naivety on my part and that was how I wanted him to feel. I wondered that was rather smart of me.

“Would it really, really please you if I did?” I asked as I started to lick my way down his body.

We’d reached an agreement far easier than either would have wondered feasible. But then three nights in New York, letting him cum in my mouth and a bloody great diamond from Tiffs, tends to ‘oil the wheels’ of negotiations.

I wasn’t completely sure that he would actually make me go through with it for he was quite a ‘flavour of the month’ kind of guy and could be obsessive about something for a while and then forget it completely; this could well fall into that category I knew. Just in case, though, I went on a crash diet.

My normal ‘fighting’ weight was just under one forty pounds, but I was prone to piling it on at times, holidays were normally a nightmare. I would usually go away to Barbados or wherever having trimmed down under my fighting weight, but come back with seven or eight extra pounds. This excess at all times seemed to go to two places my ‘tits ‘n Ass.’ During my weight on times my boobs would swell up to a good double D. However, as I was also able to lose weight quickly, they would deflate to a comfortable D during my weight off times. When I returned from New York alone, for John had more company meetings in Houston and Dallas, places I didn’t like, I was somewhere between D and double D, say a D plus!

*

I was so nervous. I now really regretted having agreed to this crazy idea. But there was no way out, no way at all.

John set it up for a Friday, the one day he sometimes didn’t ‘work’ all evening. We were set to meet in the bar of an anonymous hotel near Stansted airport, the kind of hotel where John was unlikely to bump into anyone he knew. A couple of drinks, then dinner in the suite, he’d said.

“Do they have suites at that sort of hotel?” I asked rather naively.

“Of course, don’t be so snobbish.”

“How long will we stay?”

“I don’t know the night maybe Jayne, let’s say until we are finished, shall we?

We arrived at the hotel a good hour or so before the guy was due to turn up. Several times on the drive up the M11 I had almost backed out and nearly asked John to turn round. But for one thing I was pretty sure I would have done just that.

A few days ago, when we were in bed and had just had Sex; a pretty straightforward shag after a brief but interesting foreplay, he’d said completely out of the blue.

“Want to know more about the guy?” he told me stroking my breast and pinching my nipple.

It didn’t register at first.

“The guy?”

“Yes Jayne, your soon to be new lover.”

The penny dropped and my heart started to pound, but I couldn’t think of anything to say other than.

“Oh right and what do you mean by new?”

Once John had got my agreement in New York a few weeks ago, he had kept the pressure on, in more ways than one. Not only did he keep telling me how wonderful it was going to be for both of us and kept me up to date with his views on where he might find him, but he also shagged me more often. And that was a nice added benefit.

He told me how it was completely safe for no one at the place where the guy worked knew who he was or, more importantly who I was.

Oddly, John had thought, and now I did as well, since agreeing to his plan, I hadn’t once made any stipulations on looks or other details about my potential lover. I just hadn’t been able to think about that for it was in a completely isolated compartment of my life, the door to which I would open when with him and then close when he had gone. Now, though seemed the time to ask.

“What’s he like?”

“Great sense of humour, very polite, diplomatic and considerate and I’m sure enormously discrete.”

“That’s all good,” I mumbled not really that concerned about such things. “And looks.”

“About six two, probably one seventy pounds, dark blonde hair, quite a looker, a golf pro actually.”

“I see,” I said as I held the back of John’s head while he sucked my nipple deep into his mouth.

As he let my full, dark pink, horrendously swollen nipple slip from his mouth, he’d muttered the one thing that finally hooked me; the one thing that had stopped me asking him to turn the car round yes, the one thing that so excited me.

“Oh, by the way, he’s just twenty-four, is that ok?”

‘Ok? Is it fucking ok?’ I thought as I lay beside my snoring husband later that night. ‘How the hell could he know? I’ve never mentioned it I’m sure.’

How the hell then could he know that it was a major fantasy of mine to have Sex with a youngster, a teenager or just over. At the tennis club my body sometimes ached when I saw the younger guys in their brief shorts and tees. How I had resisted a number of advances from them I just didn’t know? In the bar with girls from the golf club or nights out with them it had surprised me how many of us forty-somethings had the same fantasy. And now, unconsciously my husband was bringing my fantasy to life!

“So where did you discover him?” I asked the next night when we had Sex again.

“He’s a junior coach at that driving range I sometimes use. You saw him when you came with me a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, I remember,” I said quietly my pulse racing a bit at the memory of the coach and at the vision of being in bed with him. “So how did you get to ask him?”

John went on to explain that it came completely out of the blue. He’d been hitting a few balls and they passed each other by the ball machine. They got chatting and as John put it “I asked if he would give you some lessons.”

“I’ve heard good things about him.”

He went to explain that he’d told Rob that he had seen you and Rob had replied that he remembered. John had said that he must have a good memory and Rob had said that he had for pretty ladies. They had both laughed. John told me that he then went shit or bust and asked Rob right out whether he would like to ‘sleep with my Wife.’

“And that my dear is how I found the man I am gonna watch fuck you,” he said, again taking my bloated nipple into his mouth as he slipped three fingers up my wet and ready Pussy. “He has absolutely no idea who we are and where we live and to top it all he is leaving next month to go and live and coach in Dubai.”

My husband’s finger stimulated Orgasm was accompanied by me imagining being in the arms of a naked young guy with his so hard cock embedded deep in my cunt.

*

I had thought carefully about what to wear. I’d considered various outfits, a tight dress, trousers and a low-cut top and jeans and a crisp white shirt. I’d thought of flashing a lot of my breasts about which I was quite proud or wearing something which accentuated the deep cleavage my D cup boobs so easily created in the right garment. In the end I had settled on simplicity and casual, after all that is how the young were nowadays, I thought tingling at the prospect that lay ahead. I wanted a look that could associate me with a guy young enough to be my son, but without him looking at me and thinking ‘mutton dressed up as lamb’ as I felt a couple of my acquaintances did with their younger men.

I wore jeans, quite nice, but not Versace or anything designer and a dark blue, thickish wool cardigan. It had six brass buttons up the front and was cut short so that the hem was just on my waist. That meant when I stretched the cardi would ride up and quite fashionably I would flash a strip of bare flesh around my waist including my tummy button. With the top button undone I was exposing a fair, but not excessive amount of my chest although I knew from practising in front of the mirror that if I bent forward most of my breasts in the bra that was probably half a size too small for me could be seen by an enquiring eye. The cardi wasn’t that tight so that although the swell of my boobs was obvious, enough was left hidden to provide a great surprise when later, presumably it would be undone and removed.

There was one other touch that wasn’t simplicity and might well be a surprise; I slipped into a pair of black, lacy topped, seemed holdups.

I was pleased that I had gone on the crash diet for getting ready I had stood naked in front of the mirror and inspected herself. Ok the tits still sagged a bit, but then D cups, on a forty something, which had been suckled inevitably did that. Overall though, I wasn’t that worried for with most men it seemed that size outweighed sag every time. There was a bit of flab on my tummy and round my hips, but fortunately no stomach wrinkles and thankfully no cellulite, yet, I thought smiling.

If I could have written the script for such an elicit shag as this or if I could have cast the young man I was to go with, I would have described Rob. He was lovely to look at and, whilst not the most interesting conversationalist in the world, but then what youngsters or golf pros are, he had nice manners, was genuinely friendly and had a caring and sensitive manner? I began to warm to the evening ahead.

The drinks went well, although John made most of the conversation and controlled the discussion with his usual charisma and guile. What they were there for and presumably what each of them were most concerned about, Rob and me having Sex, was not mentioned not even in the most oblique of ways. Rob was clearly as nervous as I was; the difference between us being that his showed and mine didn’t well, I didn’t think it did.

“I arranged for dinner in the suite,” John said dead on seven, the time they had agreed.

“A suite, I have never been in one,” Rob said, clearly impressed.

“Well, if you make it on the tour one day, you’ll get used to it,” John said nodding to the barman to put the drinks on the room bill and slipping him a fiver as he put his hands on both Rob’s and Jayne’s waist. “Shall we go then?”

Although John was used to negotiating massive deals involving millions of pounds, he couldn’t recall being as nervous as he was when riding up in the elevator with his Wife and the young man. He couldn’t help thinking how elevators are such conversation killers, when none of them said a word as they silently slid up to the fifth floor.

‘There’s no way out now is there?’ I was thinking as John opened the door to the suite and ushered me, then Rob into the surprisingly well-appointed room. My nerves got worse when I wondered how we would start, whether Rob, or maybe John, would undress me, or whether John would try to persuade me to do a striptease as I had done for him on several occasions in the past? I even wondered if the ‘etiquette’ for such an experience was topless or even naked dining; I had heard from some friends who were into swinging that in their circle it was. The waiter handed us menus and poured us each a glass of champagne as we stood on the balcony looking out over the busy international airport dominated by the hated Ryanair, inwardly I was imploring John to change his mind and let me off the hook. I knew, though that there was absolutely no bloody chance of that especially when I heard him saying.

“We’re both so pleased you could join us this evening Rob.”

“Just pleased to be here,” the ‘kid’ as I was beginning to think of him, replied.

John lifted his glass. “Well, here’s to a wonderful evening for us all.”

Dinner was a stilted affair, even though the food was surprisingly good. It was as if all three realised the scale of what lie just ahead. John called room service to remove the dinner things and bring some white wine and water, together with a bottle of single malt, Glenmorangie Scotch.

The bar set up, the dinner things removed, the lights from the busy airport being the only illumination in the sitting room of the suite and the sight of aircraft taking off and landing with hardly any sound due to the triple, we sat there waiting.

Several times as we made idle chit chat, I wanted to leave the room and forget the whole crazy idea. The talk was mainly about golf for that was the main link between us, well so far that is I pondered thinking there should a be a stronger one soon.

John was comfortable and relaxed in most circumstances. He was nearly always the controller and the director of meetings, the persuader and influencer. Yet here with his Wife and a twenty-one-or-so-year-old golf pro, he didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t work out how to get things going without totally pissing me or Rob off. He refilled our glasses, talked more about golf in Dubai and generally he just let the situation meander.

Luckily fate intervened.

“That was a wonderful dinner, John, I really enjoyed it thank you,” Rob said glancing from him to me and and back again.

“You’re most welcome Rob,” John replied neutrally.