How Blondie Became a Hotwife

My heart was pounding with excitement when she asked tentatively, "You have anyone in particular in mind—maybe somebody from work or school?"

Trying to conceal my joy at this unexpectedly unresistant embrace of my fantasy, I answered,

"Not really. I was thinking we just pick up some guy up in a club. That way you can dance with a few guys and pick one you like, you know?"

Looking at me pensively she asked, "An' you are positive you're not gonna mind, cher? You're not gonna get all bent out of shape when I start flirtin' around out on the dance floor, puttin' the moves on some nice lookin' guy out there, an' invite him over here to screw me?"

She fixed me with that thoughtful expression and asked again, her concern evident, "You're absolutely positive it's not gonna piss you off to watch your wife puttin' out for some stranger?"

I replied, "Blondie, I've been thinking this over for a long time and I believe it's something we would both enjoy doing. Knowing your strong appetite for sex, I'll bet you're going to really get into the scene, get into it and thoroughly enjoy it, like you're already indicating here tonight. I want you to do precisely that, babe—get pleasure from it, not do it just because I want you to."

She was staring off, a naughty smile twitching at the corners of her lovely lips as she probed,

"Then it's okay if I really get into it an' fuck this guy back, huh? You won't get jealous if I put some really hot sexy lovin' on un jeune homme très bien membré (some well-hung young guy), hmm? Or is that what you're hopin' to see—your wife gettin' really excited and puttin' a hot fuckin' on some young stud?"

I nodded a slow, smiling response, "I want him to make you feel good, real good, because I know you're going to make him feel very, very good with that tight pussy and that sexy mouth."

"What if he makes me feel so good I wanna get vocal with him? Can I tell him I like it? You gonna be able to handle hearin' your wife tell some other man how good his dick feels in her?"

She watched me closely and pursued it, "Or hearin' me tell some total stranger I want him to come in me? Even beggin' him to do it?"

Grinning wickedly, she teased, "Maybe I should just dirty talk him in French, hmm?"

I replied, "You know I love to hear you talk dirty, both English and French, so hearing you encourage some stranger to fuck you and come in you in either language would be really hot, babe." After five years of hearing Blondie's occasional French, usually expletives or sexual, I had a working comprehension of the darker parts of that language.

I winked, "Bet the guy will like it, too."

She gave me a still-doubtful look so I went on, "Look, I want you to get into it, to like it, hell, to love it, love it so much you can't wait to do it again with another guy, and what better way for me to know that you love it than hearing you say it while you're doing it?"

When I smiled and asked, "Does that make sense, babe?" she punched me playfully in the arm, then coquettishly batting her heavily mascaraed eyelids at me, my wife looked deeply into my eyes and dropped the money question,

"Okay, you may come to have second thoughts about tellin' me that, lover, but I won't be bashful, okay? When I'm enjoyin' it, you'll know it, I promise. She paused, then asked warily,

"So, what about rubbers, cher—you gonna make mon amour (my lover) wear a condom?" and after a thoughtful silence teased, "We gonna make the poor guy pull it or are we gonna let my handsome, recently picked-up piece of strange just go for it, an' get his nuts off inside me?"

With her somewhat mocking smile challenging me, I retorted, "That's entirely up to you, babe, but I think it would be a lot more exciting if he comes in you, and a lot more pleasurable for both of you, don't you think? And you're on the pill, after..."

My lovely Dixie pixie leaned over, placing the long, brightly polished nail of her index finger on my lower lip, stopping me mid-sentence, gazed playfully into my eyes and snickered,

"Say no more, lover—you know me an' rubbers—I hate the damned things. If you're wantin' it to be really hot between me and these guys, an' I'm sayin' 'guys' 'cause I'm assumin' you're gonna be wantin' me to do this more 'n just once, then let's forget all about rubbers."

She batted her eyes, "If you want me to let you an' them know how much I'm enjoyin' it—I need things to be nice and natural, so I can count on gettin' a really hot finish from these guys."

Blondie had apparently been giving this a lot more thought than I'd hoped for. Still teasing my lip with her nail, she inquired softly,

"So, if I do enjoy myself so much I wanna do it again, an' knowin me, I have a strong feelin' I'm goin' to—it's somethin' we'll both prolly wanna do on a repeat basis, right?"

She waited then asked with feigned innocence, "In all you're plannin' for doin' this, did you ever think about me havin' like a, you know, a boyfriend, some cute guy we could just call up an' invite over when mama gets in the mood to put on a little fuck show pour son mari cocu (for her cuckold husband) or are we just gonna pick up strangers?"

Nearly delirious with joy at the direction this was going, even though my wife had just referred to me rather mockingly as her cuckold husband again for the second time in this conversation, I looked into her eyes and said,

"Entirely up to you, babe." Which brought a throaty chuckle, as she sat back, took a swallow of her drink, and said in a husky tone,

"You know, babe, me bein' une femme très coquine, a naughty wife, pickin' up strangers for one-night stands sounds a lot naughtier an' a lot more excitin' to me, what do you think?"

Then with a wicked grin, she purred, "But then, havin' a boyfriend sounds excitin' too." She brightened, "No reason a woman can't do both."

When I just smiled again, she speculated, "Might be cool to have un jeune bel homme (a good-looking young guy) I could call from work when I'm horny and invite him over for a sexy evenin' or maybe a hot little weekend rendez-vous amoureux (date). Or maybe just have him drop by for du sexe rapide (a quickie) after work, you know?"

With a truly wicked grin she cooed, "If you don't mind me fuckin' other men, there's not a reason in the world I couldn't have more than one boyfriend either, is there, sugar?"

I just shook my head, my delirium rising another notch—this was a degree of acceptance far beyond my most optimistic expectations. I had anticipated a lot of outraged moral blowback and romantic hysteria, and having to overcome myriad objections, while the reality was my young, promiscuous wife had just confessed she'd already been getting the itch for some strange cock. And I'd just handed her not only the means to get some but with my eager support and blessing.

Now here she was, already thinking beyond an initial encounter to picking up additional partners on a regular basis and having boyfriends to call when she gets horny. All I'd had to do was tantalize little Blondie with the concept and let her strong libido and her simmering promiscuity convince her that she'd like it.

And as the next chapter in this sexual saga will fully demonstrate, she liked it very much...