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This is a story about my wife and me. I’ll try to tell it as it happened, but since 13 or so years have passed since our first meeting, some of the memories have probably gotten better with age.

It all started with a chili-eating contest at a local bar… You know, one of those silly things that one does on a dare. Your friends saying, “sure sign up, I’ll be there to help cheer you on.” Bull! It was just me, 2 beers, a quart of chili, and about 15 other contestants.

I won’t go into all of the gory details about the contest. The winner did it in a minute and thirty three seconds, and then threw up on the guy standing next to him. I did it in about 33 minutes.

Winning second place, was ok, I guess. The photographer was taking pictures of me and the winner for some newsletter, and he kept saying one more, one more. I looked at the winner, and he looked at me… We both turned around and dropped trou for the camera. He wanted to see a smile. How about a vertical one?

Time to pick up the beer cooler, and the six-pack of long necks, and head home. Another chapter in life is closed. Or so I thought.

A couple of weeks later I’m sitting at the bar of the local watering hole, nursing a beer. Checking out the ladies in the mirror that runs the length of the bar, I see one a few stools down that keeps looking at me (or at least I think she is looking at me), and then talking to her friend sitting next to her. I happen to glance over and see a stack of papers on her lap. Recognizing them as the newsletter from the beer distributor that sponsored the chili eating contest, I ask her “Is that the new SilverBird?” She says no, and then a look of surprise comes across her face. She then says “I know who you are, I’ve seen your picture before. Both FRONT and REAR!”

Now I’m trying to think fast. Where had she seen my picture before? Especially from the rear. She then tells me that she works for the PR firm that handles the SilverBird account. And that the photographer had brought in the proof sheets from the contest. She said that she had a good time looking at those tiny little pictures. A bit more interesting than the ones the photographer usually brings in.

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As I walked in the door, coming home from the office, I saw my wife Carolyn standing by the cabinet preparing dinner. Carolyn has a body built like a brick shithouse with all the fixtures in the right place. Today she looked especially good wearing a skimpy halter top with a pair of low cut shorts that fit snugly around her ass with the outline of her bikini panties showing through.

Crossing the room and walking up behind her I reached around and cupped one of her tits with my hand while caressing her ass with the other and gave her a little nibble on the earlobe. “What’s for dinner?” I asked while dropping my hand from her tit to rub her cunt suggestively.

“Company,” she replied.

I heard a voice from the den calling “Come on in, we have the fire going.” As I entered the room, Ron, a friend of the family, rose from a recliner with a drink in his hand and a bulge in the front of his pants. “You horny old bastard” I said, “What the hell are you doing over here?”

“His wife is out of town and he was lonely so I asked him over for dinner and drinks.” Carolyn said as she came into the room bringing me a drink.

Kicking off my shoes I sat on the couch, sipped my drink and watched Carolyn walk back into the kitchen, her ass moving like two pigs caught in a gunny sack. As I thought of what could have been, my dick started to swell and I realized what Ron probably was thinking when I came home.

At dinner Ron could not keep his eyes off Carolyn, every time she leaned over the table her tits bulged against the halter top with the nipples pressing against the cloth. I noticed that as she moved around the table she found several excuses to bump both Ron and myself with her ass, one time rubbing her cunt on Ron’s shoulder.

After dinner we all got fresh drinks and moved back into the den. Sitting on the floor in front of the fire Carolyn stretched her legs out and ran her hand slowly up and down the inside of her thigh.

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A few months ago my wife of three months, Adelaide, and I were relaxing in bed after having made love. Adelaide snuggled up next to me and whispered, “Honey would you like to fuck my ass tonight?” I looked at her, eyes wide in amazement, and managed to mumble an affirmative response. My lovely bride rolled on top of me and with a devilish grin began to French-kiss me.

We spent a few frenzied minutes in foreplay ending with my wife lying on her stomach and me nibbling on her delicious asscheeks. When it was time, Adelaide moved to the middle of the bed and slowly got up on her knees, resting her head on a pillow and lifting her beautiful bottomin the air. I was sitting on the edge of the bed spreading lubricant on my penis when I heard my wife call my name.

I glanced over and saw Adelaide reach back and run her hands slowly up her thighs intil they rested on her asscheeks. She whispered to me in a sultry voice, “Wes, put your big dick up my ass. I need it so bad.” With that, she pulled apart her asscheeks, exposing her [tag]asshole[/tag] to my view.

This was without a doubt the most erotic scene I had ever witnessed. I was overcome by a sexual rush the likes of which I had never experienced and I promptly lost control, semen spurting from my cock without even touching it.

After we finished cleaning the bedroom carpet, I told my wife that I had never been so sexually excited in my life. Unfortunately, I was unable to regain my erection, since I had already come twice that night, so we couldn’t follow through with the assfuck. I did ask her, however, where she had gotten the idea for what she had done.

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I have been thinking much about Dianne lately. You see, she is a very beautiful single woman, very open sexually, and very caring for others (it is difficult for a man, and some women, to resist such a combination). I met her several months ago — of all places — in the waiting room of my dentist, where she shared with me her business (which is of no relevance to this story). My wife, Kristin, and I decided a few weeks later to join her business venture, and because of this association we have since developed a very close friendship with Dianne.

Kristin apparently has also of late been thinking a lot about Dianne. The signs are obvious — daily phone calls, visits to her apartment, her name being brought up in our conversation, etc. Last week, Dianne and Kristin went backpacking by themselves to the local wilderness area while I kept our two kids at home (it is important for my wife, a financial planner, to get away from the daily grind and enjoy her friends apart from me)….

Last Friday, Dianne called me up and wanted me to meet her for lunch at our favorite restaurant. After a light lunch with some equally light but strangely forced conversation, Dianne looked into my eyes with a look that I’ve never seen before, a look of fear combined with a look of desire, and asked, “Mark, it is difficult for me to say this, but I have fallen in love with both you and Kristin.”

I didn’t know how to respond to this. On the one hand, my sexual desire for her was burning bright, and I got excited about what was soon to transpire, yet her simultaneous love for my wife confused, scared, and intrigued me. What could I say? I looked at her for a moment, and without thinking I said, “Does Kristin know your feelings for her? As far as I know, Kristin is straight, and has never in our relationship stated anything to the contrary. All I know is that my desire for you is very strong, and that I have wanted for several weeks to make love to you.”

“I know about your feelings for me,” Dianne replied, “I could see it in your actions, in your words, and in your eyes. And my feelings for you are just as strong. Kristin knows about my love for her and for you, and she is in love with me as she is in love with you. It was during our backpacking trip that we expressed our love for one another.”

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There’s nothing like a bus ride home to put you in a bad mood.

Here I was, walking the long road to our house from the bus stop in town, musing on how much it was going to cost me to get the car out of the shop, what I was going to do about my many problems at work, and how sore my feet were getting as I trudged home in the hot sun…

I was hot and sweaty by the time I walked up the driveway and slowly swung the door open and entered the relative coolness of the house, when you met me at the door.

“Oh, bad day, honey?” you asked, a look of concern on your face.

“You bet,” I nodded grimly, and then suddenly I knew my day was going to be different.

Instead of your usual jeans and T-shirt, you were wearing an elegant red dress and high-heel shoes, with your blonde hair cascading to your shoulders with a grace that bespoke a careful preparation for this moment.

Your dress, which ended at mid-thigh, showed off your long, shapely legs, and clung to your every curve. My thoughts of work, of the bus, of the long walk home, quickly evaporated as I thought ahead to the coming evening.

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