*Before I start, my hotwife and I would like to tell you a little bit about ourselves and our situation. (She has her own account on here as of last night, and told me tonight how much she is already turned on at the thought of reading people's comments on our mutual fantasies. Also, though I don't go much into description in the story itself, she is 5'3", fantastic curves, with very large breasts, and dusky Mediterranean beauty for days, including show-stopping eyes in a beautiful face. I am much taller - 6'6" - shaved head, beard, still in pretty good shape, and formerly made a living with my face. That's us, physically, if it helps.)
We have known each other since we were in our late teens, having grown up near to one another, albeit going to different schools in different grades (I'm almost three years older). The first time we hung out in a group small enough to actually have a conversation, she forever imprinted on me, and I was lost until we found one another again quite recently.
Back then it was her eyes. We didn't have a lot of exotic bloodlines in our quasi-suburban/quasi-rural community, and her dark, kohl-lined eyes, long dark lashes, framed by sun-browned perfect skin took my breath away. Of course, her perfect little pouty mouth sealed the deal.
Today, I'm happy to say, I've seen what her clothes hid from me that night all those years ago, and let me just say... I've seen more than my fair share of flesh over the years, but hers takes the cake. How someone can look so good at her age is beyond me, particularly as no surgeon has ever come near her face or breasts.
This, combined with a very dirty imagination, and... well...
She's absolutely the sexiest woman I have ever had the pleasure of melding minds with and my only regret is that I didn't realise just how perfectly we mesh a very very long time previously.
Transplanting to other countries and cities for careers, in fashion and the arts and healthcare; marriages and kids and divorces and separations and all of the other stuff that life throws at us, and then one day a comment about a piece of artwork leads to a lusty romance that has my head spinning every minute of every day.
Unfortunately for us, at present, we are tied to situations on opposite sides of the country, but that's the joy of living in the age of Messenger calls and cheap flights and FaceTime.
And, during those sessions, we have discovered a couple of proclivities, ones that definitely won't surprise or shock anyone in this community, but which have taken our breath away on more than one occasion.
Mainly, we both want her to be with someone else while I watch. Sometimes while I participate, but mainly while I sit back and watch her lose herself in rapture. She loves to get caught being bad, whether that's masturbating in front of an open window, or, now, getting caught on her knees in our bedroom with her lover. For me, it's all about watching her enjoy herself, losing herself in the moment. Watching the woman I love, the woman who loves me and will sleep curled up in our bed beside me later that night, release her inner slut.
Initially, probably with a woman, as that has been a fantasy of hers for a long time, but we both agree that me waking up to the sound of her moans and cries as she gets her pussy licked or fucked by a man that we had brought into our home the night before, whether that's with the bed shaking with their lust or whether the sounds are coming from another room in the house, is an absolutely massive turn on and we are very much looking forward to that day.
The tale presented below, or rather, this section of the tale, is just the beginning of a night that both of us will never forget (albeit in the fantastical realm, for now).
(I have written another, much shorter story, called "Boat Cruise" that should be up soon if you're looking for something a little more straight-to-the-main-event. But if you like a bit of foreplay and context, look no further. We look forward to your commentary.)
Darts (Part 1)
I knew as soon as I walked into the pub that you had started without me.
I could hear your laughter during a brief pause in the music, guiding me to the back of the pub, to the darts alcove. That laughter was the giggle of someone who is a) nicely buzzed, and b) thoroughly enjoying herself in the company of a man. I know. I have made you laugh like that many times. Not only that, but I've watched you enjoying yourself in a flirtatious mood on more than one occasion.
On those occasions, you've made a subtle point of glancing back at me from time-to-time, making sure I'm still there, watching you in admiration and lust, and also keeping a watchful eye so that my precious hotwife remains safe while she has her fun.
From the bar, I could see fairly clearly into the alcove. You were lining up a shot, and there was a younger man, I guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, 'helping' you in your efforts. I know you to be a pretty solid darts sharp, so this sham of letting him guide the 'helpless female' made me chuckle as I ordered from the bartender.
"What are ya having tonight, sweetheart?"
I was still staring at you and your new friend as I ordered. "Give me a cream ale and a Buffalo Trace, double, no ice, please."
She noticed my gaze (and probably my lustful expression).
"She's hot to trot."
"Sorry?" I asked, distracted by how your back was arching as your new companion pressed himself against you as he held your throwing arm, while his other arm was placed strategically just under your full breasts. I glanced back at my bartender. "I didn't catch that." I smiled a little sheepishly. "A bit distracted."
We both chuckled.
"Yeah, I can see that," she said. "I was saying 'she's hot to trot'."
"Ah. Yeah. You can say that again." I didn't reckon she'd tell me directly if I inquired as to how many tequilas you'd had, but maybe if I tried an oblique approach. "What's she drinking?"
"They've been buying her tequila-sodas. She's on her third."
Bingo. That and the gummy you told me you were chewing on while you were on your way to the bar earlier, and I now knew that you were well on your way to a good buzz. Not only a good buzz, but the type of good-vibe buzz that we both know that tequila and weed trigger in you, and all those good vibes were going straight to your pleasure centres. Your nipples would be hard; your pussy would be throbbing; your skin would be electric every time you were touched; and your mind would be entertaining all manner of dirty thoughts (and deeds) that it might not if you were sober.
My slut was ready. More than ready. While the bartender poured, I turned and watched you directly. Your head was tilted back just a little, leant against his chest, your perfect lips parted slightly, your tongue flicking across them even as I watched, while I could also see that you were making him (and now me) more than a little crazy by moving your hips and ass to the music, hips and ass that were pressed firmly back against your 'instructor's' own groin, your skirt beginning to ride up, exposing the bottom of your round ass-cheek. I knew what was going through his mind at that moment, having experienced it personally so many times: 'Do I give up on the pretence of helping her and just go for it, and if I do, should I take her into the bathroom, the parking lot, my car, or go to my apartment and make a whole fucking night of it?'
I chuckled to myself. Poor bastard. He was going to be left with blue-balls. You were very good at teasing, but crossing the line into actual sex was still the stuff of very steamy, very dirty, passionate, late-night fuck fantasies. And, we had had some pretty amazing fantasy sessions, to be sure. Particularly after nights such as this. You telling me how it felt when a man pulled you onto the dance floor during a slow number and you could feel his hardness grinding into you -- 'He was so hard, baby. His cockhead was right up against my button. I almost came right there on the dance floor.' You telling me you probably would have fucked him if he would have been more assertive and taken you away at that moment.
On another occasion, you describing in detail to me after an afternoon on the local, yet secluded, nude beach when two good-looking guys placed their blankets close to yours, constantly offering to rub lotion on your most tender parts, one of them even slipping a couple of fingers into your wet cunt as he applied sunscreen to your ass and his friend watched on slack-jawed and rock hard. 'You know how horny it makes me, the thought of people watching me being bad. I was staring at his friend's cock the whole time he was fingering me. He was watching, so turned on, and it was twitching and I could see pre-come on the tip. The more turned on he got watching me, the more I wanted to be fucked right there on the beach. Fuuuck... fuck me, baby, fuck me again!'
Phone numbers exchanged, and late night sexting initiated, but still not able to cross all the way across that line into ass-up, tits bouncing, screaming as a stranger's cock fills your wet pussy. And that has been absolutely fine. Our sex-life has been mythical. So much talk and horniness and fucking and licking and sucking. I have known since the beginning that we were matched perfectly, and nothing has changed. I'm still just as hot for you -- and vice versa -- as the first time we revealed our dirtiest desires to each other.
I sipped my bourbon as I watched you throw. I've seen you throw a dart a hundred, maybe five-hundred times before; however I've never seen it plunge so miserably toward the floorboards as it did then. Nor have I ever seen you pout so pathetically. No wonder he was 'helping' you. Vixen. Playing lame to lead your quarry into a trap. Nicely done.
I heard him then, "Oooh! Too bad! Let's try that again," and I couldn't help but hear the lack of actual disappointment in his voice. I was about to order you a drink and make my entrance, but then something unexpected happened. (Well, I say 'make my entrance' but what I mean is that I wanted to make myself visible to you. Increasing your arousal by letting you know that you were being watched.)
"I think she needs the help of someone who actually knows what they're doing, Nick." A tall fellow that I hadn't seen earlier stepped out of the rear end of the booth, putting down his beer as he approached you.
"I know what I'm doing," his younger companion chirped.
"No, you think you do, but you have no idea." As he got closer to you, he leaned in and said something into your ear. You made a throaty noise, one that I am altogether familiar with, and laughed.
"Well, then, maybe you should show me," was your breathless response.
"Later," came his own throaty reply. "Right now I'm going to show you how to throw a dart."
Your subsequent sexy laugh made my cock, already hard and straining against the inside of my pants, twitch in raw excitement.
He was older than your other companion. More our age. Looked like he worked with his hands. Knotted forearms with a couple of tattoos that had seen better days.
And then I wasn't looking at his forearms, as his hands were on you. He put a hand on your hip and pulled you firmly against him. Then, his arm tracing a line from where your breast and arm joined, he very slowly slid his hand up to your hand.
I wasn't close enough to hear you just then, but I was pretty sure if had been I would have heard a long, lustful moan coming out of you. Whatever noise you were making, he certainly appreciated it. "Oh, you like to be touched like that, do you?" he growled into your ear, his lips pushing back your hair and nuzzling your neck.
His friend, if that's what he was, was clearly feeling left out. He moved in front of you, stared into your eyes as he leaned his hips into yours. "Well, this is hardly fair. I get you all warmed up and I'm left holding my cock over here?"
You immediately slid both of your hands down between your bodies, firmly gripping what was obviously a very hard cock. He gasped and pushed himself against you, causing the three of you to stumble just a little, and that's when I noticed that the hand on the other side of your body was not outside of his pants.
"Could I get a tequila-soda for the lady, please?"
The bartender glanced into the alcove. "Sure. But I think it might be too late for you," she said with a laugh. I didn't laugh back. I was too occupied with the sight of you being a very bad little girl in public, and with keeping my hand off my own growing, throbbing cock.
A moment later, a server whisked by me on her way up to deliver your drink. I stepped out from the bar a couple of feet and turned so that my face was catching a bit of the light. The server's arrival interrupted your session rather abruptly, but the guy behind you wasn't about to let go of your hips. He backed up to a stool and pulled you with him, planting your round ass firmly on his (no doubt) swelling cock, even as you attempted to look where the server was pointing, down into the shadows near the bar.
I was momentarily very distracted by the view that I had straight up your skirt to your red panties, the lace ones that I had brought home for you last weekend. Just the same, I looked up just in time to see you looking away from me with a smile on your face. I was pretty sure then that you'd seen me. I watched you lean back onto your new captor's shoulder and half-whisper something -- something that was obviously dirty, as he immediately placed a hand firmly on one full breast and squeezed, capturing a very prominent nipple between two fingers as he did so, eliciting another moan from my little whore. Your snap jean shirt was coming undone at the top, but you were clearly past caring.
The server returned without acknowledging me. I put that down, possibly, to youthful inexperience in affairs of the heart. Some people, it seems, get turned on by watching their beautiful wives being caressed in public by strangers. Or maybe she thought I was hitting on the wrong woman, one who was obviously previously engaged. Little did she know.
There were a couple of high-tops placed strategically close to the darts alcove, so, after getting a top-up on my bourbon, I made my way to the table with the best view into what had become your playground for the night. I angled my stool toward the band, currently grinding out danceable eighties classic after singable seventies single, so your friends wouldn't feel like they were being watched, and settled in for what I hoped would be a highly arousing session of watching you tease your way into a frenzy.
Except, what the bartender had predicted unfolded right before me.
"The lady appreciates the drink, but you're too late."
I was stunned by not just what had been said, but also by what I was seeing with my unbelieving eyes.
The speaker was grinning at me over his shoulder as he led you by the hand, not toward the dance floor as I initially thought, but out the side door that led to the parking lot. His friend was following directly behind. This was not just unexpected, but potentially perilous. I left my drinks on the table and followed, not really caring who was watching or what they thought.
