It was my correspondence course in creative writing that always pushed the idea that you should write about what you know - that which you'd actually seen, felt, thought and experienced.
I wanted to write about an anti hero - Richard, the wimpish husband who was betrayed by his wife, slumped into the despair that he would never again be a real man, only to emerge after a quick fling with a snake charming Arab lady, as the guy who won his wife from the arrogant but ultimately shallow stud who had had his way with her.
It would of course have the dead raunchy bits, but it would explore, too, the psyche of this guy who could handle, no, start to enjoy being cuckolded - only to mature out of the gutless state he'd got himself into. There was just a little problem in that I had never been cuckolded.
My beautiful wife Sharon, while stunning, hadn't as yet flirted beyond the odd smile across a restaurant. True, she fancied the guy next door, Simon, but he was married and in her book out of bounds. However much she envied the woman next door, and talked about Simon's suntanned body, she felt it would be awful to fuck another woman's husband.
In the end, for the sake of artistic creativity, we drank several bottles of red plonk one night and I actually begged her to fuck Simon. I desperately needed inspiration and admitted that I wanted to watch her take Simon's cock, so I could dress it all up in my novel, with names adjusted of course.
She should have exploded, but the wine had taken effect and she simply said that it was okay, but I'd have to ask Simon to bed her. It would have to be in writing and would include a disclaimer of blame, because she couldn't guarantee to keep it just physical. Simon was a dreamboat, and if it became an affair, I'd have to sort out Judy, his chubby but cheerful missus.
The letter to Simon was checked by my wife and felt demeaning. "You've not told him I fancy him, and that you've not made me orgasm," she observed, flicking it back to me for corrections. "He has to feel he has free rein, so you really do need to grovel a bit." Sharon had shocked me with her horny words and I asked her how she understood such matters. Then she said she knew about my secret store of randy books, and had seen the rough draft of my book.
I dropped the letter in for Simon the next morning, and the day after there was a reply. It was to Sharon from Simon, telling her he had always wanted to fuck her, and if she was serious she should start wearing a really tight leather skirt to signal the come-on. I had to buy her that skirt as she didn't have one, and was told firmly not to get in the way with my watching, because lust could make a man and woman quite rude and arrogant.
Three days later I came home and realised that Simon was upstairs with my wife. She'd been looking very pouty in stockings, basque and the leather skirt and the inevitable had happened. I could hear Sharon groaning and gasping on our bed, and was about to go up when Judy rang the doorbell. Urgently, I hustled Judy into the garden and offered to sort out the blocked sink she had popped round about. I swear you could hear Simon making Sharon climax even out there, so I hustled Judy home and got filthy dealing with the blocked pipe.
It was only after I'd cleaned up that I realised that Judy, too, was being ptty dirty. She's a big lady and looked ptty daft in leggings but her big chest was heaving and her fingers danced over my crotch. Something daft took me and I started to kiss her. Judy responded, rubbing her obviously big wet minge against my exploring fingers. She said she would fuck on the floor if I wanted; but the bedroom was free as Simon was out for a I while. I couldn't tell her just where, or doing what; so I thought, what the hell, and took her leggings down there and then.
We fucked furiously, but all too quickly, on the carpet. I came like a weak geyser, spitting dribbles of come over her hugely stretched pussy, realising that what had stretched her pussy was now doing the business for my Sharon, too.
Judy lit a ciggy and said not to worry she rarely orgasmed unless she was on Simon as he was so big compared with average men. That made me feel better. She suspected that the "randy toad" fucked other women, probably ruined them for their husbands or boyfriends, but she was content with what Simon offered her. I apologised and left there with pages of stuff for the book, but a good deal more shame- faced than I thought I could ever be. Judy was no oil paint- ing but she'd put me in my place and it was high time to get the report from Sharon on her adventure.
As I got inside the house, though, they were still at it! I crept upstairs and found Sharon leaning against Simon, his fingers massaging her clitoris as though it was putty. Sharon had only the basque and stockings left on, and I could see her pussy was wet with thick white spunk where he'd obviously aready ridden her. Blobs of steamy love juice clung to her suspenders and stocking-tops, the smell of salty semen filling the air and Sharon was making little whimpering noises as Simon's fingers slid up and down her crack. Frankly, I could have been a shadow for all they cared.
Necking again, she finally beckoned me into the room with a look that said 'behave boy'. Then she leaned forward over the bed and Simon told me to slide underneath her. It was my job to lick at her bare nipples as they shook under the onslaught of his thrusts.
Taking up position was easy...keeping my tongue lapping at her paps was more difficult. I kept gawping at the size of Simon's tool as it rammed into her cunny. They made this pump-thump-suck sound as they rose to a quicker rhythm, and I honestly started to wank and watch rather than lick as I was bade.
Simon made Sharon come multiple. First she was panting, then gasping, then holding her breath and screaming for more of his thick cock, then as she tensed her skin rippled with little tremors of delight. It was as though her pussy was sucking as he came. Sharon was fucking with an energetic, stylish equal. It was as though Simon brought the whore out in my wife and, now that it was out, it could never be returned.
Lapping at Sharon's cunny afterwards I had to go careful. She was certainly sore and I was directed by her where and how to lick gently. I siphoned up their salty fruit and then slid away as they cuddled again, saying I'd sleep in the spare room that night.
It must have been 3.00am when Simon finally left, and when he had returned to Judy I could hear amazing things through the bedroom wall within half an hour. Simon was fucking his missus like nothing had happened, and I was exhausted, just from a casual wank and some watching!
The next day Sharon said that my idea had been the best ever and she was off to the pictures with Simon. She wanted to be semi-public with her lover and guessed I wouldn't object. I mumbled something about fantasies being too strong, then she dressed in that skirt and tossed me our written agreement.
While they were out I did pop round to see Judy and we had sex on the sofa this time. Judy kept talking about how sexy Sharon had started looking and how smug, and she wanted to know what I had managed with her that I couldn't manage here on the sofa. I could only think that somewhere out there Simon was fucking my wife, in my car. Whatever I was doing, it wasn't quite equal.
Two months on and I have written four good chapters. The style is improving but quite frankly it's devastating being a house servant to my wife and her lover. I sense that they will never give up this physical attraction and will continue to quite openly date. Judy now knows, and says it's okay. she's been there before and I'm some sort of consolation.
We're going to try a month's swap - Simon living with Sharon and me coming home to cuddly Judy.