All persons / story entirely ficticious.
Jim was about to become a cuckold, though he didn't know it yet and it wasn't planned.
Although he had some fantasies about his wife of 20 something years being fucked by other men, he had never considered being a cuckold, or Sam being a hot-wife for that matter.
It was just one of many fantasies, or porn categories, he liked to think about or browse when he played with himself.
He had to admit, his occasional dalliance with the cuckold / hot-wife persuasion was largely fuelled by a number of things.
Firstly, Sam was still a hot woman. She looked after herself, and at 46 still had a great figure, with very little of her attributes showing signs of wear by the on-set of aging, or due to having no children.
She went to the gym three times per week, had all the hair, nail and beauty treatments regularly and dressed to kill. She looked a million dollars in most clothing, but especially a bikini, her lingerie, and both figure hugging party dresses, and loose and free summer dresses.
She attracted a lot of attention from men. Always had. Always would. It became normal to see men ogling her, eying her up and down with admiring, lustful gazes. He had become accustomed to it to some extent, or more tolerant to it was more like it, but in the same respect it also lead to a natural tendency to wonder "what if". As in, what if she cheated? What if she was attracted to one of her admirers? What if she wanted more? What if one of those men seduced her? What if they fucked her?
Another reason such thoughts pervaded his fantasies was his own perceived inadequacies. He wasn't particularly well endowed and he wasn't particularly 'hot' to look at. He considered himself handsome enough he supposed, but didn't invest as much time in himself as Sam did. He rarely went to the gym, or partook of male spa treatments or grooming, and his dress sense was run of the mill (other than for business). He was in no way in Sam's league, nor therefore as attractive to women, than Sam was to men. He'd long harboured doubts as to why she was still with him, what she saw in him, and whether he really satisfied her sexually. He wondered what she fantasised about. What did she dream about or browse when she played with herself? He knew she did, he had heard her orgasm more than once from the other side of the door. It was not something they spoke about.
He didn't like to ask such personal questions of her. He was scared to know the answers.
The final reason pervaded all the above, interwoven in to everything. He could not give her the children he knew she would love. He was infertile, and long expected that her maternal instinct would one day lead her to the arms of another man, who would breed her, fulfilling her wish to be a mother.
Yes, they had considered alternatives, but she didn't want to adopt, preferring a child of her own, and he didn't want her getting pregnant by artificial means, using another mans sperm, or another man. She was still fertile, the possibility of motherhood not yet gone, though increasingly dwindling. The older she got, the more thoughts of her taking a lover, becoming impregnated by him, crept in to his imagination.
It seems however that so far both were happy to keep the status quo. She appeared content with what he offered her, emotionally, financially and perhaps (though not so much) physically. Their own sex life was not especially adventurous, but relatively frequent and loving, for a couple that had been together so long.
He treated her well, made sure she had all the nice things she desired, took her out often and went on luxury holidays. Though the latter two only served to increase the predicament he had with lots of good looking men around to try and chat her up, or flirt with her, or worse, which was common. All of them ignoring the wedding band on her finger, purely interested in her for sex, and (so far) being sent on their way.
They were in Mauritius. On one of those luxury holidays. They were staying at one of those all-inclusive resorts, with little apartments at the edge of the beach, the blue seas a short stroll away providing the relaxing backdrop of rolling waves kissing the golden sands.
They had been there a few days already, and yes she had garnered lots of admiring glances and some covert ogling under tinted sunglasses from bored, horny husbands lying alongside their no-longer interested wifes on sun loungers.
She didn't care. Jim knew she liked the attention. It made her feel good to be appreciated, it self-affirmed her. Made her aware of her own sexuality and desirability, empowering her.
She more or less advertised herself, prompting the behaviour of leering men, by wearing very skimpy bikinis. Never a costume, it covered too much skin. All of her bikinis were tie string, not straps, some of the tops had no strings and were held in place by gravity and her ample, firm tits and her protruding nipples.
Her long, slender, tanned legs rose perfectly up to her waist, topped by a jiggling, toned booty and a shorn pussy, providing just a hint of camel toe on the scrap of material that was just about concealing it, to make the men drool.
Jim clocked one bloke in particular who seemed captivated by her. He spent his time swimming slowly around the pool, in proximity to her. Trying to catch her eye. When she got out of the pool via the main steps, he watched intently as she rose out of the water, seeing it cascade off her tanned figure, then dribble residual drops in to her most intimate parts, and caress her form.
When she used the alternate ladders to exit the pool at the deeper end, he and a lot of other men, stared intently at her arse, as it was jutted out backward as she pulled herself up and out of the water. He knew what everyone one of them was thinking. Every single one.
Sam returned to his side on her lounger and began to smear herself in suncream. Her hands gliding deftly along those long legs, inside her thighs, to her groin, almost erotically, like she knew she had an audience and was teasing them.
She did the same on her stomach, gliding down toward her crotch, to the hem of that tiny piece of cloth shielding her pussy, wet from the pool, and softly, gently rubbed in the white cream in small circles. Jim knew what he thought at that moment, and he knew he wasn't the only one making that comparison, that leap, too.
More cream was applied to her exposed breast parts. She didn't go topless. Jim never asked her why, but she wasn't shy. He half suspected she liked the tease more than the reveal. It left more to the imagination if you didn't put them fully on show.
She turned over, and lay on her front like he knew she would, then asked him to apply some to her back, untying her bikini top in the process.
Jim sat to one side of her, half way along the lounger. Her legs were slightly apart, resting against the arms of the lounger on each side, as a natural barrier. He knew if he turned around that he would see the eyes of a number of men quickly avert their gaze from looking up that valley toward her hidden sexual playground.
Jim dutifully rubbed the cream in her back and shoulders, taking more care in the small of her back, where her bikini bottoms patrolled her hips. As he applied the cream lethargically, absent mindedly, he spoke up.
