My wife is slutty, and she knows I love it endlessly. I write these stories for her alone. Some of it might be true, some of it might not. You will never know.
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His phone buzzed with a new text.
"Ok. It's on."
"He's getting drinks at the bar to take up."
Then ten second later, "Knows you will be joining... says he's down."
David's stomach fluttered. The electricity was amplified even more from the hardness straining against his pants as he felt the lightening shoot up from his middle to his spine and up to his forehead. He felt dizzy for just a split second, like he might fall off the bar stool upon which he was perched.
He pictured his wife Elle of many years sitting in an anonymous booth in the non-descript Marriott Marquee Times Square hotel lobby bar, across the street from where he was sidled up at a touristy Irish pub. He pictured her, with her long blond hair, small waist, curvy hips, and long legs, getting up to greet someone whom she hadn't seen in nearly two decades. Antony. Her former lover. A long term fling with whom she was fucking (among several) at the time David had met Elle all those years ago in the City. He visualized the man visiting her this evening, the athletic, bald, good looking trip guide she'd met after booking a spur of the moment bike adventure across the picturesque countryside of Austria.
He was able to visualize what their greeting might look like, her eyes twinkling, perhaps the awkward embrace, his good looking features highlighted by his bald head, simply because he had seen her former lover in sordid pictures Antony had taken of the two of them locked in passionate poses all those many years ago.
Pictures. Apparently that was his thing. And as she told it, she was captivated by it, enraptured by his abrupt direction of how to pose, where to position herself, how to take his cock before the camera went off. Fueling what was a fiercely erotic relationship not connected so much by emotions and intimacy but by unbridled passion and pure enjoyment for sex with each other.
David saw their passion in the pictures she'd shared with him after they first realized long ago they shared a similar kink, her love of reminiscing about old lovers, and his passion for directing her sexual energy to bring out her true naughty side.
Pictures. David had poured over them countless times. It fueled his personal fantasies of her. In his mind, he was able to trace every line, every curve of her body in every single picture. He knew what she'd been thinking in each moment by the look in her eyes, the way her body was positioned, the way her lips were parted. Pictures. He saw her posed visually like the amateur pictures he saw in dirty magazines of his youth, but these were of his beautiful wife. The eroticism that shot through him when he looked at them was off the charts.
Pictures. These artifacts, and the corresponding memories, of her former lover had brought them countless hours of erotic fun over the years. She'd had more orgasms than either of them could count as he'd coaxed her into reminiscing about how much she enjoyed the size of his big cock, how much she relished being bent over into his favorite doggy position, and how it turned her on that he used to boss her around in bed.
David's mind raced as he thought about those many moments between them before her body lost control to an oncoming orgasm, where she'd voice things like "his dick was so thick my hand barely fit around it," or "sometimes he would follow me into the shower, even after he'd already fucked me two or three times," or "his dick was so big sometimes I couldn't breath when I was blowing him."
This was the man she was now standing up to greet in the hotel bar across the street from where he was currently sitting.
He was immeasurably turned on.
He pictured them sitting at a table, Elle batting her eyes coyly, flirting, reconnecting after all those years, talking about the mundane things people discuss when they haven't seen each other in a while. "How are things? What are you doing for work these days? Are you still biking regularly?"
But in his reptilian brain, he fantasized about them descending to a conversation about their very sexual past. He knew that while they weren't compatible much socially or emotionally, they shared a very hot sexual connection that usually meant she was naked and being fucked against a wall or pushed into bed within minutes of them arriving at one another's apartments. They never officially dated. It was somewhat occasional and casual. But David knew she liked his cock.
He looked down at this phone, lingering on the text thread.
"Ok. It's on"
So, they were leaving to go upstairs to fuck... which meant by definition they HAD to have ended up in a conversation about sex.
He wondered how it had started? Would one of them have brought up a flirty time they hooked up? Was that all it would take to get the conversation going? Would they have taken a trip down memory lane together, getting hotter by the second? Would she have brought up their first steamy night together in a stairwell in a hostel in Austria?
Then he looked at the final text in the thread.
"Knows you will be joining... says he's down."
How would she have broached the subject of a threesome? David and Elle had discussed just coming right out and asking, if she felt the timing was right, but David knew so many factors had to fall in place at exactly the right moment. The right number of cocktails. The right stories about their sexual times together. The right references to the passionate connection of the past.
Or...maybe it was just as simple as asking it he wanted to fuck her in a threesome with her husband. Antony was married after all, and if he'd agreed to the meet up with her at the hotel bar in the first place, there was already the implicit expectation there might be something illicit on the horizon. David knew sex was the first thing on the mind of the male reptilian brain given the invitation from an old lover.
Maybe it really was that simple.
