The Realisation

I had just stepped in through the front door and made my way to the foot of the stairs, having returned home early from my weekly night out with the lads because I felt a bit under the weather.

I had just been about to shout upstairs to announce my return, when I heard it. The soft moaning and mutterings of a woman having sex.

I stood stock still at the foot of the stairs, concentrating hard on the muffled sounds from above, then made a decision.

I slid my shoes off and slowly, silently made my way upstairs. I inched along the landing to my - our - bedroom door. I didn't have to burst in to find out what was going on; my wife had been confident of not being disturbed and had left the door ajar.

Inwardly I let out a high sigh of relief, but strangely I was all too aware of a feeling of disappointment, a sense of anti-climax - literally! My wife was alone.

Alone, but still in a high state of arousal, murmuring barely intelligible words to herself; and bucking her hips and writhing her body, as her fingers frantically worked her clit and pussy lips - for all the world looking like she was scratching an itch that could not be calmed; a major source of irritation.

I was getting hard watching her. I was also extremely shocked by what I was seeing. This was my demure wife. A woman that is to sex what The Rock is to shyness. Or so I thought.

I had never seen her play with herself, not even as part of our love making. She never talked about sex, showed little interest in sex, had always seemed...well...embarrassed by it all really.

I badly wanted to push the door open, jump on top of her, and fuck her, but a little voice in my head won the day over my cock and told me it was the wrong thing to do. Before I backed off from the door however, I was in for another shock.

As she reached climax, as her breathing quickened and her fingers increased speed to 'warp factor' she expelled the words, "oh fucking yes, fuck me hard with that big cock" through clenched teeth, before her body shuddered and trembled, then went limp.

She lay there panting, and ran her hand across her face to clear away both a sheen of sweat and tangles of her hair - before raising the fingers that had pleasured her cunt, to her nostrils, to drink in the scent of her cum. She sighed, then slid her fingers in her mouth and sucked them delicately clean, like teasing an iced lolly in to, then slowly out of, her lips; stripping away a layer of flavouring in the process.

I swallowed hard, but as she rose from the bed to head off to the en-suite to clean up, I made my move and snuck back downstairs and put on my shoes.

I waited until I heard the toilet flush, then opened and closed the front door again. A bit dramatically, a bit loud, with an accompanying shout up the stairs. "Hi, only me. Think I'm getting a cold so called it a night. Be up in a minute."

When I got upstairs, she had switched on the TV and was sat up, propped up with pillows, looking for all the world like she had been totally absorbed for hours in some god awful romantic film. But her face was still flushed pink. I made a remark about how flushed she looked and asked if she was feeling ill to. She looked a little sheepish in her guilt, but just said "it's warm in here, either that or its the change".

A subject she knows I will avoid and therefore is used often to shut down conversations, as well as any attempts on my part to initiate sex.

I didn't go out the following week to the pub. I was still not 100%. She was not pleased. She treated me like shit all night; and I realised it was because my night out, was also her time to indulge in some sexually activity and fantasies.

Nothing much happened during the following week, though she did act odd and very nervous when I mentioned that one of those "we missed you" cards had been pushed through the letter box, and that apparently there was a parcel waiting collection from the sorting office. I offered to get it for her, but she was most insistent that she would get it on her way to Tesco for the shopping.

I didn't think much about it at the time, but she did seem somehow scared and skittish about the exchange.

I had already decided that I would sneak home early again from the pub, to see if there was a repeat performance. Little did I know it, but I was about to discover the contents of the parcel.

I had been successful in timing my return (and sneaking upstairs again) to coincide with her performance. I figured rightly she was a creature of habit, and would wait until about half way through my usual time spent in the pub to begin touching herself. Enough time that I would not be expected to be coming back for anything I had forgotten, and enough time to finish what she needed to do. And it appears that "needed" was the correct word.

I wasn't surprised to find the bedroom door slightly open again either. Funnily enough, I think this was meant to be her safety mechanism. I believe she was certain that by leaving the bedroom door ajar that she would hear me come in through the front door, giving her enough time to stop what she was doing and look all innocent by the time I got to bed. Ironic really, that it had not worked out that way, and by leaving the door open she was providing me with a ringside seat to her self-abasement.

I saw it in the mirror first. Then I heard it above her words. There is a bank of wardrobes at the foot of the bed with floor to ceiling mirrors on the doors. The source of much fun when they were first installed, now they largely reflected two inert individuals sleeping, farting and snoring through the night. Except for now.

The vibrator was being slid in and out of her cunt, while it buzzed and gnawed at her soft, warm walls, two little prongs poked out tickling her clit when it was brought to rest there, with the thick, clinical, plastic body deep inside her.

The sight made a trickle of cum seep from my cock, already rock hard from the anticipation of what I would see, before I even saw it.

Her words made my head spin and my stomach churn.

She was practically spitting the words out through clenched teeth:

"Oh my god, fuck me, thats it, don't stop...I want you to make me cum."

"Oooo...I want you to fuck me hard. I want your big, thick cock to shoot its load inside me. Mmmm...yes...that's it...I want to feel your cum spurt in me."

"Your so much bigger than my husband...such a huge cock. So much better too...your gonna make me squirt...oh shiitttt yes."

And then she did just that. She squirted her pussy juice everywhere; the bed clothes were soaked. The vibrator was still being worked desperately inside her, bringing her to a huge climax, which she announced with a scream and gushing expulsion of air from her lungs.

It was crystal clear to me in that moment that I was not the object of her fantasies. Though to be fair, that's the point. We all dream of something or someone else getting us off don't we? Otherwise it's just not a fantasy. It is just not as exciting, and we all crave some escapism.

But her words had betrayed a little more than a mere fictitious dalliance with an imaginary lover. There had been an implied regret, dissatisfaction even in her outburst, about my manhood and my prowess. I had clearly never been enough to satisfy her.

I had an alarming vision of my wife enduring years of unsatisfactory sex (with me), only able to gratify herself by her own hand, but never really achieving the same result that a big, rock hard cock could - especially one equipped to a man who knew how to use it.

Later that night in bed I pondered a few things - a bed with different sheets on it from when I had left for the pub; changed because, "oh silly me, I spilt my coffee all over them", when in reality they had her love juice sprayed all over them.

Had she ever been so unhappy or unsatisfied with me that she had fucked other guys to fill her needs? I was surprised to find that the thought was not without attraction. And that the thought made me hard.

How long had this been happening? On the one hand if she was so frustrated it could have been happening for years. On the other hand, it may just have come to a head recently. The addition of the vibrator to her sessions was new. It had only arrived a few days ago. Or had it? I was assuming that. The parcel could have contained something else, and the vibrator could have been around a long time. But then it looked new, and she did act strange when we discussed the parcel, and she did seem a bit of a novice in the way she handled it...but what the fuck do I know about how you handle a vibrator?

I thought deeply about things, and decided after much debate in my head, that all of it was probably a recent turn of events. Our sex life had slipped in the last 6 months to non-existent, mainly as she was not in the mood. Mainly blamed on the menopause. And therefore mainly accepted by me. Reluctantly.

I began to realise it was not the menopause that was the problem but me, or us. We had stagnated. Routine sex, in a routine life, in a routine way. And all of average quality if I am honest. Therefore, all this was new. She was trying to create a world where she was sexy (she is anyway, but she obviously was not feeling that way), where men desired her, wanted her and where she wanted them. Where she had mind blowing sex and could act and be whoever she wanted to be; do things she had never entertained before (or to my knowledge she had not, she certainly hadn't with me). A fantasy world that brought her body paralysing orgasms without any need for guilt or remorse that would exist with an affair. At the time I didn't realise how prophetic my thoughts were.

It seemed to be a world where her lovers are bulls. Stallions. Men of size and stamina.

My cock needed release. I pumped purposefully under the duvet, as I imagined my wife being impaled by another mans rod, as she slept beside me. I didn't last long. The thought of her orgasming on a strangers cock sent me over the top, and the duvet got a shower of jizz that needed to be wiped off. But not yet. I brought my cock back to muster, and cracked another one off dreaming of my wife being fucked hard by many different men first.

A week later. Pub night. Or should that be voyeur night now? The lads were pissed off when I made up some bullshit excuse to slope off again an hour after my arrival.

I had been busy during the week. Installed a couple covert mini spy cameras, with audio and connectivity to my mobile phone. One above the bed and one in the wardrobe cornice. One forward, one reverse view. I had to. There was no way I would get away with sneaking outside my bedroom door again. Law of averages said I had pushed my luck last time.

I tuned in from my car parked a short distance away. My wife was not lay on the bed, facing away from door as she had been on the previous occasions. She was facing the door. Stood on her feet at the end of the bed, but bent forward at the waist, her hands touching the foot of the bed for support.

Her hips and buttocks were moving back and forth to / from the mirrored wardrobe doors. Slowly. Deliberately. Feeling every single inch of a huge, black dildo servicing her cunt, stuck to the glass by a suction cup.

Her eyes were closed but her mouth was not.

"Oh my god. Your big black cock is amazing".

"Its so fucking big. I...I can't get it all in...fuck me...Jesus H Christ that is so fucking good."

As she became accustomed to the girth of the manufactured dick she began to speed up her movements, pushing back harder, trying to force the rest of it inside her. Almost as if she wanted to feel some pain in order to feel alive.

You could not hear what she was saying now, a torrent of no doubt filth, pouring from her lips as the massive phallus speared her and stretched her wide. Squelching noises mixed in with the sounds of sex, as her pussy gushed juices down her thighs.

Her right hand reached up and tweaked a nipple, then viciously twisted it in her fingers causing obvious pain, which brought a grimace, but also an obvious sense of pleasure, as the grimace turned to a smirk. She did it again, and again, until her legs began to visibly tremble (even on camera) spasming under the onslaught of wave after wave of delicious sensory overload.

"Fill me with your seed" she said. "I want your black mans seed in me".

"Always wanted to...fuuckkk...(pant)...a well hung black guy."

"Fuck...if only you were real...I would want...your cum."

Then the shriek. Then the explosion of air and grunts, as she ejaculated on her rubber hero. I noted she did so with it as deep inside her as it could go.

This was escalating fast.

Barely a month had passed from witnessing her pleasure herself with her fingers, to introducing a vibrator, to now impaling herself on a large (black) dildo. The significance of the colour and her choice words were not lost on me.

For a moment, I contemplated whether she was setting me up. Whether she knew I was watching. Whether she hoped I was watching. But no. I didn't get that vibe.

But then I thought slightly differently. Would she want to be set up? What would she do if she was? What if she found out I had seen and heard her sessions of debauchery? Would she flip, or would she push further and go for broke. Challenge me to make her fantasy real.

It was an intoxicating idea. What if I set her up with a man. Could I cope with it? Would she hate me for it or thank me? Would we remain married? Did I care?

Well the answer it seems was that the thought of seeing her taken by another guy in front of me, of being properly used by a bull, actually made me extremely horny. Tame expression I know. But to be frank, that's just what it did. My hormones were lit. I had to make it happen on my terms, before she reached this inevitable conclusion herself. Based on the trajectory she was heading on, her only logical next step was to make it happen for real. I had no doubt she would.

The week after. The night.

I had called her earlier that day to say I was bringing a new colleague home from work, to ask her if she minded cooking a meal for him / us as we had some stuff to discuss, that I had to bring him up to speed on the company policies being new. She was pissed off. I could hear it in her voice, "no sex night for me tonight then".

I arrived with "Steve" about half 6.

Her face was a picture. You could almost hear her pussy flood at the sight of him. She shook his hand lightly, while her free hand brushed her hair behind one of her ears. She smiled effusively and welcomed my new colleague in to our home. She touched the nape of her neck as she showed him in to the lounge and offered him a seat, and bit her lip in one corner subconsciously as she eyed his physique.

"Steve" my "work colleague" was a guy I found via one of those websites. You all know what I mean so no point in elaborating. I had explained the situation and the ruse. He was OK with it, as long as my wife was responsive come crunch time. He was not about to force himself on her and risk that shit. I told him that I expected nothing else.

He was about 6"5" and well built, about our age, but fit and athletic. And very black. He assured me that he more than measured up in terms of his appendage and his performance.

We ate and chatted shit. She looked perplexed on occasion as we clearly had not rehearsed the storyline about "work" and the "stuff" were meant to discuss, but she was distracted by his presence and not paying much attention to such benign things, but was instead paying plenty of attention to his crotch.

She was flirting wildly. She even disappeared for a short while to change, in to something a little more "relaxed" but in truth this translated to more revealing - a short dress, with a low front to show off cleavage. She also freshened up her make up I noticed.

She went back upstairs for a second time shortly afterwards, to use the loo she said. I slipped off to the downstairs loo and watched her on the cameras on my phone.

She removed her knickers and lay on the bed and began playing with herself. No time for toys. She needed a fast escape from the pent up tensions and urges she was experiencing, thinking about Steve. Apparent because she mentioned him. She said out loud, "fuck me Steve...take me with that big cock. Oh god, yes Steve give it to me, fuck me hard. Fuck me properly."

She changed her briefs when she climaxed, in to some silky, barely there, black-number I had never seen. Her bra was removed entirely.

She returned and the wine began flowing as much as her oestrogen. As she drank more she flirted more, gave him a sight of her unfettered cleavage by sitting next to him on the sofa, nipples tenting the cloth of the dress; turned sideways to him so one of her legs had to be lifted and crooked under her, providing an enticing canopy of cloth between her legs, with the merest glimpse of her briefs when she shuffled her bottom on the sofa.

She laughed at his wit. Leaning in and touching his arm, his knee and thigh when she did so. All the time taking not so furtive glances at the obvious outline of his trouser snake.

It was time. She was ready.

I said to Steve. "Oh mate, I forgot, I need to show you this. You will love it."

With that I switched on the (smart) TV, found the file on my iPhone and air-played a video clip via the TV. The room was filled with the sound of my wife fucking the dildo, images splayed in HD across the 65" TV for us all to see.

She looked confused at first. A few seconds where she was dumfounded, checking, then checking again, that it was her on the screen. Stunned.

"What the...I don't understand, I mean WHAT THE FUCK."

"How...why? What's the fuck is going on...switch it off...switch it off NOW?"

She hadn't moved from the sofa though. She was transfixed on the screen, hearing herself beg for the big black cock to fuck her. She was mesmerised and practically hyperventilating at the words and images bombarding her.

I made no attempt to switch it off.

"Steve" took advantage of the standoff and gently placed a hand on the leg crooked under her buttocks, and slowly slid it up towards the hem of her dress, shuffling toward her, and leaning forward in to her as he did so. His fingers met the gusset of her briefs before she knew what was happening, and she was instantly snapped out of her shock at seeing herself on the screen.

She grabbed his arm and said, "What the fuck do you think you're doing."

Steve stopped, his hand still up my wife's dress, the tips of his fingers still in contact with her briefs and her snatch on the other side of the cloth divide, the heat from it sending rivers of warmth up his arm.

He looked at her, then at me as if to say "What do I do?" So I played the next clip.

It was her, only an hour or so before, finger fucking herself while she dreamed of Steve's cock filling her pussy.

I turned and looked at her, though she was now transfixed again by her image on the screen, but this time more by what she could clearly be heard saying. Busted.

I spoke even though she was focussed on the TV.

"You know you want him. Listen to yourself, watch yourself. You have been playing with yourself for weeks with your toys imagining yourself being fucked by a big cock, a big black cock. You've fucking changed your clothes, flirted like a bitch on heat all night, removed your fucking bra and put on sex skimpy underwear too and now you're going to get all uppity cos you've been caught out? I don't think so. You are going to fuck him right now, while I watch. You are going to do it on my terms and not behind my fucking back...because I know you would have. It was inevitable. So stop being all fake indignant and wounded and spread your legs and take what you crave. Take the opportunity now or stop with the weekly fuck fest sessions while I'm down the pub."