Penny's Promiscuity Ch. 06: Copulation

As I drove home from work that Wednesday evening - the day our lives changed - all I could think was how extraordinary my husband really was, and of course of the incredible events of the last few weeks.

I'm not sure how I expected to feel the day after I told Pete that after over twenty years of faithful monogamy, I had been having an affair with a close family friend. I'm not sure I had thought it through any more carefully than I had planned my affair. I had, I might have suspected that he would react differently from other men; after all, he had been urging me to take a lover for many months. But when the moment had come to tell him, it had come unexpectedly and I had just blurted it out and hope for the best.

But whatever Pete's reaction was, one thing was certain; there was no way I could undo all that had happened. I was a permanently changed person; a fallen woman; a harlot. I could never be the faithful, normal wife and mother again.

Fidelity is like virginity; once it's gone, it's gone forever.

The words had gone round and round in my head for the last two guilt-ridden days and sleepless nights. Outside I still looked like the boring, married, middle-aged scientist and mother of three grown-up children that I had previously been. Inside I had become a cauldron of emotions spurred on by fierce feeling of regret and remorse pitted against the incredible discovery of what an exciting, truly satisfying sex life could be like.

When Pete had first tried to persuade me to take a lover I had thought he wanted us to become swingers. I had suspected he wanted me to see other men so that he could sleep with other women but to my surprise, that hadn't been the case. By writing and publishing erotic stories online and corresponding with several real life cuckolds who had responded to my work, I had come to understand that his motivation was actually quite different.

I had discovered the mindset of the Willing Cuckold.

At first I had studied it objectively as I might have investigated a hypothesis at work. Even with Pete's constant persuasion, I hadn't planned to take a lover in real life; rather I had expected it all to remain in the realm of fantasy. Exciting fantasy to be sure but definitely not part of real life.

But then there had been that Friday in November, the train journey home from London, the engrossment in the erotic story I was writing, the chance meeting with Tony on whom I had modelled one of the main characters in that story. There had been the long involving conversation, the mutual attraction, the lift home, the kiss goodbye, the hands straying onto my bottom... followed by the rapid seduction in our own lounge that had led to my only infidelity in over twenty years of marriage.

Three days later I had gone to Tony's apartment to tell him it all had to end before it had started. Less than two hours later I had left with a double dose of my lover's semen inside me.

The will to end things had gone. The seal of fidelity had been well and truly broken.

Once I had learned how to ignore the considerable feelings of guilt - at least temporarily - it had been so much easier to keep the affair going than to stop. Tony and I had made love more times since that extraordinary Friday afternoon than I could comfortably count, becoming more compatible with every copulation, taking more and more risks and having more frequent and more intense orgasms than my rather capacious vagina had known than at any time in all my previously monogamous life.

But when the physical delights were over I found that along with the extraordinary new pleasures of the bed had come equally intense feelings of guilt. These had grown and grown until finally I had been unable to keep the secret from my husband any longer and had blurted out the truth during one of his many post-coital attempts to persuade me to take a lover.

The pain I had inflicted on my husband when he had heard the news was hard for me to bear so God alone knows how he had felt. Pete had spent the night in the guest room followed by the next two nights away from home, I did not yet know where. Though desperately trying to behave at work as if nothing had happened, I had spent the entire time he was away like a prisoner in the condemned cell, waiting for my marriage, my reputation and my relationships with my children to come to a bitter, recriminatory end.

When Pete finally returned home, waking me very early on the Wednesday morning I had slept very little and expected nothing but the fate I deserved. The conversation that followed was unquestionably the most difficult of my life. At first most of Pete's words simply reinforced the expectation that I had just destroyed both my marriage and my family but thank God it didn't end there.

Eventually and with great emotion, my extraordinary husband told me that despite what I had done, he still loved me wildly and believed he was at least partly responsible for my cheating. Though this reaction had by no means been certain, it was completely in character for the man I loved.

What had not in any way been predictable was the next revelation; that not only could my husband forgive my infidelity, under some non-negotiable conditions, he was content for it to continue. At that point I would have agreed to anything to keep my marriage intact but, if I had paid enough attention to my online cuckold friends, I could have predicted every one of my husband's demands.

The first was no surprise; extreme discretion. The kids and our friends must never know anything at all about our arrangement. Pete might be able to accept being a cuckold in secret but we both recognised this would be almost impossible if anyone else knew.

This was easy to agree to.

The next was that I must answer honestly and in intimate detail any questions he asked about my encounters whenever he asked them. Foolishly, I hadn't been expecting this but the least reference to my online real life cuckold friends would have made it clear that this would be non-negotiable.

I agreed to this too but not without misgivings. Could I really tell my husband all the things Tony and I did in bed? If I wanted my affair to continue, I had to.

The third rule was that my affair must stop immediately if either of us felt that it was becoming a threat to our marriage or if Pete ever asked me to stop for any other reason. This would be much more difficult but I agreed to it apprehensively, still amazed that we could discuss something so deeply personal in such an objective manner.

Pete insisted that, while we were all getting used to the idea, I should sleep with my lover not more than once a week. This was much less often than Tony and I had been seeing each other but when offered by my husband it felt generous.

Tony would have to agree; if he wanted me, I would give him no choice.

I accepted Pete's conditions unreservedly and immediately. He then took me immediately with a passion we hadn't enjoyed for many years, forcing me onto my back across the kitchen table and ramming my night gown under my armpits. He spread my legs forcefully then penetrated my unprepared body so rapidly and with such force and energy that within minutes I was weeping moisture and having the first vaginal orgasm I had enjoyed with my husband for nearly a year. And all before breakfast on a Wednesday morning!

I had called Tony from my car on the way to work and told him the news. He could barely believe his ears. I could barely believe my own as I explained it all. He wasn't at all pleased that we could only see each other once each week but there was no disguising his relief at not having an angry, jealous husband to deal with and the joy in his voice when he learned that our affair could continue was almost palpable.

Pete now speaks of that day as my first as a Hotwife, a word I hadn't heard him use before. Clearly I wasn't the only one investigating cuckoldry on the internet. For me, the day was spent in a surreal half-dream. Unsurprisingly I was late for work then struggled to retain some kind of normality throughout the morning. The soreness between my legs caused by Pete's dry penetration was a constant remainder of our encounter, as were the small bruises on my lower back from the kitchen table where his thrusts had driven me bodily into its hard top.

Pete was already home when I pulled into the driveway. After a somewhat awkward kiss 'hello' I went up to the bedroom to change out of my suit. Pete brought us both gin and tonics and, as we both shed our work clothes the surreal conversation continued. I half expected him to want to take me violently again and silently thanked God when he didn't; my soreness from the morning's assault was still considerable.

We cooked and ate dinner together. At various times during the evening one or other of us coming up with another concern about our 'new arrangement' that needed to be discussed. So we discussed it, in a mature adult way, we discussed my continued adultery openly. And the more we talked, calmly and seriously about how I should have sex with another man, the easier it became to come to terms with.

By bedtime to my astonishment we had grown used to talking about my infidelity as if it was both an established fact and, more bizarrely, as if it was entirely normal for a married couple. And it was only the first day!

Needless to say our foreplay that night was dominated by detailed questions about my lovemaking with Tony; how big he was, how good it felt; what did he do that l liked; what did I do that he liked? All of which I answered openly and honestly even when my words were clearly painful for my husband to hear.

And afterwards, as Pete reared up over me and his body slammed repeatedly and painfully into mine with a passion not even our most vivid fantasies had produced, I began to understand that, this time at least, my husband Pete was happy and had finally, if unexpectedly 'got what he had wished for'.

And, to my surprise, so had I.

***

Incredibly, the rest of the week began as if nothing had changed. Normality was enforced by the usual pre-Christmas busy period at work and the need to buy presents for family and friends. Abnormality came from the plans we were making to help us deal with what was to become our new lifestyle.

Many times I had to pinch myself - or ask Pete to do it for me - to make sure it wasn't all just a dream. But it was real; or at least it was about to become real.

Tony's kids were coming home for a family birthday at the weekend so, after a number of text exchanges my first 'Official Hotwife Date' as Pete put it was set for Monday evening. It felt extremely strange to be able to arrange it openly after all the secrecy and subterfuge of the last six weeks. As we talked and especially as I arranged my next date in front of him, Pete seemed to go through every extremity of emotion from fear through jealousy to anger and back

But these painful emotions were all accompanied by obvious and powerful feelings of arousal as his almost constant erection amply demonstrated.

The surreal days passed; I could feel both the excitement and apprehension on both our parts growing as my date grew closer. I spent longer and longer online too, corresponding with my real life cuckold friends. I told them I was researching a new storyline but in fact I was trying to find out how best to keep my husband happy while I was on my date.

Doing this without letting them know that my stories had now come to life; that I was now in a similar position myself wasn't easy. My friends might be cuckolds but they were all educated, intelligent, generous and caring men. I'm pleased to say that their advice, though sparing, continued to be startlingly accurate.

On Saturday, Pete and I went shopping in the nearby city searching for family presents but with another agenda too. As well as Christmas shopping we bought a new, very short Little Black Dress for me and some new black undies; tiny panties, stockings (not tights), a lacy bra and suspender belt. In the evening I tried them on in front of Pete with my highest, tartiest red heels. I must say they made me feel very sexy indeed and certainly had the desired effect on my husband.

Remembering all my online friends had told me, I told Pete that he couldn't have sex with me for three days before my date, however much he wanted to. He wanted to a lot and sulked at first at my refusal but then, as my advisors had predicted, his attitude changed. After a day or so Pete seemed almost pleased to be denied my body and to be given firm, clear rules. He brightened up considerably when I promised him as many hand-jobs as he needed to relieve his tension but that would be as far as it went.

To be honest, keeping him away was hard for me too given the way I felt about him but I was trying to remember all the good advice I had gleaned. After all, if I was going to get what I wanted from this new lifestyle it was only right that Pete should too, even if he didn't yet know exactly what that was.

***

It seemed an age before the alarm clock rang early on Monday morning, announcing a new day, a new week and of course, the imminent arrival of my first Official Hotwife Date (the way Pete talked about it, nothing but capital letters would do). I was as excited as a child before her birthday treat and tried to distract myself by getting dressed in as unsexy clothes as I could find and concentrating on work.

That was easier said than done. At the hospital, the hours ticked away so slowly that I was glad of the distractions a busy organisation could provide but eventually the clock on my wall told me it was time to go home. My tummy ached with anticipation as I drove too quickly through the darkness back towards my husband and my first 'official' date.

Both men had texted me a dozen times throughout the day to make sure all was still 'on' for that evening. I don't think Tony could quite believe Pete was okay about it all, the two of them having been close friends for so many years but I couldn't see any real hesitation on Pete's part - at least not then!

I arrived home just after six o'clock. Pete returned about an hour later which was early for both of us. It was obvious we were both excited and nervous - Pete was behaving very strangely - so I asked him straight out if he wanted me to call it all off.

I truly believe at that stage I would have cancelled if he had asked me to but he didn't; he immediately and emphatically said that he wanted me to go and I believed him.

He was clearly anxious, whatever he said so to try and keep him occupied I asked him (again as my online friends had suggested) to help me get ready by running a bath. Pete seemed pleased to have something to do so I went up to the bedroom and laid on the bed my new LBD, black silky bra, panties, stockings and suspender belt, and the killer red heels that I hardly ever wore.

He was clearly still nervous when I joined him in the bathroom but insisted he was okay. We chatted in a surreal, nervous way as I had a long, slow soak, shaved my legs and armpits and trimmed my bikini line. I carefully washed my hair then went through to the bedroom where I sat at my dressing table wrapped in a big white towel drying it noisily.

Pete watched me; studying me intently most of the time which made me nervous. I told him so and he went downstairs, returning with two glasses of champagne before sitting on the bed and watching me some more.

My heart ached for him and for a moment I really felt like backing out; like calling Tony and telling him it had all been a mistake. Then I remembered another important thing my cuckold friends had advised; the need to reward my husband for his wonderful attitude. So, before getting dressed, I crossed to the bed where he sat watching.

"You look amazing," he whispered as I perched on the mattress alongside him still in my towel.

"No! You're amazing, Pete," I replied, touching my champagne glass to his. "Are you sure you can go through with this?"

He seemed to think for a minute before replying.

"I think I need to. I think we both need to. However I feel now, it's sort of my ultimate fantasy coming true. I think we both need to try it once or we'll never know, will we?"

"I don't want you to be hurt or upset," I said softly.

"Neither do I," he laughed ironically. "And I was upset to learn you'd been fucking him for a month in secret. No! Don't worry! I'm over that now," he cut off my protest and smiled. "In a way it made it easier for me; as if the decision had already been taken out of my hands. You already knew what another man's cock felt like. It wasn't down to me to make you try it for the first time any more."

The logic was twisted but I understood it in a way.

"But you do just want to see him for a fuck, don't you?" he asked directly. "It's just the fucking that you want, not the relationship?"

I winced inside at his liberal use of the 'f' word but he was right; I didn't really want romance or love with Tony, though I wasn't naïve enough to ignore the risk of that developing. Right now all I wanted was sex, and the greater the sex, the better! I wanted to be fucked again by that thick, stubby cock that stretched me so wonderfully tight and made me feel so young and attractive again.

"Yes Pete. I do want Tony to fuck me again!"

Desperately trying to remember all I had learned about cuckolds, I chose my words deliberately. Be clear; be precise; don't give him any room for doubt but don't ever humiliate him. Pete paused again.

"Is he better than me? No, don't answer that!"

Knowing that the truth was likely to hurt, I didn't even try and reply. Instead I placed my hand on his upper thigh and murmured:

"Perhaps if I just..."

I began to slowly massage my husband's groin, my fingers pressing through his tight jeans intending to give him one of the promised hand jobs to relieve at least some of his tension. I gripped his upper thigh; he opened his legs a little so I slid my hand between his legs to cup his cock and balls.

"Penny..."

"Shh! Relax!"

Pete leaned back on the bed, propped on his elbows and watched my face as I carefully flicked open his belt and button, lowered his zipper and slipped my hand inside his shorts where his warm, soft penis and scrotum were waiting for my touch.

"Oh, Penny," he hissed as I eased his jeans and tight shorts down over his buttocks to his upper thighs.

Pete's long, slim cock flopped onto his lower belly. I took it gently in my fingers and began to massage its flaccid shaft, my other hand cupping his sack and running his balls between my fingers.

"That feels good," he moaned.

I pulled the foreskin back from its smooth head and lowered my face to his groin though I didn't take his cock into my mouth. Instead, I blew on its tip and drew my tongue across the tiny lips on top of his smooth head, my hand rising and falling on the still-soft shaft beneath.

"Mmmmm," he sighed, his eyes closing.

My husband's warm, handsome face was raised to the ceiling and showed every sign of pleasure but there was no sign of his cock hardening in my hand. I pumped it more vigorously, squeezing with each rise and fall of my fist and was rewarded with a slight firming of his shaft but no proper erection.

"Oh no! Not that please!" he whispered, clearly becoming distressed. The slight hardness immediately vanished. "Please, no!"

"Relax," I purred. "Leave it to me!"

I worked on his flaccid cock for several more minutes, giving him the best technique I could remember, using every trick I had learned from my lover as well as all those Pete knew well. This time my fingers and tongue were all brought into play but despite my best efforts it just wasn't working; my husband's cock remained stubbornly soft in my hand.