She spun around in front of me and asked, "How do I look?"

"Stunningly beautiful" I replied and it was the absolute truth. She was even more beautiful than she'd been on the day I married her. My cock was rock hard and it had been for two days, but I couldn't touch her, not yet, that was the agreement. I'd watched her dressing and the slow, sensual way she had done it had me ready to climb walls, (which is why she had done it that way - she wanted me to suffer). She had turned putting on her white nylons, garter belt and four inch "fuck me" pumps into an exquisite reverse strip tease and when I'd said nothing she'd stood up and walked by me with a slow sensuous walk until she got to the bed. Turning, she had looked at me and raised an eyebrow and when I still said nothing she picked her wedding dress up off the bed and stepped into it.

"You will have to zip me up," she said and with trembling fingers I did so. Next she picked up the veil and put it on. She looked at herself in the mirror and then turned to me and said, "Are you absolutely sure that this is what you want?"

There was a fraction of a second where I almost said no, forget it, but it passed and then she said, "Last chance. Once I walk through that door I won't turn back." When I said nothing she said, "So be it!" and she walked out of the room. I followed her down the stairs and to the front door and watched as she opened the door and walked down the steps to the waiting chauffeur driven limousine. She never looked back.

Where it came from or how it got started I don't even remember, but I'm one of those guys who have always fantasized about his wife being bedded by other men. It was a personal fantasy and one that I'd never mentioned to my wife. I fed the fantasy by reading magazines that carried stories and letters about wife watching and whenever Claire and I went out I would notice how other men looked at her and I would imagine her with the man or men who were looking and I would get a hard on. When I was home alone I would read the stories and letters and masturbate while looking at a picture of Claire and imagining that it was her that the story was written about. It was my fantasy and Claire was never supposed to know about it, but one day when I wasn't at home the belt on her vacuum cleaner broke and she needed a screwdriver to remove the cover and replace the belt. All of my magazines were in my toolbox in the garage and Claire found them while looking for a screwdriver. If it had just been the magazines Claire might have paid no attention to them at all, but on top of the stack was the picture of her that I used when I was fantasizing. The photo had been taken one night after a drunken party several years ago when Claire was really feeling no pain. It was a Polaroid and it showed a naked Claire lying on the bed with her legs spread wide and her hands cupping her tits.

When I got home I found Claire sitting on the couch reading my magazines and she looked up when I came into the room and said, "I'm having a hard time trying to decide which of these turns you on. Is it wife swapping, butt fucking, girl/girl or boy/boy sex, or is it the wife watching? Is that it? I know it's not this one about the innocent white wife being gang fucked by black men" and she threw the magazine at me.

I winced when she said what she said because I'd been raised in the South and while not a rabid racist, I was against the mixing of the races and Claire knew it. She was very liberal and she could not understand how I could have black friends, but feel that way about mixed couples.

"So is that it?" she said, "You look at this picture" and she held up the Polaroid, "And see some big black dick pounding into my white pussy?"

I did the only thing I could do when she got like that - I left the room.

Half an hour later I was in my home office working on a business proposal when she came in, "I'm sorry," she said, "I had no business going off on you like that, but I would like to know what's up with those magazines and why you had my picture with them."

So I told her about my fantasies and the whole time she just sat there and listened. When I was done she said, "I never would have guessed that about you. Were you ever going to ask me to actually do it?"

I told her no, that it was just a fantasy. I might have been wrong, but I thought I saw a trace of disappointment in her expression. She told me that some of the stories excited her and she asked me if I would give her the magazines when I was done with them. For the next couple of months she read every one of them and a couple of times I noticed her fingers stroking her breasts or pressing against her crotch while she read. The thought entered my mind that maybe, just maybe, she was having a few fantasies of her own. The more I thought about that the more I thought that I might just have a chance at seeing my fantasy come true some day. I started dropping little hints and eventually I got around to asking her if the idea excited her in the least little bit. Big mistake!

"What do you take me for, a slut? Do you honestly think that I'd let some stranger paw my body just so you could get your jollies watching?"

"Oh give me a break" I said, "I'm watching you finger and caress yourself while you're reading the magazines, so naturally I'm interested in what you are thinking."

She said, "I told you that some of the stories excite me. That doesn't mean I've become a slut."

I backed off in a hurry and another month or two passed by, but every time I saw Claire reading my magazines I thought about her actually making my fantasy come true and I guess it showed on my face. One day while she was reading the latest issue of one of my magazines she caught me watching her and she threw the magazine down, "Am I going to have to look at that expression for the rest of my life? Is it really so important that you actually watch me give myself to another man?"

The expression on my face said it all.

"You really do want to see me do it, don't you? Just fantasy isn't enough for you any more. You're not going to be happy until you see me fucked by another man, are you? Until you see my lips around his cock, my fingers playing with his balls? Are you going to let him have my ass too? Want to see his long, fat cock slowly disappearing in my shit hole? Christ! I ought to do it just to teach you a lesson."

My expression must have said, "Yes, yes, teach me a lesson," because next she said, "If I do this for you it will be on my terms and no, absolutely no arguments from you, understood?"

I couldn't believe it. Claire was going to make my fantasy come true, something that I never really expected to ever happen. But the joy cooled off a bit when she laid down her terms. It would be one time only, she would pick the man, the time, and the place and I couldn't be there. I started to protest that last, but she interrupted me, "I said no arguments. I don't think I could do it with you standing there with drool running down your chin. I'll see if I can't arrange to have it videotaped, but if I can't you will just have to settle for licking the other man's cum out of me while I tell you about it."

At that exact minute I would have agreed to anything and so I did. Which is why I found myself standing on my front porch, on our tenth wedding anniversary, watching my wife being driven in a chauffeured limousine to the man who was going to fulfill my fantasy.

It was almost 9a.m. the next morning and Claire was not back yet. I had expected her around two or three in the morning, but when she'd not shown up I had no idea of who or where to call to find out if she was all right. I thought of calling the police, but what could I tell them?

"My wife has gone off to fuck another man and she's not home yet. Can you help me find her?"

No, I didn't think I could do that. I was making my twenty-fifth trip to the front door to look outside when the limo pulled up in front of the house. Claire got out, a little unsteadily, and started up the walk. The black chauffeur made as if to help, but she waved him away and he got back into the limo and left. I opened the front door and held it for her as she came into the house. She was a mess. Her wedding dress was covered with stains, the veil and train were ripped and torn and covered with stains, which I assumed, were drying cum and there were love bites on her neck and dried cum in her hair.

Claire turned to face me and said, "Kiss me" and when I hesitated she stepped to me and put her mouth on mine. Her tongue slipped into my mouth and she gave me a very passionate kiss. She pulled back from me and said, "Did you taste it? Did you taste the cum that was in my mouth? And then she laughed and said, "God, I should have let you push me into this a long time ago."

She took my hand and led me to the bedroom where she pulled off her dress and then turned to face me. There were hickeys all over her stomach, breasts and thighs and there was dried cum everywhere. On the inside of her right thigh there was some fresh cum running down the inside of her leg, like it was just leaking out of her. Her panties were gone; her nylons had runs and ladders and there were even dried cum stains on her high heels. She sat down on the bed, looked at me and said, "Time to do your part" and she fell back on the bed and spread her legs wide to expose her cum soaked pussy. I dropped my bathrobe and started to stroke my cock but Claire said, "Oh no. Not yet. First you have to suck all the cum out of me baby, that was the deal."