As you read this, maybe you are like I once was; a man who harbours this dark secret. If that is the case then know I understand the burden you feel. I know that the desire to see the woman you love so much, bask in her infidelity can be something that brings you both intense pleasure and crushing shame. Perhaps you are a wife, trying to understand why the man you adore, that you have stood by through so much, suddenly urges you to break your vow of forsaking all others. Why would he say such things? Why would he do this? Or maybe instead you are reading this as a husband or wife who exist now as my wife and I do. A Vixen hotwife and her loyal Stag; proudly embracing the new and exciting existence they are making for themselves. Recapturing old and almost forgotten intimacy, and discovering pleasures never thought possible. Whatever your situation, I hope you enjoy reading my side of the story.
The world outside was asleep, as where my beloved children, and home was quiet save for the distant hum of cars and soft breath of my beautiful wife. I ran my hand down her back, feeling the soft cotton of her pyjama shirt, pulling back into place where it had moved from her usual, nocturnal wriggling. ‘You’re so beautiful’, I whispered into the blackness. I didn’t expect a response as we’d had a busy day and assumed she was long since asleep. ‘No I’m not’, she uttered in a sleepy tone. This phrase was now so common the answer to any complement I put to my wife that hearing it was no longer a shock. I don’t know what made me grasp this moment; it was, in fact, less ideal then so many other times that I had almost told her about my fantasy. One thing I was sure of however, was that I was tired of hearing ‘No I’m not’ or ‘Only to you’ or ‘You have to say that’. I was tired of her feeling so low; tired of her sadness; becoming apathy toward me and our dwindling sex life. I needed her to understand the beauty she processed, and the power she could so easily wield over men.
This was the moment. I was going to tell her everything. Well, maybe not everything, maybe just enough. Enough to see what her reaction would be. I went on to explain to my wife that any man would want her and be lucky to be with her. After her expected nonchalant dismissal to this suggestion, I explained that not only do men find her attractive, but I knew of a specific man, other than myself, who shared my view on her beauty. This caused the sleepiness to disappear from her voice. This was it. It was now or perhaps never. After 10 years of carrying the weight of my fantasy, of trawling though pages upon pages of unrealistic, cuckold pornography, of the never ending cycle of thrilling masturbating, confusion and self loathing; this was it. I told her our friend, whom we’d both known for many years, desired her. That he wanted her. No affair, no emotion, no strings. Just sex. He wanted her and I wanted him to have her.
Silence. After what seemed like an age she finally responded, not with anger, humiliation or sadness. But with love, kindness and understanding. Whether or not she was interested I did not yet know, but the fact that she had met this revelation with warmth and, dare I say, curiosity, filled my body with energy and excitement. The weight was beginning to lift so I went on. I explained our secret conversations, spread over many months and with each new piece of information, I could sense that her mind was racing as quickly as my heart. My hand continued to trace an outline over her back, then found its way to her neck. I fed her more and more and when reality had dissipated, I moved onto fantasy. The words I had dreamed of telling her for so long, that had been hidden from her came flooding out.
I spoke of an elaborate fantasy, where we were out together but then suddenly he was there. In this daydream, I fetched her drinks whilst small talk was made between her and my friend. But this time she knew the secret. And he knew that she knew. Hands would touch her discreetly and in reality my hand held her delicate neck with a firm security whist the other now pulled up the cotton shirt I had earlier protectively pulled down. But the hands I told her, where his hands, the touch was his touch. My erection by now was raging and to my astonishment my wonderful and innocent wife, was pressing herself against it. Her gasps where now audible as I went on with my fantasy, all the time letting my hands communicate my lust for her. Forcing her to acknowledge the power her sex appeal held over me and our friend. After we had continued in this way for what seemed like forever I found myself asking the question I never truly thought I would ask;
‘Do you want this? Do you want him to fuck you?’
Her response was clear and she was unable to hide her lust.
She turned to face to and we embraced in a kiss that was as intense in its intimacy as it was in its forbidden passion. Our clothes were gone and in an instance we were soon enveloped in the heat of each others bodies. Words were useless now as the seeds had been planted. The force of our love making was unlike any we had shared in many years, perhaps ever. This was not love making at all. This was fucking. The hotwife firework had been ignited. I knew it and she knew it. The weight was lifted.