Forbidden Fling a Husband’s Gift
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
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Forbidden Fling a Husband’s Gift
Every nerve in her body trembled with forbidden pleasure,
while her husband enjoyed the show
An Interracial Adventure in Cuckoldry
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
© Copyright 2023 by Mary the Wollstonecraft Woman
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
Forbidden Fling a Husband’s Gift
For many a month, I have dreamed of my wife with another man. Not just any man, not for my pale, white wife, with her voluptuous curves, brilliant eyes, and succulent lips, is a picture of purity and perfection. A somewhat reserved woman, unaware of her effect on me and other men. Possessing, as Deirdre does, a shy demeanor but who, out of her naivety, dresses in such a provocative way that men’s eyes follow her.
Oh, yes, I have dreamed of her taken by an opposite, a large man, everywhere, a dark man, black as midnight, with powerful, skilled hands. A fellow proficient in seduction, an expert in drawing out women’s inner passion, taking them where they long to go without regard for their marital status. A man capable of taking her to heights I could never bring her.
A man such as my business partner, Galen.
Last Friday night, my buddy Galen called me to ask if my wife and I would like to hang out. He said he wanted to check out a new martini bar downtown and wanted the three of us to spend time at his place first. He mentioned it was an upscale bar, so to dress accordingly.
Galen had always been a good friend. After years of friendship, we became business partners a few months ago. I knew Galen had once seen Deirdre around the office at the company picnic. But this opportunity would allow him to flirt with her and get a gander at her all dressed up. It’s not bragging to say your wife is hot as hell, so long as she is.
While we were on the phone, I thought I’d plant a seed. “Hey Galen, flirt with her some. My wife really likes you.”
“Yeah, bro, it wouldn’t bug you?”
“Certainly not,” I said. “Besides, Deidre might respond.”
“If she does, buddy boy, I won’t consider your feelings,” he said. Laughed a little to let me know it was a joke.
“As long as I can watch, my feelings won’t hurt.”
So, I told Deirdre what was up. And we got dressed for the night. I put on a clean shirt and changed out of my suit into a sports coat and jeans. And, truthfully, I looked sharp.
Deirdre had bought a new black dress, which hugged her curves at just the right places, revealing her shoulder and a hint of cleavage, but not too much. The dress’s neckline was low enough to show a little but not too much, the black satin fabric flowing over her ass, and the body cut tight at the waist. The hem stopped a few inches past her butt. Her black heels were the same color as her dress, making her legs look long, sleek, and sexy, like polished ivory.
Deirdre was fantastic; it was all I could do to keep my jaw from dropping. Her skin glowed in the bedroom’s light, her hair was a lush, auburn waterfall cascading over her shoulders, and her smile was so radiant and captivating.
Deirdre’s perfume was natural, earthy, exotic, and robust. Its aroma created warmth, an invitation to intimacy, and infused the air with the promise of passion and excitement. A musky fragrance mixed with her natural scent. Oh, hell, yes, she’d get Galan’s attention. With her look and the rich aroma invading his senses, filling more than his nose, grabbing him by the balls, and shouting, “Hey, I’m a woman, hot, horny, and fertile.”
“Deirdre, darling, you look gorgeous tonight.”
Nodding her head, she reminded me she’d begged me to take her out for a month. Yes, I believed the night would turn out super. On the way over to Galen’s place, Deirdre asked about the night’s agenda.
“Galen wants us to chill out at his place, and we’ll go out after.”
“That’s cool,” she said. “We need to, or I do, really. I need to get to know Galen better.”
“You sure do,” I said. “If he wants to dance, I don’t mind.”
“Yeah, he has to be a better dancer than you.”
“Why? Because he’s black?”
“No, because you’re terrible at dancing.” Dee laughed, her silly, giggling guffaw.