Wives with Benefits: Volume Two (23 page)

She laughed. “No!”

“I mean, you can’t really taste it if it’s something like vodka…”

“You just turn me on, that’s all,” she insisted.

“I turn you on?” I joked.

We drew up to a stop light, and my fears surged as the cars stopped alongside us — but I couldn’t get to the outside lane since we had a left turn up ahead. It would only take an SUV… yet thankfully it was a low-sprung sports car that pulled up next to us on Nina’s side.

Nina’s finger nudged aside her panties and dipped into her soaking pussy, and I saw her turn her head, glance out of the window at the driver of the Mazda or Toyota or whatever it was, and give him a flirty smile. My heart jumped a couple of beats, but I knew he couldn’t see what she was doing with her hands. At the same time, my cock was bucking between my thighs.

“You turn me on,” she said, turning to look at me now. “Because you are the kind of guy who isn’t going to freak out if I have a little sexual fantasy here and there.”

“No, I guess not.”

“And I know we’re gonna be able to talk about what gets us going, what turns us on, what floats our boat.”

“Of course…”

“So we’re gonna have the best marriage ever,” she grinned.

Pulling away from the stop light, I said, “You were worried about that? About how it’ll be?”

I’d never really thought that Nina would ever have doubts about marrying me — our relationship had been so solid ever since we’d met — and it did actually make me feel a little shaky, all of a sudden, that she might have.

“No, I wouldn’t say ‘worried’,” she said. “But a girl can wonder what her man’s going to be like after a few years of marriage, right? I mean, people change.”

“I’m not going to change.”

“Sure you will,” she said, not seeming phased at all about the possibility. “I mean, you already changed tonight.”

“I did?”

“You went from a guy who never knew his fiancée had dirty thoughts from time to time, to a guy who knew everything.”

“I didn’t change, though.”

“Sure you did. Now you’re a guy I know can handle the thought of his wife having naughty fantasies.”

“Okay…”

“In fact,” she said, leaning over to replace her hand on my bulge, “I’d even say you enjoy the idea that I have dirty thoughts sometimes. Or that I don’t mind you fantasizing about other girls every now and then.”

Strangely, as we pulled into the parking lot for our apartment building, I was thinking how much hotter it was to know that Nina had dirty little fantasies about other guys than to know I was allowed to check out other girls without incurring her wrath.

Distracted by the thought, I almost missed the fact that Nina got out of the car without bothering to put her jeans back on first.

“Hey, you forgot something?” I said.

Nina just slammed her door and smiled wickedly, “No, I got everything I need.”

True, her coat came down far enough to conceal her underwear — but only just. It was like the world’s most scandalous dress, and if she had to bend over for any reason, or walk upstairs, she’d end up giving anyone in the vicinity a seriously good view.

Thankfully we were taking the elevator up to our apartment.

We only just managed to get inside our front door before the clothes came off, and my tortured cock was buried deep inside her gloriously wet pussy.

“Are you… thinking about her?” Nina said, somewhat breathless, as she clung to me, and I slammed her up against the wall in our hallway.

“Thinking about who?” I asked.

“The girl in the leggings,” she said, her lips curling up into a mischievous smile.

“No,” I insisted — truthfully, too.

“‘Cause it’s… all right… if you are…”

I held her tight and carried her through toward the bedroom. She was fairly light, but I was also pumped by the night’s adrenalin.

“I’m not… thinking about… anyone else,” I said.

“Or that girl with the huge breasts…” Nina suggested.

I laid her down on our queen size bed, then climbed between her thighs, catching a chestful of her sexy scent as I lay over her, nuzzling into her neck as my manhood brushed against her burning sex.

“I suppose you’re fantasizing about that guy… with the tight pants,” I said, stroking her pussy with my hardness.

“Does that make you mad?”

“No.”

“You love it, don’t you? You love that I was checking him out, I was looking at his big bulge, and it was turning me on…”

“I thought you said I was the one turning you on,” I quipped.

“Oh you were,” she laughed, “As soon as I felt how hard you were because I was being naughty.”

She yelped as I thrust into her, filling her completely.

With everything we’d been talking about, thinking about, I didn’t last long. That’s not to say she didn’t come, either.

“Do you… ever… just think about me… when you’re horny?” I asked her, somewhat out of breath as I finally rolled off her.

She grinned. “All the time,” she said. “But that’s not really fantasizing, is it? It’s more like looking forward to the next time I get to have you.”

“You can still fantasize about me,” I insisted.

“Do you fantasize about me when you’re horny?”

“Sure,” I said, and as far as I could remember it was true — though just then, my memory of fantasizing only stretched back as far as that bombshell moment when Nina had started checking out that other guy right in front of me.

“Well, I suppose I do fantasize about you sometimes,” she said. “Especially when you’re away on business.”

*

Well, that was the background, I guess — why the two of us came to be sitting out on sun loungers in front of a hotel pool overlooking a wonderful beach, and my new wife Nina was pointing out all the guys she could imagine herself sleeping with — and I was actually enjoying it all.

After our evening out watching Star Wars, our foreplay had generally started with Nina revealing guys she’d quite like to get her hands on.

We’d be sitting on the couch watching TV on an evening after work, and she’d sigh and casually lust after McDreamy or McSteamy or McWhoever from Grey’s Anatomy or Game of Thrones or Daredevil, or whichever shows were flying by.

And I might comment on it, too. “Seriously? He’s just… sweaty, like, all the time.”

And she’d go all dreamy-eyed, “Sweaty is good sometimes… and a guy like that…”

And maybe things would get more and more heated, particularly as we watched her shows rather than mine, and her conversation would get more and more x-rated.

“No, he’s wearing tight trousers for a reason: he’s obviously huge. It keeps us girls watching.”

Or perhaps:

“I would go down on him in a heartbeat.”

Or:

“OMG I want him inside me right now.”

It was even more interesting if there was any kind of a sex scene on the show we were watching. But regardless, if Nina was in the mood, eventually her hands would start wandering over my body, and find myself being manhandled, perhaps stripped and jumped on, or simply sucked while we continued to watch the rest of the show — and then once there was an appropriate break in the TV schedule, I’d be dragged away to bed.

It didn’t quite work the other way — she’d sometimes point out attractive women, and I might agree with her assessment, but that never descended into me extolling the virtues of actresses or strangers in the mall, or fellow diners in a restaurant or whoever. And I didn’t end up suggesting how it might be for me to sleep with any of them.

I just sensed that Nina wasn’t really so interested in thinking about me being with other women. I think she liked to know my opinion about women I found attractive, from an intellectual point of view, but it didn’t arouse her to know I found this woman or that woman attractive, or that I might fantasize about sleeping with them.

As we progressed, she didn’t try to pry into sexual fantasies I might have regarding other women, and she didn’t try to turn me on by pointing out other attractive women.

On the other hand, it seemed to me that Nina believed I was mainly turned on by how sexual she became from checking out other guys — not by the thought of her actually wanting to sleep with those other guys. The truth was, though, that my fantasies developed strongly around the idea of Nina getting to live out her fantasies, and sleep with whoever she wanted before returning to me.

It was something about the ecstatic joy that completely took hold of her when she told me about some guy she’d been fantasizing about, and how ravenous she became when we were together and it boiled over into rampant sex. I wanted to see how it would be if she really did get to fuck someone else, rather than just fantasize about it.

Oh, I didn’t entirely understand my feelings, partly thanks to all of society’s programming to hate and fear adultery and the thought of losing my beautiful wife to someone else — even though my rational mind told me I could never lose her.

But along with the fear and the jealousy, the arousal that came from imagining her going off with another man, spending the night with him and not me, overwhelmed all feelings of negativity.

I wasn’t entirely sure about whether my new fantasy about Nina was completely appropriate, and whether it was entirely prudent even if we were stable in our relationship and, within a few months, happily married at a nice ceremony in Nina’s childhood church up in New Hampshire.

All the same, I’ll tell you that for both of us to share the details of my wife’s secret crushes on other guys really strengthened the sexuality within our relationship — and after that big day when we did finally state “I do”, our marriage.

We jetted off to our chosen honeymoon resort in the Bahamas, and we felt closer than we’d ever been — more in love and in lust than at any point.

Oh, it didn’t take fantasies of other men to get Nina all hot and flustered and ready to drag me into bed, it just helped. Likewise I didn’t need Nina to point out some guy’s tight swimming trunks — and tell me how she wished she could take him back to our room to explore his package — to get me hard and craving her body. But it helped, and forever more I now saw her in a different light than I had before our Star Wars night — naughty, insatiable, wild and so insanely sexy.

We avoided doing anything too strenuous on our honeymoon, like actually seeing any of the Bahamas other than our resort or its beach. We’d get up late and leisurely eat breakfast before swanning down to the pool to soak up some sun, or the beach if we felt the need of a little more ocean air and the calm crashing of the waves before us.

Nina would wear a bikini — she had a black one and a red one, and looked stunning in both of them — and I found myself enjoying the sight of guys walking past us and checking her out as much as she was checking them out. I’d notice her stiff nipples pushing against her bikini top, and the way she gazed dreamily at men wearing tight speedos, and it would give me a buzz, too.

I felt confident enough that she wouldn’t ever want another man instead of me — she didn’t have a finite amount of lust to go around — and spending those days under the sun only reassured me more and more that Nina being fully open about her little fantasies was a good thing — and that perhaps my own growing fantasy about her actually going off with a man like that might not be so dangerous after all.

“Foreign guys seem more open to tight swim trunks, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, I guess so. Hard to tell, sometimes.”

We’d sit and chat, and it seemed so wicked to be talking that way, that also boosted the adrenalin and steadily built the tension to the point where we’d have to run back to our room to defuse.

“Why would you wear trunks that small, unless you genuinely wanted the world to see what you’re packing?”

“Maybe they were the affordable option — you know, less material.”

“Yours are the affordable option, honey. And you have no shortage of material.”

True enough, I didn’t feel any compulsion to flaunt myself in any teeny tiny speedos, despite my wife’s clear enjoyment of them. Only, then she went and suggested,

“We should get you some tight speedos like that.”

And despite my protests that I was perfectly fine wearing baggy surfer-style shorts that fell all the way to my knees, Nina suddenly declared our need to go shopping for something else.

“Don’t you want to get a nice all-over tan?” she grinned while holding up the tiniest piece of lycra-and-polyester I’d ever seen in my life within a store in downtown Nassau.

“Don’t you get to see enough tight swimwear around our resort?” I laughed — I didn’t mind, so much. It was good to know she still wanted to ogle me, too, and there were so many guys around our resort wearing swim briefs instead of trunks that I’d hardly look unusual or out of place.

And what happened on vacation…

She replied, “Sure, but if I can look at yours and know that I can just play with it for real, any time I like… Mmm…”

She was like the cat who got the cream as we lined up to pay for the damn thing. Afterward, though, we came out of the store and I said, “Don’t you think we should get you something a little more daring, too?”