Is it brainwashing? Could it be Stockholm syndrome? I don't have the answer. I can say that being exposed to an idea day after day, month after month, no matter how repugnant it seemed at first, can change your mind. I know. It happened to me.
After she had me describe myself jacking off a guy, my wife could not be deterred. Her orgasm was such that my dissertation of the imaginary event became the norm. Every sexual congress between us began with me describing his cock and how I made it cum. Cindy's fascination with that perversion had me trying to come up with new ideas. I relied on my imagination to take it further for her. It seemed the deeper I put me into a submissive role, the better she liked it.
We were on vacation, staying in a rental house on the outer Banks. One evening we were on the deck watching the sunset and listening to the waves. A sand dune muffled the sounds of the crashing incoming tide allowing us to talk quietly.
I had a pair of shorts on over my brief underwear. My guayabera shirt was unbuttoned as I lay comfortably on the lounge chair. We were both drinking our third Margarita and feeling pretty good.
My wife Cindy was wearing her white shorts that I loved seeing her in. Tight, they accentuated her generous ass. A throw-back tube top covered her 32 D cup breasts. The light over the door to the deck provided a subdued glow which was enough for us to be able to see clearly.
We talked about our dinner which was, as usual, excellent at the oldest restaurant in Nags Head. "Man, but I love their crab Remick," I said wishing I could get their recipe.
"I know," Cindy responded. "You order it every time we eat there. You want to know what I liked about today?"
"Sure, hon."
"It was when we were on the beach. That guy who stopped for a second to say hi, he must have been 40 or so, remember him?"
I thought back. I'd been half dozing under the umbrella. My wife was lying on a large towel soaking up the rays. I remember squinting through my sunglasses at some dude. "Yeah, I remember. Why?" But I should have known why. It had been 14 months of me describing myself masturbating another guy. The more she liked it, the more engaged into it I got.
It would not be far from the truth if you said I was now emotionally invested in making her happy with that fantasy.
"johnnie, he was like the guy you jack off. In my mind's eye, when you're telling me about him, I could see him, and he looked exactly like the guy on the beach. And let me tell you this. I could see the outline of his cock under his tight speedo. He's hung like the guy you always talk about."
"Wait a minute. I only talk about some stranger because you want to hear it. Not for any other reason."
"Well, when you're talking about a man's bigger cock for me it sure makes you hard."
I had no answer. After months and months of detailing how big his cock is and how much more of a man he is because he has a larger cock than me kind of brain washed me, I guess. Still, regardless of how hard it made me, I would always rationalize that it was seeing my wife fingering her pussy as I spoke of the masturbatory session that aroused me.
But in reality, I began to enjoy relating those dirty stories to her and would find myself thinking about them or the next chapter while I was at work and other times when I was alone. I thought about making those tales more erotic for my wife. And being completely transparent, I have masturbated to those prurient thoughts.
"Okay," I sighed. "What about him? That guy on the beach, I mean."
"I was thinking that you would really enjoy playing with his cock. I mean it looked to be really big, johnnie."
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't enjoy it," I said denying the almost instant arousal coming over me.
"Prove it."
"Excuse me? Prove it? How?"
"Take off your pants and underwear. Let me see that cute dick of yours."
"Cute dick," she called it. Lately she has dropped cock from her vocabulary when mentioning my dick. Now it's cute. This fantasy was snowballing.
"Are you serious?" I asked.
"Oh yeah. I'm serious baby."
I started to get up to go inside. "Where are you going?" Cindy asked sitting up. "I mean take em off right here."
"But we have neighbors. They might see," i objected.
"If they do, they'll be peeping. They can't see you unless they're peeking through those boards, johnnie."
"What the hell?" I thought. Being in my cups so to speak, this might be fun. I scooted up and pulled down my shorts and underwear. "Happy?"
"The shirt too babe. I want you completely naked like you are in your dirty stories you like telling me so much when you're thinking about some other guy's cock."
See what I mean? She wants me to tell her those dirty stories, yet she accuses me of wanting to tell them for my own pleasure.
Cin pushed her lounge chair close to me. She noticed that my dick had gained weight over the last few seconds. "I knew it," she exclaimed a little too loudly. "Talking about other men's cocks excites you. Look at your dick. You want to play with a real cock, johnnie. Come on. You can tell me."
I was unable to speak. Her loud talk made me afraid the neighbors heard her.
"What? The cat got your tongue?"
"Come on, Cin. Not so loud. I admit that talking about me being submissive to a man with his cock in my hands while you watch is starting to get to me."
"That's so hot, johnnie. I love you. You know that, right?"
"I do know that. I love you too."