Past Love

by JAX

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Hypnosis, Heterosexual, Fiction, Slut Wife, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, .

Desc: Sex Story: I expect all husbands wonder what our wives did before we met them, but most husbands will never know. Somehow I was lucky, or otherwise depending how you look at it

I expect all husbands' wonder what our wives did before we met them, but most husbands will never know. Somehow I was lucky, or otherwise depending how you look at it. Sara had been going to this hypnotist for some weeks now to help her stop smoking. At first, I went too, but it was all so boring just sitting in the waiting room reading all those old magazines, so that after a few weeks I stopped.

"Debbie is taking me but I need a ride home. Can you pick me up afterwards?" she asked one evening.

"Sure," I agreed.

I waited in the reception area when Sara came out with the hypnotist and on spying me, he came on over and shook my hand.

"Ahh, Mr. Davies," he said warmly.

He put Sara's file down so he could use both hands.

"She's coming along swimmingly," he said confidently.

"Good, good," I replied.

He disappeared back into his office and Sara went to find her coat. On the chair next to me was Sara's file left forgotten by the doctor. Well, you know how it is I had to peek at the front page at least. A word popped out at me for it was a word that shouldn't have been there. 'Thunderclap.' What the fuck, I thought then it made sense, it was Sara's trigger word.

I rolled off her and we lay side by side, it was one of those lazy fucks that old married people can enjoy. Slow and sensual with plenty of kisses and caresses with a good climax for us both.

"Mmm, that was nice," she sighed.

"Yeah," I confirmed.

At that moment that word came back into my mind and before I could stop myself I said it.

"Thunderclap," I whispered.

Her body became limp and I was suddenly afraid.

"You ok?" I asked.

"Yes," she intoned.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"Warm and cosy," she intoned.

I had done it, she was hypnotized but what do I do now? I thought deep and hard for some time then it came to me. I like a lot of men had read stories about hypnotism and it was one of my favourite fantasies to have a beautiful woman under my spell.

"You are a captured spy and you have been injected with a truth serum so you can't tell a lie, do you understand?" I said.

"Y-yes," she replied her voice quivered slightly.

"Tell me your real name," I asked.

"Sara Davies," she said.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Twenty-four," she said.

"Good," I said, my mind spiralling away with a myriad of unasked questions.

"What are your vital statistics?" I asked for I never have known and Sara would never tell me.

"I'm five foot three, with a 34C, 24, 35 figure," she said.

Well, well I mused she has a 'C' cup pair of tits and very nice they are too.

"Tell me about your breasts," I asked. "When did they arrive?"

"I was 11," she said.

I stopped for a moment not sure if I wanted to ask the next question.

"Who was the first guy to touch them?" I asked.

She didn't answer immediately.

"Remember you can't lie," I reminded her.

"Tommy Best," she at last replied.

Tommy Best, who on earth was he, I thought.

"Tell me about it," I instructed.

"He took me to a party then took me outside for a snog and he touched my breasts through my blouse," she explained.

"How old were you then?" I asked.

"12," she replied.

Ok, on to the next question.

"Who was the first to touch them naked?" I asked.

"Uncle Ted," she replied immediately.

Uncle Ted, shit I've met him, I thought.

"Tell me about it," I prompted.

He was babysitting me and Trish," she said. Trish being her younger sister. "I would be sitting on his lap in my PJ's and he touch me."

"Did you like him doing that?" I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I've always liked my breasts being touched."

"Did he do it often?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," she said. "Every time he babysat us he would undo my top and touch me."

"And how old were you the first time?" I asked.

"12," she said.

The dirty old man, I mused. Ok, now for the biggie.

"Who took your virginity?" I asked.

Again she didn't answer straight away but after a few seconds.

"Jimmy Clare," she said.

If I'm not mistaken she was engaged for a short while to this Jimmy guy.

That was enough for now but I knew I would be asking a few more questions at a later date.

I felt really guilty over the next few days but every time I thought about it, my heart would pump just a little bit harder.

"Tell me about this Jimmy Clare guy?" I asked.

It was a few days later and again I had again whispered her trigger word.

"I was engaged to him for over a year," she said.

I waited but she just lay there.

"Tell me more," I pushed.

"He was very assertive, pushy even," she said. "He never asked me what I wanted we always did what he wanted."

A bit selfish, I thought.

"He liked to show me off all the time," she carried on after a short pause. "I always had to wear short and I mean short skirts as well as other things."

"What other thing?" I asked my heartbeat suddenly going through the roof and my throat dry.

"He didn't like me to wear a bra but I was really too big," she said. "He would also like to touch me in front of his mates too. My thighs and sometimes my breasts."

Holy shit, I thought. What a right bastard. Trouble was my cock was super hard and I would dearly love to push into her. It was all too much so I woke her up and slipped my cock into her already wet hole.

"What brought that on?" she said breathless from our exertions.

"I don't know," I lied for how could I tell her the truth.

The visions of her wearing really short skirts and no bra lingered in my mind. These days her skirts are anything but short and her bras could repel any invading Vikings. With her birthday coming up I thought it the right time to invest in some new clothes for her and of course for me.

"I can't wear that," she squealed, "it's much too short."

"Hey, you've got great legs," I said truthfully.

"Look, I'm not sixteen anymore, I'm almost twenty five," she said holding up the skirt I had picked out for her.

In the end I just paid for it and a couple of front opening bras now that I knew her size.

"I don't know when you expect me to wear any of this," she muttered.

"So tell me about the Jerry Clare guy and the things he made you do," I instructed.

It had taken me a couple of weeks and a lot of soul searching before I had enough courage to asked her any more questions. She didn't answer for some seconds and I could see conflict on her face. I was just about to prompt her when she started to speak.

"He would often kiss and fondle me in public," she confessed, "even making me sit on his mate's laps from time to time and let them kiss and touch me too."

"Touch you where?" I asked my mouth dry again.

"My breasts and legs," she said. "Although, usually, over my clothes."

"But not always though?" I asked.

"No, not always," she confirmed. "A couple of times he had undone my top and exposed my braless breasts and then he invited three of four of his friends to 'cop a feel' as he put it. He would hold my arms behind my back so that I couldn't stop them."

"So what finished it with him and you?" I asked.

"It all finished at this party," she intoned. "I got a bit drunk and later Jerry stripped me off naked and did it to me while his mates watched us."

"Holy shit!" I whistled.

"I broke it off after that," she continued. "He said it was all in good fun but I didn't see it that way."

"So what happened after that?" I asked.

"I was terribly depressed for a while," she said. "I kept seeing them about town, seeing their eyes looking at me and I knew they were still seeing me naked."

I had gone as far as I wanted to for now and we both slept.

"What naughty things did you do after leaving Jerry and before you met your husband?" I asked.

My ardour was definitely up over the next few weeks, I would relive her sexy tales in my mind as I pumped between her legs.

"After Jerry I had a lot of boyfriends," she stated. "I went to bed with most of them."

"How many are we talking about?" I asked.

"I've never counted," she said, "but it wouldn't surprise me if it was more than thirty."

Shit, she fucked thirty guys, I thought.

"I let them do whatever they wanted," she said, "I didn't care anymore, I was kind of numb."

"Like what?" I asked, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

"One guy, Chris, like to tie me up and then fuck me," she said. "Another, I forget who, took loads of pictures of me, usually naked."

Shit, I thought.

"He liked me to touch myself, you know between my legs while he snapped away," she explained.

Shit, I thought again, and she doesn't even remember who it was.

From then on my dreams were filled with erotic images of Sara exposing her naked body to hundreds of men, being tied up and photographed in the most disgusting way. You would never suspect by looking at her pretty, innocent face that she had done all she had claimed, but I never doubted it for one moment.

"What's the matter with you these days," she laughed after once again I had pumped my spunk into her and rolled off.

"What?" I asked.

"God, you've been like a tom cat in heat these last few weeks," she explained, "not that I'm complaining of course."

"What's wrong with me making love to my beautiful wife every now and again," I said.

"That's it," she pointed out. "It's not now and again, it's every night this week and probably last week too."

"Well it's not my fault you're so sexy," I said with a smile.

"Yeah, right," she giggled sexily. "You've probably got a cute new girl in the office and you're lusting after her."

I didn't say anything; her thinking I was lusting after another girl was better than the real truth. I didn't ask any more questions for a long time but one thing kept bugging me. Somewhere out there were pictures of my wife naked and doing things and some day they may come back to haunt her and me. There was not a lot I could do if she didn't even remember who he was.

"Tell me about this guy who took pictures of you," I prompted.

"Which one?" she replied.

Oh shit, I thought.

"Ok, how many guys took pictures of you?" I asked.

"Lots," she replied.

"What, naked?" I snapped.

"No, of course not," she said.

"How many took pictures of you naked?" I refined my question.

"Just one," she replied.

Good, I thought, just the one. For a moment I had this horrible thought that there might be hundreds of guys out there snapping away at her naked body.

"Who was he?" I asked.

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