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My lovely wife Catie is 15 years younger than me and breathtakingly pretty: icy blue eyes, the sweetest voice, and an absolutely doable bum.



A mysterious mixture of poise and shyness, Catie leaves quite a mess in her wake, every guy she encounters wanting to fuck her. She has not just good looks, but a movement about her that screams of both sexual confidence and kitten-like innocence. What most men don't know, but can probably suspect, is that all of this comes together in bed, where Catie is a mind-blowing collision of sexy and cute: the closed-eyes, the fingertips to the lips and the sweet, desperate cries (she is surprisingly loud) tell of a girl utterly submissive, but the way she moves when aroused - how she seems to know what every inch of her body is doing, and how it will look and feel to a man, betrays a girl who, despite having only had a handful of lovers, is expert at the art of sex. It has always been my belief that few men could have sex with Catie without falling instantly, head-over-heels in love with her.



Our sexual kinks compliment each other. I'm a hopeless sucker for a girl who knows she's irresistible and how to use it, and Catie gets a sexual thrill out of knowing she's making a man crazy (she regularly dresses up in heels, sexy little skirts or lingerie and dances for me, getting turned on by how sexy she looks and how mad with lust she's making me, until I can finally stand it no more and fuck her hard). She loves to watch herself in the mirror, wimpering with excited disgust at the sight of my cock sinking into her from behind, and she'll often suck me so that we can both see, her pretty legs straight and her bum raised as she bends at the waist to take my cock between her lips.



Like many Catholic girls, Catie's fantasies are almost entirely to do with her virtue being outraged, the 'good girl' obligate into being 'bad', her precious beauty indulged and used by men who lust after her so intensely that they become naturals who gormandise her regardless of her wishes. I have a bitter-sweet obsession with imagining Catie being fucked by someone else, a man who appreciates her beauty as I do, and for whom the sight of her legs spreading for him would be so powerful as to move him to completely annihilate her, consuming her until this exquisite creature is transformed into a shameful whore, his lust closer to hatred than love.



Catie and I had often fantasised aloud to each other, our role playing going to elaborate lengths, she dressing as she might were she going to a niteclub and me pretending to be someone else, fucking her hard and selfishly, Catie relating the details of the fuck with the 'stranger' some time later. I often wondered whether either of us would handle it were the fantasy to become something real.



Last year, when Catie was 25 and her body more delectable than ever, we moved cities to a place where we had virtually no friends at all. We made a point of accepting every invitation to every event, just to meet new people if nothing else. At one such corporate event one evening we were introduced to a 50-year-old man called Paul, who claimed to be an entrepreneur, though his vague explanations of what he actually did made me suspect he was not all he seemed, his true vocation something less than socially acceptable. Tall, slightly stooped and carrying some excess weight, with grey, thinning hair, a large nose and a faintly obnoxious self confidence, he was not the sort of man most husbands would consider a potential threat, particularly when your wife is a young hardbody who can pick and choose from every man in the world. But he had a presence about him, that's for sure, and I noticed him paying Catie lots of attention (more than he was paying his own partner, to her evident annoyance) and she accepting his overtures with some curiosity. At the end of the night we exchanged phone numbers and agreed we'd meet up again some time in the future.



During sex that night, the usual topics arose, and I asked Catie whether Paul had interested her sexually. She paused for a while before answering, finally venturing: 'I suspect he'd probably be the selfish type, and that would be interesting, I suppose.'



A few days later, I answered the phone to find it was Paul. He wanted to know whether we might like to go for a drink the following Friday. As it happened, I was to address a work meeting the following Saturday morning, and had set aside Friday night to complete the report I had not yet even begun, so an evening of leisure was quite out of the question for me. Paul then asked whether Catie might be free to come by on her own. The idea of my wife meeting Paul and his partner for dinner didn't seem at all strange, so I said I'd ask her and she'd call him back. When I mentioned it to my wife, she was at first keen, until she asked whether I was sure Paul had said his partner would be attending and I realised then that I wasn't. After some discussion, we agreed that Catie would ring back and gently inquire, for while she was happy to occasionally entertain thoughts of Paul while fantasising, she found him too dubious a character to consider making the fantasy a reality.



But when Catie phoned him back, her shyness took over (or perhaps it was his arrogance) and she hung up the phone having made a date with Paul while no wiser as to whether it would be just the two of them.



The next few days saw Catie repeatedly lifting the phone to cancel her date with Paul only to hang up without calling and, on the afternoon of the date itself, I actually found Catie quietly shedding a few nervous tears in the kitchen, and I wondered whether I shouldn't call Paul myself and be a normal husband for a change. But we agreed that it needn't be such a big deal. They were to meet at a bar at 7.00pm, and if Catie arrived to find Paul alone and herself uncomfortable in his presence, she need only have a few drinks and politely call it a night.



So my sweet young wife stole herself and got ready; strappy heels, and a short, white, Roman-style dress that showed off her back, shoulders and lovely long legs. The place they were meeting was a sexy hang for models and the like, and there was no way Catie was going to be outdone in such a place. Plus, she may not have been comfortable with the idea of having sex with Paul, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to send him home with a massive erection in his pants.



As she climbed into the taxi, I reminded her to go to the bathroom and call me on her cell phone if she was in need of a rescue. She smiled and told me to call her in an hour or so, just to be sure. She added that all this worry had probably been for nothing, as Paul's partner would most likely be there anyway, and that she'd probably see me in a few hours.



About 30 minutes later I received a text message from Catie that said simply:



'All OK. I love you.'



I wondered whether this meant Paul had not been alone after all, or whether she simply felt OK in his company. And I wondered why she had not been specific about that.



Over the next half-an-hour these thoughts grew too large in my head, and I became gripped by a strange dread I had not yet felt about all of this. What on Earth was I doing happily sending my gorgeous young wife, dressed like a sacrifice, out to meet a strange man twice Catie's age and about whom we knew absolutely nothing' In a moment of clarity, I picked up my phone and called her, to tell her to finish her drink and come on home. Perhaps we could have sexy sex and ruminate on what Paul might have liked to have happened.



But a pre-recorded voice told me that Catie's cell phone was either switched off or not in a service area. I tried again and again, my panic rising with each failed attempt. Hadn't she told me to call in an hour, I sent her message after message, demanding she call me, and I found myself becoming angry at Catie for not checking her cell phone for her husband's call. No longer capable of concentrating on my report, I proceeded to get very drunk.



I awoke to the sound of a ringing phone. It was Catie, and the time was 11.15pm. She sounded calm but spoke in a hushed, conspiratorial whisper, as if hiding from someone. She was just calling, she said, to let me know she was OK.



'I've been asleep,' I said, groggily. 'Have you been trying to call me?'



'No,' she breathed.



'I tried to call you a million times,' I said, 'back when we agreed I would, but your phone appeared to be switched off.'



There was a short silence, during which I suddenly realised there was no chatter, no music, no noise at all in the background.



'Yeah,' she finally replied. 'I turned it off.'



'Why did you do that?'



There was a pause again, and a tense knot began to rise in my stomach.



'Tom?' my wife whispered cautiously. 'Do you want me to have sex with Paul?'



Here was the moment I'd been fantasising about for years, my young wife, dressed to *******, alone late at night with another man, her precious body's *** at the hands of a total stranger only moments away, and all I had to do was say the word. The moment had come, and I was on fire, but it was with disappointment that I realised my fear was going to win the battle after all.



'Look, Catie,' I said, both deflated and slightly panicked, I think we need to talk a bit more about this before we get ourselves into something we'll regret. Don't you think?'



There was another silent pause, much longer than the last. Something was not being said, so I said it.



'Or has something already happened?'



The silence hurt. Catie's whisper hurt more.



'Well yeah.'



'What!' I gasped. What happened?'



'Oh' she whispered nervously, then, 'Tom, we did everything.'



My ears seemed to fill with white noise. My lovely young wife had been fucked by another man. I tried to swallow, but couldn't. Somehow, through the shock, my loins stirred.



'Oh, fuck. Tell me what happened.'



'I can't tell you about it now,' she whispered back, as if irritated by my questions.



'Catie!' I implored her, but then I heard a toilet flush in the background and she was suddenly whispering in a hurry.



'Look, Tom, I can't talk now. I'll tell you about it later.'



'Oh, fuck,' I half shouted. 'Don't leave me hanging like this!'



'Tom,' she hushed, 'I'm at Paul's. It's awkward. I just called to let you know I'm alright. I'll talk to you when I get home, OK?'



'Well, when's that going to be, Catie?'



Her voice then sped up, as if somebody was coming who she didn't want to hear.



'OK. I've gotta' go. I'll see you later. Bye.'



I hung up the phone and collected my wild thoughts. My wife had just been screwed by a 50-year-old man whom neither of us knew at all. She was in his home, right this very minute, alone with him. He was no doubt going to fuck her again, probably in the next few minutes, or maybe he was starting to already. I imagined him coming up behind her as she hung up on me, and her turning to meet him. He would probably have been naked. I imagined them kissing, him feeling her body, and her taking him in her hand. And I imagined her slowly sinking to her knees, her shoulders straight, her head bowed, her lips opening to take him, him grunting as her cheek bulged with the outline of his prick?



I called her number and she answered immediately.



'Catie, you can't leave me like this!'



She interrupted me, her voice no longer in a whisper.



'Hi-eee,' she said cheerily, as if speaking to me for the first time tonight. 'Sorry I didn't call earlier, but everything's fine. How's the report coming along?'



'Er, Catie, when, exactly, are you coming home?'



'I don't know, sweetie. Probably not really late. Peter's just going to take me to this cool little bar he's been telling me about?'



Only now that she was speaking at an ordinary volume did I note a certain lilt to her voice, a languid but excitable tang to her accent, her tone considerably more girlish and playful, but noticeably unsteady. It was a sound I recognised instantly.



'What have you taken?' I asked her.



'Oh,' she replied, matter-of-factly, Peter had some Ecstasy, and he asked me if I wanted some, so I said, yes, because I didn't feel like drinking.'



Peter had some Ecstasy. At the bar. How organised of him. Clearly, his cock had reserved its place in my wife's body days ago.



'Alright, Catie,' I said, you don't have to tell me anything, just say yes or no. OK?'



'Uh-huh.'



Water ran briefly from a tap nearby. She was at the sink in the bathroom, or maybe the kitchen.



'Are you really going to a club?'



'No.'



'So he's going to fuck you again.'



'Uh-huh.'



There was something about that,Uh-huh', which is a sound I had never before heard my wife utter anyhow, delivered tonight for the sake of economy, as if Catie's mind were too distracted to be bothered with the forming of simple words.



'Is he fucking you now?'



'No.'



There was a sharp reverse gasp, and I could almost see Catie biting her lip.



'Is he eating you?'



'Mmm'not really.'



Another brisk gasp from Catie, and then I heard a whisper, I couldn't make out what it said, but could make out well enough that it was Paul's voice, not Catie's. He was close, behind her, whispering in her other ear.



'Look, I've got to go now, Tom,' she said briskly, the words trembling because of whatever the man behind her was doing to her immaculate cunt. Bye.'



Click.



I spent the next hour pacing back and forth, never moving more than ten feet from the phone. My mind constructed every picture imaginable: my beautiful wife mewing with desire as her open lips sucked on the old man's tongue; his thick fingers lashing at her moist insides, his prick, painfully stiff and greased with Catie's juices, prising open the flesh at her virgin ass and bullying up her till she felt it in her gut.



What had they done and for how long. What did she mean by 'everything'? Then it occurred to me: she had left the house a bit late, just a few minutes before 7.00pm, and the taxi trip was at least 15 minutes. I had called her at 8.00pm and her phone was turned off by then. Did that mean she was already fucking him? Had he seduced her from the bar that quickly?



I honestly can't remember how I spent the rest of the night. I was electric with a filthy, almost psychotic lust, but my nerves were too shattered to successfully masturbate. All I can tell you is that I definitely didn't relax, each car driving down the street making me jump to my feet. At one point I plugged the camera into my computer to look at the photos I'd taken of her while she was getting ready. I zoomed in on her pretty face, the tops of her legs, her beautiful ass, and said aloud: 'She's been fucked by someone else and he's fucking her right now. I ejaculated immediately, barely feeling it approach.



The sun was up and the birds were chirping by the time I heard a taxi idle in the drive. My heart was pounding. I heard the click clack of Catie's heels on the path to the door. I heard her keys jangle and the door open.



She looked gorgeous, of course, but a wreck, like a girl who had been deprived of sleep for days. As I rose and walked towards her she flashed me the weakest smile, but when I went to touch her she furrowed her brow.



'Tom,' she said painfully, 'I've really got to go to relax.'



I tried not to explode.



'Well,' I pleaded, dragging her into the living room to the sofa, can't you just tell me what happened?'



She looked pained again, closed her eyes and made a little squeak of protest.



'What about I make you a coffee to wake you up?' I said.



She nodded and entered the living room while I ran to the kitchen and fixed her a coffee as fast as I could. But, when I returned, she was lying stretched out on the sofa, eyes closed. I tried to wake her but she seemed either fast arelax or determined.



I looked at the time and realised I had just over an hour before I had to present that damn report. It was no use; I had to leave her be and try to keep my feelings on ice until I returned home in the afternoon.



There is no need to describe the sort of day I had. The report I delivered was terrible and I could hardly care, the pornographic images flashing through my mind dominating my day, not to mention the thought of what I would find out later that evening. It was the longest Saturday of my life.



It was dusk when I finally did return home, breaking the speed limit all the way, but when I entered the house it was in darkness, Catie sleeping in bed still. I tried to wake her and, again, nothing. This was not unusual after a night of drugs, but it was maddening, given the circumstances. I left the house and went to a nearby bar for a few hours, trying to take the frustration out of me. Then I realised what would pull Catie out of this stupor: more coffee. Catie always became very revved up and vocal whenever she drank some.



When I came home it was nearly midnight and Catie was up, in a dressing gown and on the phone, her voiced hushed as I walked into the room. I raised my eyebrows as if to ask who it was, and she told me it was Susan, an old school friend who Catie always called whenever there was a dilemma or crisis, or a piece of sexy gossip. She was still talking when I handed her a strong coffee.



After she hung up we just sat there for a while, almost in silence, sipping from our cups, watching some music show on the TV, occasionally looking at each other furtively, a blush and that weak, embarrassed smile occasionally flashing from Catie's face. I was patient, knowing the caffeine would kick in. And I was as excited as Paul would have been the night before when, eventually, Catie rose and left the room, softly calling out from the bedroom:



'What do you want me to put on?'



I told her straitght away that I wanted the outfit she had worn last night.



'Mmm,' she said nervously, if you can stand it.'



A few minutes later she walked out in the dress and heels, her gorgeous legs and delectable figure as perfect as they had ever been, but, as I gazed at her, I knew that body was different. Another man had used it.



I could wait no more and dropped to my knees, turning her around by the hips and sinking my face into her from behind. She stood there mewing so prettily, her legs straight and slightly apart, her bum raised upwards.



In no time we were on the sofa, her legs spread wide for me, my fingers pumping her, my tongue deep in her mouth. I was insane. It was time to discover it all.



'Tell me everything,' I moaned in her ear, I want to hear every detail, in order. Tell me want happened when you got to the bar.'



Between gasps, her eyes closed, her head to the side, fingers at the corner of her mouth, she answered me.



'We were just, oh ... kissing and groping each other.'



'Right there in the bar?'



'Yeah.'



I kept pumping her delicious cunt with my hand. God, she was pretty.



'Were people watching you?'



'No. Somehow he had gotten me uh ... around to a deserted part.'



'Did he fuck you in the bar?'



'No'I remember him grabbing my hand and saying, 'Let's go', and then we were 'mmm' outside at his car, kissing really passionately. Then he was driving and touching me with one hand.'



'Fingering you?'



'Yeah. And running his hand uh ... up and down my legs, going on and on about how much he loved them. We were, oh ... only driving for a few minutes, because he lived so close.'



Paul had it all worked out from the start. The sleazy fucker. My girl was so wet.



'The we sort of stumbled up the stairs to his apartment, feeling each other and uh ... stopping to kiss really hotly outside his door. Then we went inside and mmm he went to the bathroom and I just sat on the sofa waiting for him.'



I so desired to fuck this beautiful girl, who was now not just my wife but Paul's conquest from last night. But I wanted to hold off and enter her when she told me he did.



'Then he came out and we were kissing amd I moved my hand down to his cock.'



I moved her hand to mine.



'Was he big?'



Catie nodded, eyes closes, breathing heavily.



"Very big'"



Another nod.



'How much bigger than me?'



She didn't answer, just groaned and began gently thrusting her cunt against my hand, almost sorry. Something had set her off.



'How much bigger than me, Catie?'



An expression crossed her face that was a mixture of lust and something like worry.'



'About uh ... twice.'



'What?'



She was really humping my fingers now.



'Catie, that's 12 inches long. Are you sure?'



'Yeah.'



Her face glowed and her lips plumped with red as she exhaled strongly, then inhaled, then exhaled, as if hyperventilating, her whole body seeming to uncoil now that she could see it in her mind's eye. What she said next seemed to flood out of her like a long-kept secret finally released.



'It was ridiculously massive," said my lovely wife. "I felt it pressing into me ... at the bar, so I knew it was big, and when I was touching him on the sofa I realised ... that I probably couldn't wrap my fingers all the way around it.'



Oh, fuck.



I was sliding my own cock up and down her slimy cunt.



'So tell me what you did, Catie?'



'my mind's kind of mixed up but somehow I was on the sofa on my back and he was holding my legs up and straight together just rubbing his cock on the backs of my legs and my ass and he was groaning and going on about my ass and my legs and then he just kind of half stood and lifted my legs onto his shoulders?'



I raised myself up and lifted Catie's pretty legs over my shoulders.



'Like this, Catie'



Without opening her eyes or saying a word, she stretched one leg straight and bent the other slightly, turning it inwards to make the most fetching pose any man has ever fucked.



'And then?'



'Oh!'and then...he just rammed himself completely into me.'



I sank my cock into my beautiful wife and nearly came as she cried loudly for the first time, I knew, not for me. I was crazed.



'And how did his cock feel, Catie?' I grunted.



'Oh'uh, fuck'it was so massive and'mmm'he went so deep in me'uh!...'



Then she gasped the words I'll never forget.



'And every time he entered me I felt like I was being fucked for the first time.'



I came so hard I nearly died, my heart pumping red to my head just as powerfully as my balls pumped cum into Catie's womb. I had just heard my darling wife declare that a stranger had triumphantly conquered her gorgeous young body, his bulbous prick violating her so deeply that, from the very moment her slippery walls stretched to swallow it, all others who had come before seemed like nothing more than foreplay. Myself included.



For a while we lay there silent but for breath, and under normal circumstances that would have been it for me, as I take a long time to recover from an orgasm before I am of any use again. But my nerves were electrified, charged with that wicked and wonderful hunger that needed to be fed. There was so much to know, I had only really heard about the first few minutes of the whole 12 hours, and the first dozen thrusts of a cock that had drilled into my wife maybe 50,000 times.



That was it for the night though. Over the next week we talked so much more about it that I couldn't possibly type it all. But it was good and is almost still ongoing.



We don't see him anymore but use that night to fuel some hot nights.



- Tom







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