Anything You Want

Author's Note:

A silly article about lusty wives fuels Hayley's desire for more from her marriage. (MF, rom, group, oral)

Note: This is not a cuckold story, but it could be read that way from a spectator and encouragement standpoint. There's a difference between wanting a wife to experience more vs. being marginalized in the relationship. If you take exception to that aspect, you might look elsewhere.

Most of my stories feature Hayley and Steven. Each story stands alone and are not sequential unless labeled to be in parts.

***

Hayley watched as Steven sank the eight ball, winning the game. He usually won anyway, but her game was off because she was decidedly distracted.

Foremost was an article that she had read at the dentist's office, one that made her question her judgment and maturity, one that she should have just let lay there. Besides, what dentist leaves a cheap, counter culture newspaper mixed in with all the Homes & Gardens and Glamour magazines anyway? She wasn't one to fantasize... much anyway. But the headline had touched a very sweet spot that she had largely pushed aside. She had known it would be a waste of time, literally printed click-bait. Still, it hit that spot, one that stirred some of those very personal sensations that preceded her rare afternoon naps.

She had played a game with herself, testing the fates to determine if she was meant to read it. If the hygienist had called for her before she made it through every page before she got to the article, then she hadn't been meant to read it. As expected, the music and movie review titles were likely only known to the authors and the editor, and what short articles there were dealt mostly with the evils of government and the unfairness of everything, written with an eloquence suited to writers who were crying over their Ramen noodles. It hadn't taken long for her to arrive at her article. Giving the fates another chance, she had skipped ahead to the personals and paid advertisements for toll free HOTlines and Asian massage clinics in the area. Where was the damned hygienist?

The large font title and the salivating details had drawn her in faster than any cheap romance novel could. "Wanton wives: Why they demand sex outside of marriage." The idea made her tingle.

She hadn't bothered with a Google search to figure out whether the featured guest writer's "Psychiatry practice for unfulfilled wives" was legit. The diction had been too narrow, and too many sentences had ended in prepositions for it to have been written by someone with an advanced degree. Still, she had read it. Every little bit.

Screwing friends, neighbors and strangers behind their husband's backs. Really. The good doctor had skipped all the expected "domestic boredom" and "the need for someone to listen" tripe and, possibly due to column space, had jumped directly to a proposition that the societal evolution leading to gender equity led to a logical result. Just as women were no longer dependent on a male provider, they were free sexual beings no longer bound by traditional understandings of commitment.

He provided brief case studies about five successful, professional women who had sex regularly with other partners to support his conclusion, pointing out that there were many, many others. And there was a closing example where the husband encouraged his wife's efforts. That struck gold with her, but it was just too far a horizon. It was healthier for her to think, given its publication in such an esteemed journal, that the case studies were fictions designed to attract women bored to death in dentist office waiting rooms and cause them to dwell on gang bangs. If so, it had worked.

That was in the back of her mind. The second, more obvious and current distraction was the fairly alluring woman at the adjacent pool table. Like the other women in the place, she wore typical beachwear: flip flops, short shorts, and a halter top. Just as Hayley did. She seemed to be a few years older, probably 32 or 33, and she was playing 8 ball with three men, one of whom Hayley judged likely to be her husband.

It begged the question. When you look at someone, or even know them casually, do you ever really know what type of person they are? She recalled the entertainment Steven and she had shared in Vegas several years earlier playing a guessing game about the women strolling into and out of Bellagio late at night with their partners. Were they dating? Married? Or was one a hired companion? Wedding rings weren't often observed, at least on both persons. And, at that time of night, "suggestive" clothing didn't necessarily point towards a particular option.

This wasn't Vegas. This was just a residential beach island with a good share of rental homes. There was nothing obvious that would suggest this woman was a "wanton wife." But that term came unbidden, dammit. There was a definite sensuality to her coupled with a casual familiarity she shared with all three men. She didn't behave like a wild thing. She didn't shake her booty or place her hands on the guys like a college freshman trying to be the center of attention. But all eyes were on her.

The guy with the wedding ring was clearly home base, but she did take an extended time to pose before each shot, allowing the other two men to give her "space" and gain an eyeful for themselves of her cleavage or her ass, as they chose. And she seemed to let her eye contact linger with each guy two beats longer than polite conversation would normally allow. She was giving them a message... and Hayley felt certain she could read it.

The crack of the balls scattering brought her back around to Steven, as she watched a stripe fall into the corner pocket on the break. She saw that the balls had conspired for a run and sighed. She caught sight of the other lady walking off to the restroom, and, well, she needed to go too. "Steven, you go ahead. You can play my turn, too, and help me out some. I need to go to the ladies room."

At the sink, the conversation wasn't difficult. In fact, the other woman started it. They traded names and the cities they were from. Hayley from Atlanta. Sandy from Asheville. "Hey, you're pretty good at pool," Sandy said.

"Ha. I can be when I practice. My husband can pick up where he left off even if he hasn't played in a year. I can't do that, but I enjoy playing when I get the chance. You here for the week?"

"Two, actually. My husband and I have got this week by ourselves, then the whole family tree descends on us starting Saturday," she said.

"That sounds great. We've got our whole family, eight adults and five kids in our house, which is one reason we went out tonight. And I really like this place. I have a lot of memories here. My family has been coming to the island since I was a kid, and I remember playing pool here with my sisters."

"It is a great place to vacation. We've been coming here for the past five or six years, but the Windjammer is our 'go to' place for drinks and getting in the mood."

"The mood?" Hayley asked, hoping to confirm her suspicions.

"Sure," Sandy said, "the beach mood. No work, great weather, surf and sand, enjoying our friends."

That didn't quite feel right, but Sandy had hinted at it. "Well, it's the beach. You don't have to come here for all that. Who are you with?" Hayley asked in a "just curious" tone.

"My husband, Mike. The other guys we met here over the years. They're a barrel of fun." Hayley detected a strengthening southern accent in Sandy.

"Good looking guys, too," Hayley offered, her wanton intuition wanting some satisfaction.

"That they are. That they are. We look forward to their company whenever we visit."

Hayley noted a certain innuendo as well as a tattoo on the inside of Sandy's wrist. "Ace of Spades? Cute. You play cards?"

Sandy smirked. "Well, yes, sometimes, if the company's right." She looked up at Hayley and added, "It doesn't mean what it always did. Google it." And she winked before leaving.

Hayley returned to the pool table to find herself winning, and soon after returned a wave to Sandy who was leaving with her entourage. On Steven's turn, Hayley's impatience drove her to pull out her cell phone. Google. Ace of spades. Nothing interesting. Second attempt, Ace of spades tattoo. Without having to click a link, she read from the "Urban Dictionary" - a calling card for white women who prefer black men. Damn! She nailed it! Her curiosity was piqued, but she also couldn't help but note a twinge of jealousy.

Hayley was much more comfortable talking to Steven about what Sandy might be up to rather than sharing her own fantasies. It was a good opportunity to tease, at the least, which could pay off in bed. As they walked to the beach house, she told Steven about the encounter with Sandy in the bathroom. Steven bought into her observations -- he had recognized that Sandy was on the make as well. And the Ace of Spades left him dumbfounded, shocked that women advertised for that.

At the beach house, they said good night to the family and entered their room. They both got turned on whenever they discussed sex... which wasn't often enough. As they started touching in bed, she decided to tell him about the article she had glanced at and suggested Sandy was one of those types of women.

Steven took the bait on the article rather than her thoughts about Sandy. "So, my wife reads about wanton wives. I guess I'm not satisfying her in some way..."

She had the insight to understand more about Steven than he realized. For the first year of their relationship, he had asked her about her past lovers, and not just the general details. He had wanted to know about each sexual encounter in as much detail as she could recall. And, she didn't mind. It kept the memories fresh.

She had been quite the nympho then, and possibly had a small reputation. If there was a word to describe her past, "wanton" would fit. And while she knew that he might have been looking for reassurance that "I'm not lying when I say yours is bigger," the frequency of his questions and his need for details suggested he had a voyeuristic itch when she described those years. She could easily suggest that maybe they should try something new to satisfy him in that regard, but that kind of conversation just never happened, right?

She wasn't so much of a nympho now. Priorities shifted. Distractions were more plentiful. Time became more precious. Her orgasms these days were most often from her own fingers, and she suspected he managed his own needs just as frequently. They didn't share fantasies much anymore, but then, she never really had any of her own. It was easier just to read reader letters from age old Penthouse Forums and Variations magazines that he had found in a used bookstore early in their marriage. If he read them any longer, he hadn't said about the dogeared sections she preferred. Gang bangs did it for her. And group sex. Things that she had never done.

That article had taken her outside of those letters, though, and the idea of some number of guys ravaging her, fucking her in complete moral abandon, but not in an unkind way, preoccupied her mind. That worked for her. She and Steven hadn't watched an X-rated video in forever, never mind sought a streaming source, but she didn't need those for the visual payoff in her head, not one bit.

Her reflections were interrupted when she felt him slip inside her. She didn't have to help him. She was wet. "Am I not satisfying you, or were you lost in a wanton fantasy?" he asked, hopefully.

"I think I'm tired of that word, already. But, yeah, imagining, you know, gang bangs or small group orgies. Not cheating, of course," she said.

He asked, "Ah, so you're married and don't think about your single days?"

"I live in the now," she said, her tongue flicking across his lips.

Steven asked, "And fantasize in the now, then. Does that make it more exciting?"

"I suppose so," she said.

"Well, it does for me. So, are you with complete strangers? Am I even there?" he asked, with a wicked grin and a delicious wiggle of his hips.

"I don't think about who they are, and I haven't thought about any of our friends that way. And, no, honey. You're always there. Except when you're not," she teased. She grinned at him and felt him swell within her. She squeezed his cock within her, "Did I touch a nerve?" she asked.

He was silent for few moments, and she was surprised that he was reluctant to talk about it. She decided not to give him a choice. "Honey, it's just a fantasy. What are yours these days? Are you being a bad boy?"

"I usually read stories," he said.

Good grief. He was making fun of her standard reply "Oh, come on," she said, "you used to have quite the imagination. What about?" she asked.

"For the last hour, a gang bang," he smiled. "But usually..."

"Wait," she interrupted. "Just to be clear. I'm assuming it's not you and a bunch of women, right?"

"Ha, no. I don't think I could manage that, but it's nice of you to suggest it. It's pretty much all about you, things you might do that turn me on."

"That sounds promising, like...?" she asked.

"Like tossing away how reserved we've become. Teasing, flashing your breasts somewhere and getting caught, like in a car passing a bunch of guys on the sidewalk or spreading your legs under a table in a restaurant where a guys at the bar could see your cunt."

Hayley thought about it briefly. "What I'm hearing is that I don't excite you as much."

"There's a sameness, sure, and I know you feel that too," he said. "Maybe the point is that as we get older, we get turned on by different things. Remember that time we had sex on the beach on Oak Island? That was lust. I like lusting after you."

Hayley remembered it, in the middle of the day. Fun. Rushed, but fun. And, they didn't get caught.

"I think you're leaving a type of story out," she said, drawing him out.

"Like what?"

"Like men who watch their wives with other men," she said, knowingly.

"Fuck!" he said. "How did you figure that?"

"Gee, like when you used to ask me to tell you about every detail with my past boyfriends," she said. Again, she felt him get larger inside her. "You're there in your head. You're watching me. Tell me, husband," she said, then paused to nibble his lower lip, "why does that turn you on?"

"It makes me jealous, but in a good way. I don't dwell on the lucky guys who got to fuck you. It's watching you, in my head, showing off your body, enjoying sex, making a guy cum, using your body to take your pleasure."

Hayley was surprised. "That's, um... that's pretty much, well, exactly how I think about it, too. Roll over."

She squatted above his cock and began to impale herself. "Tell me, isn't the timing a bit risky," she asked, "to tell me, who you know is lately thinking about how much I would enjoy fucking a bunch of guys, that you fantasize about me doing just that?"

"Ah, right," he said, "in a vacation house stuffed with family. I'm really worried."

She smiled at him. "Fair point," she admitted. "So, what do you fantasize about that could be done in a house stuffed with family?"

"That's easy, actually," he said, rocking his hips to her pacing.

"Tell me," she demanded.

"You're tied to the bed posts, and I'm having my way with you."

"Details, jerk!"

"Like... I tease you and make you beg, then I fuck you at the pace I want, and then, when I'm about to cum... you sure you want to hear this?" he asked.

She stopped moving and gave him a hard look.

"Yeah, you made your point," he said. "Then I crawl up your body and cum all over your face and in your hair."

She could see he was trying to gauge her reaction. "I don't really like that," she said. "It leaves me a bit unsatisfied."

"You would, if it was a gang bang."

"Um." Well, yes. He had a point. "But, we're not having a gang bang here."

"Well, no, but you did let me, that one time. You closed your eyes, scrunched up your face as I came, smiled, then laughed. I remember it vividly. I never thought that would be the only time."

"And you think of that...?"

"Often."

Her intuition connected dots that had to be explored. "Steven, in your fantasy, is it you enjoying me tied up? Or are you thinking of some other guy having me that way?"

"It's definitely a dominance thing for me. But sometimes, sure, I imagine it's another guy who isn't as considerate, who you don't 'let' cum on your face. He just does it. I don't know why I like it, but I do."

"Oh fuck, that's hot." She hadn't meant to say that. "Okay, I'll let you do that again," she said. "No. Sorry. Whenever you want to do that, just do it. I didn't realize you liked it that much. But not in my nose. And, not tonight," she added. Happily, he was thrusting faster and harder. She could sense he was getting close.

She whispered, "You feel good, honey. I'm going to close my eyes now and imagine I'm riding someone else's cock. Watch me."

She slowed with the strokes and started wriggling her hips in slow circular motions. She felt his hands fondle her breasts. "Oh, baby, you feel so good up inside me. But, I'm afraid to really fuck you." She resumed her vertical strokes. She could hear his breaths, getting louder, his cock swelling inside her.

"I want to go down on you harder baby, but I have to ask my husband. Steven? You watching? Is it okay if he cums inside me?" She increased her pace, ramming her body down on his cock.

She felt his hand grasp her waist and plant her against him as he fucked into her. Steven didn't respond with words, and she knew he wasn't going to last. "Oh, well. Cum inside me, lover. It'll be our little secret."

"Yesssss..." escaped from him as his cock throbbed within her, filling her with his cum.

"Sorry," Steven said.

"Don't be sorry," she said. "It's not really sex unless he comes inside me."

"It isn't?" he asked.

"Nope. Condoms are for fucking, but sex is intimate. I can feel everything. I like sex."

"I... hadn't thought about it that way," he said. "I don't recall ever using a condom with you or hearing about a guy who did."

"Once was enough to know. Condoms are closer to sex than a vibrator, but only because someone it's someone else's."

Steven rolled off her and reached for a towel. She could roll over and finish herself off that way, but... She reached over and turned the bedside lamp on, brightening the room.

She wanted to play the scene out. "Steven, come here and look."

He looked at her quizzically, and saw that she had a finger on her clit. She nodded towards it. He turned to enjoy the show.

"No, not from there. Look closer," she said.

He leaned in. "Get between my legs and look. Close." She opened her legs wide. He moved to within a few inches of her finger. "Good. This comes from sex."

She used her fingers to spread her lips and tightened her muscles to ensure a bit of cum came out.

"Honey, can you see the cum?"

He answered, "Yeah!"

"Some stranger just fucked me, but he didn't finish the job. I need you to make me cum."

With that, she locked her legs around him and used her hands to press his face to her cunt. He'd never tasted cum in their relationship, that she could recall anyway. He was great at oral sex though.

He seemed stunned for a few moments, then he tentatively licked her.

"I've been a bad girl," she said. "You still love me, don't you?"

He started licking her out in earnest. Whether or not he was into the fantasy didn't matter at that moment. It just felt so good.

"That's it," she gasped. "Deeper." And then, "Good boy, get all his cum out." She kept her finger on her clit, rubbing it, and with his mouth pressed against her and his tongue deep within... she orgasmed. She took a pillow to bury her face and stifle the noise. She didn't want to test how thin the walls were. She kept one hand on his head to keep him there until her waves of pleasure had passed. When she arrived at something notably less than a sprinter's heartbeat, she removed the pillow, and remembered to unlock her legs.