A rude awakening (closed for Sannablonde)

[Bluebanzai]

Stepping out of the hot shower, I caught sight of myself in the mirror opposite. Reflexively, I straightened, tucked my tummy in, expanded my chest. I inspected myself. Hmmmm. Not too bad, for forty-three.

Physically, the years had been pretty kind, although I liked to think my regular running had helped things along. Fairly lithe, with few excess pounds; a good head of dark hair, blue eyes, and a clear, healthy complexion. Not much I'd change. Other than the height thing, of course. Five feet seven wasn't a great height for a guy, and even if my wife Sanna had told me reassuringly that she didn't care, it kind of bothered me that I had to look up to her whenever she donned heels.

I slumped my shoulders again, and began to towel off. I always felt better after exercise. It was my way of de-stressing, sorting things in my head. And of late, that process had become increasingly important for me. Frankly, right now, life wasn't great.

Superficially, I had everything. The house was fine. Nice cars on the drive. Sound, long-standing relationship. Two white-collar careers between us. And, in the absence of kids (my fault, apparently: something about weak sperm) we had a fairly healthy bank balance too. Only - something was missing. Well, a couple of things.

I picked through the clean clothes I'd left in a pile adjacent, pulling out some clean briefs.

First up, I ruminated, there was the work thing. I'd had a great career once. I could have been a contender, you know?! But then: restructures, rationalisations, and suddenly I found myself working for a second-rate corporate training outfit, which had no knowledge of my abilities. Or interest, apparently. I guess if I'd been braver I could have gone into consulting but... somehow, it never quite happened, and before I knew it I was beached at a vague middle management level, watching brighter, younger things climbing past me on the career ladder. And whereas I'd once felt Sanna's equal - hell, I'd actually met her when I was running her management training course - I was acutely aware that the scales had now shifted, when judged by career achievements.

Possibly, this had exacerbated issue two. The Sex Thing. Or rather, the lack of it. Once, I'd been pretty rampant, if quite traditional: but learning that my equipment was somehow not capable of producing kids, combined with a growing sense of career inadequacy, had led me to retreat to a pretty monastic position. Embarrassingly, I couldn't always perform, and though Sanna was always very reassuring, and I was able to blame tiredness, we both knew that our sex life was pretty much done, now. Barring some seismic shifts, at least.

And... I guess this led me to what was on my mind, right now. I'd thought we were both ok with how things were panning out. Accepting, if not overjoyed; tolerant, if not delighted. That's just marriage, right? Except, last night, she'd said something quite odd, and I wasn't sure how to take it.

We'd been on the couch. School night, bottle of red wine, shoes kicked off, Sanna resting her feet in my lap. TV on, whatever the schedule throws at you. You can picture the scene, I'm sure. It was probably playing out in countless houses across the estate. And then what the schedule threw at us was one of those post-watershed, mildly titillating documentaries. A series of married couples, all keen to expound on how wife swapping and open relationships had revolutionised their happiness. Awkward viewing on one level, particularly when you're aware of your own relationship's shortcomings. On another, a bit arousing, and I couldn't deny that I'd had to shift a little, moving Sanna's heels from my groin in a way that I'm sure she didn't notice. But she was definitely paying close attention to the programme itself. Because as the credits rolled, she looked me right in the eye, and said,

"Well that was interesting, wasn't it?"

'Interesting'. Such an ambiguous word. But, as it rolled out of her lips, it sounded pretty loaded, and the way she said it I'd swear it was about eight syllables long instead of four. Of course, I didn't pick her up on the remark, and shortly afterwards we headed up to bed... teeth brushed, a few pages of reading, and lights out. I pecked her once on the lips, and we rolled to our respective sides of the mattress.

I couldn't help feeling, though, that this conversation might not be over. And honestly, I was inexplicably conflicted about whether I wanted it to be. But sometimes, it's best to let sleeping dogs lie, and I certainly wouldn't be the one to rouse them this time. I couldn't help but feel that our shortcomings in the sex department were more about me than Sanna, now, if analysed closely.

I might be on dangerous ground.

Sighing, I pulled the t-shirt over my head, checked myself again in the mirror, and trudged downstairs for dinner.

 

[SannaBlonde]

I finished off the meeting on Zoom, having given my three closest associates their assignments for the next week. I was at home, which is where I could work from at least 2 days a week, sometimes more. The government agency where I held a position as a senior advisor had become more liberal with that after the pandemic - even when it was over they were positive to having at least senior staff being able to work out of a home office. There were financial reasons to consider too of course, cutting costs of office space for example.

I liked it for the most part, even if meeting people in real life was better so I tried to go to the office at least two days a week.

So it was Friday afternoon. Mark - my husband - would be home in a couple of hours. I’d already prepared dinner for us.

Mark and I hadn’t spent much time together recently. We’d been a couple for 10 years now and we loved each other still, our relationship was for the most part a healthy one. Sure, we could maybe be better at communicating our needs and wants and feelings. In that sense it was pretty classic - me the woman wanting to talk feelings and him receding into himself.

I tried to cut him some slack. Mark had had a difficult time the last couple of years at work, promotions that didn’t materialize, bosses who broke promises, uneven workloads.. yeah it wasn’t easy but I did get annoyed at him sometimes for not talking to me about it and for not being more… assertive. Take what is his. Be more confident.

There was no doubt about who ’wore the trousers’ in our marriage. It’s a cliché expression but still. I did like control and I was more outgoing, I often found myself making the decisions but also complaining at times that he didn’t.

Now, the sex. Sex for us - not just in our relationship but even in our earlier lives - had never been a huge thing. Neither of us were very experienced and vanilla was fine with us. The important thing was the intimacy, the understanding, nice and slow and.. Boring?

Earlier, I hadn’t thought so. But the last year or so I felt it more and more. Bored. Same old. I also noticed that Mark was not always up to it, like his work was affecting him in bed too. I tried to encourage him, tried to be more attentive but it wasn’t working. It actually started to annoy me. My own sexdrive was growing as I turned 40, not uncommon I had heard. I wanted it more and more often and started to think about how sex might be if not so terribly vanilla..

There was no infidelity from either of us, I was certain of it. In another marriage with other people it might have been an issue, something to worry about. But not with Mark. And not with me.

So what does a 40-year old, sexually frustrated wife do?

She looks online. I didn’t have any expectations, just exploring a bit. Maybe feeding a fantasy or two. Maybe having a look round what all the fuss was about with porn that apparently everyone was watching nowadays. I realized quickly I liked it much more than I had expected, even letting it into my masturbation routine which had grown more frequent. Mark and I had stumbled across TV shows, talking about swingers and group sex and that kind of thing. I’m not sure what Mark thought about it (we didn’t speak to each other about it at all), but some of the content stuck with me. What really tipped the scales was something I’d read about threesomes, and that in combination with the porn I was consuming - where I found myself especially enjoying two (or more) men on one woman - pushed further. Deeper.

I made contact with Jamal through a chat. We got ta talking, finding out he lived nearby. Jamal was nice, I found it easy to open myself up and so I did - telling him about the threesome thing, about my marriage, about our sexlife. Jamal was understanding, experienced, assertive and it didn’t take that long for him to suggest it. Meeting us. Drinks at our place. Talk. Feel things out. I was amazed at how easily I was drawn in by him.

We shared pics. Jamal was only 23, black with an absolutely incredible body, big and muscular, making me feel rather inferior! But he told me he loved older blonde women with curves. He was quite the sweet talker.

So. Mark. What to say, how to say it?? Was I going crazy? Did I want to go through with this?
I did know one thing. I had to speak to him about it.

And that’s why this Friday evening I’d made a nice dinner, cleaned, washed up.
I tried to find the right moment for it, but there wasn’t really one so after we finished our desserts and were still sitting opposite eachother at the dining table I went for it. As I began Mark tried to interrupt me but I told him pretty harshly not to. And I spoke.

Spoke about us, about our sexlife, about my fantasies, about watching that TV show together. And then about Jamal.

‘He wants to meet us, darling. And to be totally honest, I want to meet him too… And.. god I know this is going to sound crazy but we planned for tomorrow.. I know that doesn’t give you much time to think but it’s just a drink. Think of it as a friend is coming over…’

 

[Bluebanzai]

You ever have those moments when you're out of body, looking down on yourself? For me, I think, they're a way of coping with stressful situations, like - all this is really happening to someone else. And right now, I was hovering somewhere by the light fitting, looking down at myself, and idly wondering whether I more closely resembled a carp or a haddock.

Not that I've any real familiarity with fish. It's just: that thing they do, when they're gasping for air, mouths opening and closing soundlessly? Yup. The 'me' at the table was doing a pretty fair approximation of it.

I didn't know what I was supposed to say. Hell, I didn't know what I was allowed to say. She'd make it pretty clear that this was happening, and it seemed like I had twenty-four hours to wrap my head around it and do something other than gape. So, for now, I started by closing my mouth. That seemed like a sensible first step. And I thought.

The rational side of me was pretty taken aback. Shit, I thought it was guys who were supposed to go rooting around in seedy online chatrooms? What exactly had she been up to? No, scratch that, I probably knew enough already. She'd been fixing up to meet a potential sex partner. This, according to all rules I'd been taught, was very definitely Not Good.

But, also, I think part of me knew we couldn't go on as we were for ever. I'd been burying the sex issue for too long. Was this going to be the conversation that I looked back on as spelling the end of our marriage? Or - cue the happy couples on yesterday's TV - could it actually turn out well? Whatever the answer, it appeared that my consent was not entirely an issue here.

I'll never actually know if I could have said 'no'. Might we have stepped back from the edge? What I can say is that I sensed the decision had moved out of my hands... and perhaps that was just another shift in the same direction we'd been heading so frequently of late.

Fuck it. What was the worst that could happen?

I looked back into Sanna's big, blue eyes. She was flushed - with nerves? excitement? - and the light caught her wavy blonde hair as she tilted her head to one side, waiting for my answer. Mouth still closed, I nodded at her, dumbly. And as she topped my wine glass up with one hand, I reached out to her other hand and held it.

Later, by the fireside, I tried to make sense of the many questions tumbling around in my brain. Who was this guy, what did he look like? How long had they been chatting? What was his sexual background? Sanna, calmly but pointedly, stonewalled me.

"It's just a drink. Like meeting a friend. You'll find out tomorrow."

She was like one of those politicians who've been given a line to take in interviews, and they trot it out in reponse to any question at all. I gave up, my head still spinning.

But that night, as we switched the reading lights off and rolled to our separate sides of the mattress, two things happened. She reached for my hand again, and squeezed it. And, maybe or maybe not as a result of that particular contact, I found myself becoming gloriously, and unexpectedly, erect. In my head, I was seeing my wife, naked, performing all kinds of sex acts. It was like a switch had been flicked. She'd always been attractive to me: she still had a pretty good figure, with a curvaceous ass and a great pair of legs. I'd always found her attractive. It's just that, for some reason, I think I'd stopped finding her sexual. And tonight, that had definitely changed.

Seeing her chest rising rhythmically, now, I gently disentangled my fingers from hers, pushed back the duvet, and padded towards the en suite. And there, for reasons I'm not entirely sure I could explain, I masturbated myself swiftly and urgently into the sink, spurting hard and long as my climax came, and I gasped for air once more.

I turned the tap on, washing traces of my self pleasure into the drain, rinsing my sticky hands, and splashing my face with cold water. As I tiptoed back to bed, I wasn't quite sure whether Sanna had stirred. I looked at her, in the darkness, but I couldn't entirely make out her face.

I had no idea what tomorrow would bring. Random questions swirled in my mind. What the hell would he be like? Hey, what nibbles should you provide for the man who wants to bed your wife? And - fuck - what would she wear?

Lying next to her, I closed my eyes. By this time tomorrow, I guessed I'd know everything.

 

[SannaBlonde]

As soon as I said it, I got the feeling I'd gone too far. Been mesmerized by Jamal's sweet talking and his bodybuilder body and not taken into account Mark's feelings on the subject.

'I realize I should have given you more time...' i added. I stopped to think what I would have done if Mark had put his foot down - not that he ever did. I would probably have convinced him, talked him into it. Like I always did. It wasn't a character trait I was always very proud of even if it was useful. Like a super power I guess. Use it responsibly...

So Saturday came. I found myself getting more nervous than I had anticipated. Mark ran some errands, I could tell he was probably nervous too, or upset but hiding it...

What to wear? I wasn't the kind of woman who had slutty outfits to pull out of the closet when the occasion arose! Anyway, that wasn't what I wanted to signal. Something that was me but still.. nice. Like I'd made an effort. I chose a light blue, armless dress zipped up at the back, that stretched down half-way down my thighs and fit fairly tightly round my curves. Some cleavage but nothing extraordinary. The dress was pretty tight and supportive at the front so there was no need for a bra (my breasts are a b cup so they can make it pretty well on their own!) A white thong (I had to dig deep in the drawer for the thong, I rarely used them). Black shoes with some heel. Put my hair up in a messier style bun. Some make-up. Not too much.
Yeah. Not bad...

Just 30 minutes to go.
'Oh god.. I'm sorry, honey.. Are we making a mistake..??' It was a silly thing to ask Mark but I couldn't help it. We'd prepared some drinks that were already on the living room table. The doorbell rang!!

'Hi Jamal.. nice to meet you finally.. come in!'
My knees were a little weak and my heart was racing, it was not how I usually reacted in social situations. I looked up at the man, standing 6ft 4' and dressed very... casually. I guess I was expecting a suit, or something.. smart. But here was Jamal in what I could only describe as streetwear. A tanktop revealing his huge arms, and oversized, bright red sweatpants. The sweatpants were obviously expensive and cool, but.. still.. It did clash with how Mark and I were dressed and also accentuated an obvious difference in class and background.

'Hi Sanna.. beautiful.. thanks, great to meet ya girl..' He stepped in, gave me a light hug and grinned. The choice of outfit might have been a surprise but I could tell that Jamal was OK. The same nice man as online. What a relief..

'This is Mark.. my husband...'

 

[Bluebanzai]

Honestly, I was tempted to drift straight up to the ceiling again, and watch this scene play out with a nice bucket of popcorn. But, with a supreme effort, I kept my feet on the ground, and eyed Sanna's partner of choice. Holy crap. He was a monster.

He towered about a foot over me, by the time those pristine white pumped up trainers were added to the equation. Come to think of it, I wasn't even sure that I'd be taller than him if he lay sideways on the ground. It was a bit like a sculptor had ordered a giant rectangular block of marble, and got bored with the chiselling two hours in. ('Sod it, I'll just make him oblong and go for an early lunch.')

As Jamal extended a giant paw towards me, I tensed my hand to shake his, but, inevitably, he was going for a fist bump. How very cool of him. So, he just kind of hit my fingers. And then, he just kind of blanked me. Easily slipping an arm into the small of Sanna's back, he guided her expertly to the sofa, where he spread his ample frame next to hers, effectively pinning her against one side, whilst draping himself over the remainder. It no longer looked like our three seater was going to hold three people - at least, not unless I squeezed into the few inches of cushion remaining between his right thigh and the couch's outer arm. I looked to Sanna for moral support but, already, her attention seemed to be elsewhere.

"So... Jameel, was it?" (Hah. That'd throw him off balance a little). "Can I get you some wine, buddy?"

Buddy??? Where the hell did that come from? This beast was about half my age. Other than the genetic mismatch, and the whole weak sperm issue, he could literally have been my son. But he didn't even break his stare with my wife as he responded. He simply raised a hand in my general direction and, with a deep and accented voice, said,

"Nah. Just get me a beer."

I think I'd been expecting him to want to impress me, to win me over a little. I mean, he needed my agreement for this little scene, no? But he was treating me like some kind of butler. I was about to say something - although it probably wouldn't have been too confrontational, because: huuuuge - when Sanna glanced over at me and cut in,

"You know what? I'll have a beer too, please darling. If that's ok."

"Erm... sure." She'd taken the wind out of my sails, a little. "I'll... be back in just a minute, then."

Leaving the two of them to make their introductions, I left the lounge, and headed for the kitchen. Actually: introductions? A nasty thought struck me. This guy probably knew more about my wife's fantasies than I did. Was I the outsider, here? What had they already shared, in their online chatrooms?

Opening the fridge, I spied a pot of queen olives. Hmmm. Sanna would appreciate those. Tick for me. I pulled them out, but there was no beer to be seen. Fine. I knew we had some in the garage. I walked through the connecting door.

I wasn't sure about this, now, I mused. It was a good job that Sanna had only intended this to be a first meeting, for us all to check each other out. I mean, 24 hours ago - and I'm not going to lie - part of me had found this situation to be sexually interesting. Exciting, even. But this Jamal guy? No, no. Too much. He wasn't right for her, for us. I'd get him his beer, and then we'd wrap things up fairly quickly with a promise to think things through. From there, we'd have an easy escape route.

I opened the spare fridge. Hell, where were the damned bottles? They must be by the back wall. Why couldn't he just have had a glass of wine? Sighing, I pulled a couple of crates aside, and moved the painting stuff I'd been using last month. Shit, there it was, right at the back. I cleared a path through, and grabbed a couple of bottles, pausing to put two more in the fridge, just in case. I hoped we wouldn't use them, but... worst case scenario, two would definitely be enough. And then, passing through the kitchen, I grabbed a chiller for the warmish cans, and a couple of glasses. Oh, and those olives. Bonus points for me.

Damn. I glanced at my watch. I'd been a good ten minutes, now. Still, at least it had been time I hadn't had to spend with Jamoool, or whatever he was calling himself. Smiling inwardly at my own witticism, I pushed open the lounge door.

"Here you go, guys!"
.

 

[SannaBlonde]

After we’d spoken for maybe 20 minutes, we were enjoying the beers Mark had fetched and I relaxed some more sensing that Jamal was not some joker or weirdo, he was good to talk to. Jamal and I were sitting on the couch, Mark opposite in an armchair. Jamal spoke, seemingly preparing for a change of direction.

’Ok so guys.. here’s the deal. I’ve done this before a few times and so I’ve worked out a strategy to save us all some time, ok?’ Jamal raised his arms and showed his palms in a gesture of ’I know what I am doing so listen’.

’We could sit here all night, drink beers yeah..? But we all know why I’m even here. I mean, look at us haha!’ I giggled as he clearly made fun of how different we were dress-wise. Mark and I exchanged a glance, I was trying to guess by his face what he was feeling, if he was ok…

’So here’s my plan. Sanna, sweetie.. we kiss. Ok? One kiss. And then there’ll be three outcomes as I see it:

1. We both feel directly that there ain’t no connection. Just no feel, ok? I know that’s the kinda thing you feel just right away.. In that case, we drink up, say our goodbyes and I let myself out, no problem.
2. Ok so then there is some connection.. a little feel, you get me? Haha.. in this scenario, I stay for a while.. maybe we kiss again later.. maybe no.. maybe I come see you another time.. who knows. Middle ground.. thinking time.. yeah?

3. Ok so there’s fire! We both just know it.. right? So we kiss again! Haha! And then we just play it as it comes.. and Mark.. in outcome three here’s your role.. just stay calm ok? And then I’ll set you up to join us aiight..?

What do you guys think? Give it a go? Nothing to lose right? Trust me, it’s the best way to go…’

Mark and I looked at each other. To me, it sounded ok. Yeah maybe moving things along faster than I was expecting but I was pretty sure it would be outcome two.. maybe one even.. It was actually thrilling, like a game of chance or something.

I laughed nervously as Jamal turned to face me, smiling.
’Haha oh god.. ok.. well.. let’s…’ But he interrupted by leaning in and planting a kiss on my lips. He stopped, looked me in the eyes, and without waiting kissed me again. And a third time. His big lips framing mine, and the last kiss softly sucking in my lower lip before letting it slip out as he pulled back. I had NEVER been kissed like that before!

I felt my face all hot, and a stirring feeling in my stomach. My heart pumped harder. We looked at each other again. I was losing something…

’Not bad yeah?’ Jamal grinned. I giggled, feeling stupid for a moment hearing my own childish laugh like a silly teenager.

’No.. not bad at all..’ I whispered. I glanced over at Mark, it was hard to read but.. he looked a little pale. I was about to ask how he was, when Jamal leaned in again, kissing me and this time is right hand on my right thigh, on the inside, caressing, as his tongue slipped inside me and I opened my mouth wider, wider still, as we kissed harder.. deeper.. oh god what the hell was happening. His strength and determination made me fall backwards against the back of the sofa, still kissing, still stroking in the inside of my thigh and now as I lost more control over myself my legs fell apart slightly and he moved his hand up and down the insides of both my thighs. I was so turned on by it. By the whole thing.

He stopped suddenly, pulled me up and found the zipper on the back of my dress fast, pulling it down. I was afraid to look at Mark, maybe ashamed of how aroused I was, how easily this was happening. Jamal was not waiting for anything or anybody. He slid my dress of my shoulders, exposing my tits. Just like that.

‘Oh yeah.. look at those baby…’ Jamal stared at them, squeezed them with both hands and then leaned down and began sucking my nipples and making loud slurping sounds.

‘Oh! Oh god.. haha!

I couldn’t help it, gasping I looked down to see his mouth transform my nipples into hard, swollen knobs. Putting my hands on his black head I steadied myself and looked over at my husband.

‘Are you ok over there, Mark?’ I asked as my hands moved over Jamals neck, shoulders, arms..

 

[Bluebanzai]

I listened to that little speech with a mix of bemusement and sheer cold-fingered dread. The whole 'three options' thing, I mean. Wasn't this supposed to be drinks, just to get to know each other? To see if we all felt comfortable? Hell, even perhaps to set a few ground rules, given that only 24 hours ago she and I had had a perfectly normal, sexless marriage?

And then, I watched him just fall upon her. I couldn't intervene, could I? Listen, first of all, the guy was twice my size, and half my age. Second, I'd actually welcomed him into the house... I'd even fetched his damn beer. Third, I just had to look at Sanna to know that - jesus christ - she was loving this. His hands were all over her, roaming up her thighs, as she opened her legs for him and fell back on the sofa.

And fourth. Fourth. I was hard. Rock hard.

Watching them both from the armchair, on the other side of the coffee table, I could see Sanna melting. Writhing. She hadn't looked at me like that in years, hadn't responded to my touch like that... well, ever. Suddenly, she seemed hungry. Animal, almost.

She looked over at me once, sure, but she didn't seek permission or anything. And even then he instantly reclaimed her, pulling her eyes back onto him as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. It was like I was watching her leaving me, live time. This wasn't what a threesome was supposed to be, was it?

And then... watching that dress come down, his mouth on her tits as she pushed up towards him, back arched, her hands pulling his head in closer.

You know, I don't think we'd ever even christened that sofa, she and I? The bedroom had been the place for us. But here she was, half naked, her white skin contrasting sharply with his glossy black frame, as he pawed her and took her to places she clearly wanted to go.

My brain wanted me to stop this. I don't know, to shout at them, to call the police or something if I had to, just to do whatever it took to get him out. But, inexplicably, my body wasn't on the same page at all. In fact, in the same way that thoughts of this had make me jerk off last night, I could feel myself becoming hugely aroused. Watching my woman ("my woman"?) being desired. Being taken, objectified, treated as a quick fuck. We hadn't done that for years. I mean, it's not what husbands do, is it? And her: watching her so passionate, so eager. Her nipples hardening, her throat red with lust, her curves melting into his body like recumbent ballet.

And just as I was thinking that she'd forgotten me totally, forgotten that this was supposed to be a three way thing, Sanna looked over at me and threw me a lifeline.

"Are you ok over there, Mark?" she said.

I actually think this was the tickbox bit, so she could claim that she'd got my permission, afterwards. Because if I'd said no, I really don't think she'd have stopped. But, regardless, her recognition of my presence in the room allowed me to assert my own place in all of this.

I stood up, my trousers tenting uncomfortably in front of me. I walked towards her, at the far end of the sofa, as she lay under his heavy frame, waiting for her to reach out for me, to change position somehow, to bring me into the scene. But she seemed to lose herself in his embrace again in that short time, her attention again solely on the sensations he was awakening within her. And so, I found myself standing a few inches away, jiggling from one foot to another, trying to get her to notice me again, as I watched this stacked young guy mauling my wife with his powerful hands, in full-on dolby surround HD.

"Hey..." I said, trying to sound cool. And I bent forward, awkwardly, to put a sweating hand on her shoulder.