Lanaya, Luna, Celeste and Morgan

[scarfolamew]

My worst fears seemed to be coming to pass, as far as Morgan was concerned.

However, it’s time to switch gears for a moment and have an INTERLUDE in which we catch up on Felix and Celeste.

I've really been looking forward to writing this chapter for reasons that will become clear. Celeste, you're not allowed to read it

Celeste was basically out of the picture completely during all these developments with Morgan, as she had opted to spend part of the year studying abroad. I missed her tremendously and couldn't wait to catch her up on everything. I knew she'd listen with rapt attention as I shared all the nuances of my evolving relationship with Morgan, and offer me wise and actionable counsel on how I should proceed.

And it just felt like our relationship could really embark on a new chapter at this point in general, free from all the anxiety and emotional cataclysm. The fact that she and Felix had officially broken up was not even of momentous concern to me; that’s how much I’d genuinely moved past my jealous entanglements.

As well, Felix had extended the olive branch, and the two of us formed our own real friendship for the first time, independently of Celeste. He and Celeste would continue to be entangled with one another as long as they lived in proximity at the same school, as was par for the course for these things. But it was emphatically no longer my problem or business.

Things worked out such that in the middle of all of this, while we were on break from class, Celeste flew out to the west coast to visit me.

This had been a long-standing goal between us; she’d taken me to her hometown and introduced me to her friends and family, and I had always been eager to share my world with her as well.

So just like that, while I was licking my wounds over the setbacks with Morgan, Celeste was a guest in my home for a few days.

I don't know how the stars aligned for it to happen like this, but they did. We were both single. I was no longer obsessed with her, having found a new target of infatuation. We hadn't seen each other in ages because of summer break followed by her studying abroad.

Dear reader, after literally years of yearning for the forbidden temple of her body, would you believe me if I told you that Celeste made all my dreams come true?

I'm not even sure how much I do want to tell you

The arrangement during her stay was going to be us sharing a large bed together. Which was no big deal; we’d established during the road trip and other adventures that I was capable of keeping my hands to myself. I had no expectations this would play out any different.

My home was furnished with a hot tub. Celeste and I’d never resumed our habits of skinny dipping around campus together, and as far as I was concerned her comfort level on this front wasn’t something I even needed to make my business. I nipped it in the bud by mentioning how she would need a bathing suit on account of my two super-horny younger brothers who would be afoot.

Well.

I knew a switch had flipped between us when, immediately upon arriving home after retrieving her from the airport, she wanted to freshen up. I was explaining how to work the shower’s temperamental faucet. My words almost faltered as she just stripped naked beside me. In the middle of the day. With the fucking door open, and my family milling about the house.

What the fuck was happening?

I hadn’t seen her naked in quite some time, and never in such up close and glorious detail. And she looked absolutely stellar.

My facial expression must have been somewhere between quizzical and dumbfounded. The look she returned contained none of the customary expectation for me to remain stoic and ignore the fact of her nudity. She was, in fact, grinning at me like the goddamn cat that ate the canary. Like she was playfully daring me to react.

I maintained enough composure to finish my faucet tutorial. And then I reached out, telegraphing my intentions openly and casually, and ran a hand over the incredible body Celeste was displaying for me. Her skin felt like fucking electricity crackling under my palm. She had literally arrived at my house fifteen minutes beforehand, and this was happening.

Nothing was said, really. I might have uttered a “Jesus, Celeste...” She just fucking smiled at me with this knowing look, as if she’d won the first round of some game.

I shook my head in disbelief and left her to her shower. I closed the door behind me, since it seemed like it wasn’t going to occur to her to do so. Pinched myself to see if I was actually awake.

Okay, so Celeste was determined to spend her time in California being emphatically, unapologetically naked. I was a big boy, I could handle it, right? I’m not sure if she even did bring a bathing suit as I advised. She sure as fuck never donned it. My brothers and a couple of my friends became well acquainted with her naked tits. More on that later.

Then there was the sleeping arrangement. I do not remember how the naughty stuff started. We’d gone to bed with an appropriate distance between us, but when I woke up Celeste and I were cuddled intimately together. I was spooning her close, with a hand up her shirt groping her bare breasts, my erect penis working its way between her legs as she ground her ass against me in half-awake, involuntary thrusts.

Almost immediately, I had to pull away from her and blast away into my pajama bottoms. Wondering how awake Celeste had also been, how much trouble I was in.

I had only to wonder but an instant, because Celeste started laughing at me. “You came to my titties,” she taunted in a sing-song voice.

I guess she had beaten me in round 2 as well.

Things escalated from there. You don’t get to know all the details. I couldn’t express them even if I tried.

I quickly understood that there was an immense, yawning chasm between Celeste’s sexual prowess, and mine. On the spectrum of learning to walk before you can run, I was crawling and she was dancing. Skydiving.

Everything I had suspected from my windowed glimpses into her sex life were true. Truer than I possibly could have imagined.

The discrepancy was so blatant, pronounced, and unmistakable that we both literally had to chuckle at it. Like, the distinct memory I have is her saying, “That was… pretty good?” followed by our shared laughter at how unconvinced she’d sounded.

It wasn’t mean-spirited, it didn’t bother me; it was the simple truth of the matter.

I just felt so honored that she was, at last, sharing this aspect of herself with me. I do think I handled myself okay. I didn’t get weird about it or anything. I mean, I’m obviously weird in general but you get it.

She was very sweet. She didn’t make fun or compare me to anybody or anything like that. It didn’t hurt that she joined the ranks of women who were pleasantly surprised by nature’s generosity, gracing me with an incredulous “Dude.. why is your cock so fat?” that I immediately chiseled into my memory’s bedrock.

I finally understood the Lanaya / Steven effect where a guy could cum immediately and repeatedly from merely having a female barely gesture at his penis.

She was generous as well. I had fucking years worth of secret urges and fantasies stored up, and the unhesitant “okay!” (or "it is hard to resist..") she sang in response to my every voiced request would ring in my ears for some time.

—

But even better than all that, there was public nudity in a non-sexual context!

(I have no idea what the fuck is the matter with me.)

There was simply no universe in which Celeste was going to wear a fucking bathing suit to relax in our excellent hot tub. My two younger brothers, my parents, and any friends who were dropping by were just going to have to be mature about there being a naked girl in our midst, simple as.

Would you be shocked to learn that I was delighted beyond measure at this new normal?

My bros did manage to play it cool, for the most part, but you could tell they were pretty giddy as well. My friends, too. Anyway, Celeste was a hit. People who knew that I’d had a big thing for her went out of their way to tell me that they got why.

Did I invite fucking Lanaya over in the course of all this and try to get them both naked in my hot tub together? I can’t remember if that actually happened. Maybe I was wise enough to recognize it for the Icarus move it would have been.

One moment that stands out to me. It was towards the end of Celeste’s visit, and my brother was exchanging goodbyes with her. She and I happened to be in the hot tub at the time.

“I’d give you a goodbye hug,” he said, “but you’re probably in there naked, so..”

But this wasn’t a problem for Celeste. “As long as you don’t mind me getting you wet,” she said, the water cascading off her naked form as she rose up for the embrace.

Hopefully Celeste wasn’t gutterminded enough to read this whole section, because I sure would be mortified for her to know how high that little detail ranks in my personal spank bank.

—

Did all of this undo eons of emotional growth and send me careening back into the abyss of infatuation with Celeste? No! It really was just a casual and fun experience between people who were finally on the same page about it, such as we were.

I got to be Celeste’s special friend. In my dramatic, self-centered world, it felt like one of the great imbalances of the universe had finally been put right.

That said… fine, I admit it was hard to get over the physical aspects of what had transpired. And maybe you could accuse me of never truly having moved past it, since here I am unburdening my damn soul about it decades later.

Okay, so I’d played “just the tip” with an iceberg representing depths of pleasure I would surely never get to chart in full*, with Celeste or with anybody. It wasn’t even jealousy at this point, so much as envy. The expectations placed on any future partner of mine would be considerable.

Yep, it was something I would use to gently torture myself for some time. The what-ifs. The various ways Celeste and I could have taken further advantage of that tiny liminal space that opened up for us on her visit to the west coast, only to snap shut just as quickly when we returned to real life.

Like, what if I’d actually been able to handle her for more than, uh, 2-3 seconds a time? What might that have been like?

But I was also wise enough by this point to realize this was simply how my mind was going to work, no matter what. I’d always find a reason why there was some life-changing sexual adventure I should feel tormented over missing, even in the midst of having a life-changing sexual adventure.

Maybe just a little bit of torment can be a treat.

—

Celeste will keep showing up in the narrative, but this here was the grand finale of our story together as I understand it.

Stay tuned for our next installment, in which we return to school and I attempt to get things back on track with Morgan!


* I tried to resist this turn of phrase, I really did

[scarfolamew]

Looking back, nobody else in our lives ever stood a chance.

It’s easy to say this in retrospect about Morgan, but at the time it all seemed to hang by a thread.

I was not going to let myself be phased by her and Keanu. Hadn’t she told me there were no feelings involved? And was I not an old hand at fielding the emotions that attended my crush having a sex life that didn’t include me?

And had she really turned down my suggestion that we have sex with each other instead of our respective FWBs? I had just blurted it out. Maybe she thought I’d been joking. Maybe she just wasn’t the type to respond well to that sort of forward remark. Maybe Morgan was secretly dying to have sex with me, but I’d embarrassed her and fucked it up.

In fact, why had I uttered such an ill-advised remark?! I should have asked Morgan for a kiss, not gone straight to suggesting sex. What a dumbass. Of course she’d played it off.

—

Morgan and I were back on campus after the break, and getting along famously once more, at least in our well-established friend routine.

“I told my parents about you,” Morgan mentioned off-handedly while we were doing who knows what.

“Oh? What did you tell them about me?”

Morgan shrugged. “That you’re my Good Friend.”

Just the touch of emphasis. The hint of mischief twinkling in her eye when she said it.

She had to also think there was something more between us than just a normal, platonic friendship! She just had to. We were spending half of our nights in the same bed together. The logistics of which were eroding other normal friendship boundaries.

Recall, I’d fallen asleep in her bed one of the first times the two of us had hung out together, fully dressed and everything. This had evolved into overnight kits, storing pajamas in one another’s rooms, things of that nature.

We were learning how to cohabitate and I hadn’t even tried for a kiss.

—

The first kiss was a joyful little accident.

Morgan had an off-campus job at a local bar. I was picking her up from her shift, per routine. Also per routine, she was leaving work with a healthy buzz.

Probably every other car driving back from this bar to our campus was being piloted by a drunk driver; the cop had the misfortune of targeting the one stone-cold sober guy just picking up his friend from work.

Not that I didn’t have a fresh bowl of then-highly-illegal weed loaded up as an after-work treat for Morgan to spark up.

Morgan immediately began to panic when the sirens flashed behind us. I was steady as fuck and handled the situation. Hello officer. Yes, we just left the bar. No, neither of us were there drinking; she works there and I just drove there to pick her up. No, officer, I haven’t had a drop of alcohol.

Moments later the cop was apologizing for having bothered us, and sending us on our way home.

On the spectrum of interactions with LEOs this was obviously nothing at all, but Morgan had been certain we were in trouble. For the weed if nothing else. I’d saved her from a little zombie apocalypse after all, just like in my fantasies.

And she thought I was a fucking hero for it. “Oh wow, you fucking handled that,” she gushed. “You were amazing!”

When we made it back to campus, she threw her arms around me in celebration. And it was almost like we couldn’t agree on which shoulder we were criss-crossing over for the hug, so we met in the middle and our lips bumped into one another.

It was genuinely an accident; neither of us had been going in for a kiss. And we could have backed off at that point and laughed about the accidental kiss without any awkwardness.

Instead, the accidental kiss was followed by several undeniably intentional kisses. Then we pulled back.

“Sorry,” I began. “I didn’t mean to..”

“It’s fine!” She’d lost none of her elation. “It was nice. Let’s go in!”

—
Winter was upon us.

It became increasingly unthinkable to part ways and walk back across campus in the sub-freezing temperature. What, just so we could be apart from each other? Sleepovers entered a mandatory, 7 day/week regiment.

It became too annoying to even dash down the cold, damp hallway to change in the dorm’s shared restroom. We switched to the honor system. She trusted me to avert my eyes while changing in the room beside me. I never broke her trust; I was aching to see her unclothed, but I wanted it to be something offered, not something taken.

It became pointless not to cuddle up to one another against winter’s chill. Morgan appreciated my warmth, and maybe she was starting to appreciate my body in other ways as well? She’d ever so subtly nestle her ass into me while we spooned; she’d claim my hand in hers and place it against her sternum, between her breasts. Sighing contentedly. Her nightwear was as conservative as the rest of her attire, but with my hand positioned so, there was just going to be some incidental contact with her frankly huge tits.

Words can’t do Morgan’s breasts justice. Not mine, at least; who do I look like, Keats? Her reserved presentation contrasts with and enhances the fact that she’s so well-endowed, her chest almost a secret lewdness. The temptation in these moments to move my hand in the slightest bit was excruciating; to test their give and firmness, how they moved in response to any shifting contact.

In any of my previous relationships, I would have aggressively pushed for all she’d been willing to yield in this regard, seizing greedy handfuls of her expansive titty flesh. A policy of asking forgiveness rather than permission. But that wasn’t the way with Morgan; I wanted her to lead, and was enchanted by every action she took us in the direction of physical intimacy.

And like I said, in my mind this was all hanging by a thread. I had no idea that, in her heart of hearts, Morgan believed our union was just as inevitable at this point as I did. That she did secretly want to have sex with me. To be with me in every way. That she wanted all this, and was just scared shitless by the implications of what it meant for the future. I would have died and gone to heaven if I’d known.

Instead I treated it like an optical illusion only visible if you avoid looking directly at it. An object so fragile that it shatters if you try to reach for it.

—-

Well, eventually my discipline cracked.

My personal space and sense of inhibition are never operating at full capacity during the process of waking up in the morning, especially not with lovely Morgan in my arms. It was warm and cozy and unbelievably sensual.

Real-world obligations meant we were going to have to exit our little bubble of warmth and intimacy, don clothes, and brave the outdoors. This, Morgan denounced.

“Ughhhh, it would be so nice to just stay in bed,” she cooed.

As soon as the notion struck me, I knew the moment was right. The sensuality and warmth that was tempting Morgan to remain in bed with me was like a dial, and I knew could simply reach out and turn that dial up.

Her breasts were right there, begging to be caressed and fondled. My hand was already moving, unrecallable, the decision having been made.

“Is this okay?” I whispered to her, my heart pounding as I ever so gently took hold of one of her braless, pajama-clad tits, and then the other, and then back to the first.

“Y-yes,” Morgan gasped.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit. My mind was racing and my heart was in outer space.

I could not tell you, with a gun to my head, how long it lasted. It could have been five seconds or five minutes.

“We have to get up!” Morgan eventually squeaked, fleeing from my clutches and retrieving her clothes to get changed. She was blushing furiously, and biting down on a mischievous grin while I gawked at her, jaw slack. “Turn around, you!”

[whosbeensleeping]

Lordy McBloody Jumpin Jehosephat! A double dose of wish fulfillment! I can't even!

[scarfolamew]

The “first kiss” between Morgan and I might have been a fluke, an accident of adrenaline-prompted ebullience.

The winter morning’s fondling of her breasts – and the way our bodies had responded to the act – had been more blatantly, undeniably sexual.

So it was time to rejoice, right?

I hesitated. I’d experienced brief interludes where my relationship with eg Celeste had become sexual, but only until reality reasserted.

The kiss had seemed, for a while (some number of days? weeks?) to be a one-off. But after I put my hands on her tits that morning, I’d only have to wait until later that same glorious day for it to become heated again between us.

I know from comparing notes with Morgan after the fact that we both spent the rest of the day looking forward to becoming naked with one another.

I asked her if she wanted to have sex, and she said yes.

I’ll be honest, it didn’t go spectacularly!

I experienced a problem I never had up until this point: difficulty with the penetration itself. This was somewhat of an ego boost, of course. I’m too big for her!

The truth was just that she was nervous. It was fumbling, awkward sex. Now, I want to assure the reader that Morgan and I are truly made for each other sexually, and the sex I have with her isn’t just better than the sex I had with anybody else, it eclipses all other sex so utterly that you can’t even categorize it as the same act.

But it took us years to get there. I read a lot of commentary about how if you don’t have sexual chemistry with a romantic prospect you should cut your losses and move on. Well, not that I would have ever followed advice like that anyway, but thank goodness I didn’t because now I’m married to a fucking goddess.

At any rate, making the transition from friends to lovers came in fits and starts, to put it kindly. Nudity and fondling was now the norm, but sex was a bit of an Ordeal. For Morgan it was a matter of: why would I subject myself to the messiness and vaginal soreness of sex when just cuddling naked and having my breasts caressed feels so nice?

And she basically said this to me. I think it was the third time I went for a condom, she literally said “Do we have to?”

“Well, I mean, we’re together and in a sexual relationship so we should be having sex,” was my theory.

At this point she let me down pretty hard. Yes, we now had a sexual relationship, but she still just considered me to be her Good Friend. In fact, she let me know, she was entirely against the idea of romantic partnership in general and didn’t conceive of herself as someone who wanted that in her life!

So no, we weren’t “together” in the way I had assumed us having sex meant we were.

Now at this point in my life, I wasn’t going to mince words or play games. I told Morgan exactly how I felt about all this. That since long before we had gotten to know each other and become friends, I had intended to claim her as my monogamous, exclusive, romantic lover. That’s what this relationship was for me, and I intended to continue pursuing it as such.

It scared the shit out of her. She knew what was coming: once Morgan and I were together, that was going to be it. I know all of this in retrospect from discussing it with her in the years to come. She knew that our friendship and connection was so intense and powerful, if we were to add sex and romance to it, there’d be no turning back. She didn’t feel, at the time, she was ready.

So, she rebelled against it.

Morgan and I entered into one of our more tumultuous and emotionally cataclysmic periods. She was looking for ways to assert her independence against our increasingly intense bond. This meant I was in for getting the ever-living shit cucked out of me for the next couple months. Morgan remains the last woman I have ever slept with, but I can’t say the same for her!

Find out about my future wife slutting it up while I seethe with jealousy in our next installment.

[whosbeensleeping]

Thanks for this update. Your account of the ups and downs is a great read.

[scarfolamew]

I remember we were all partying this one night: Morgan, Celeste, Felix, Keanu and myself. Towards the end of the night, Morgan and I had a Disagreement; I wanted to stay in my room and be cozy and she was in the mood to be sociable and keep partying.

Somehow, our difference of opinion and mood escalated into a proper Fight. Morgan and I have always had the potential to get into serious quarrels, and honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I remember watching that show Newlyweds about Jessica Simpson and her limpdick husband; there’s an episode where they have some sort of dispute and the ensuing “fight” is just them sitting awkwardly together, not knowing what to say to each other. I was watching this with my friend/fwb Lena at the time and she commented that if this is how boring their fights are, their sex life must REALLY suck. I see a truth in that. Morgan and I are passionate people and it (eventually) led to passionate sex between us.

That said, the passionate fights came first, and this was one such.

The next day I woke up realizing I’d been in the wrong and feeling apologetic. My texts went ignored. I made my way halfway across campus to Morgan’s dorm building. I couldn’t gain entry through the front door, but her room was on the first floor and she often left her window cracked during the night. This was the case, so I shimmied it open and dove through it onto her bed, onto her, hoping my ebullience and good cheer would ameliorate the previous night’s bad blood.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” had been her response.

She was still angry with me, but there had been something else; a hint of panic at my presence. I had developed the maturity to handle neither of these elements.

Now I had a double apology to render: one for my behavior the previous night, and another for apparently violating her boundaries by coming through her window unannounced.

Bless her heart, Morgan is not somebody who is able to hide truths from me. After our quarrel was resolved, I could tell there was something that wasn’t sitting right with her. It took barely any prodding at all for her to confess that, had I showed up sooner, I would have found Keanu in her bed with her.

There’s no erotic spin I can put on this. I was devastated by this information and reacted accordingly. Morgan was already feeling stupid for having drunkenly stumbled into bed with him; she was already feeling a bit put-upon by my designs of monogamy and romance. So, my decision to punish and reprimand her for her actions went poorly.

—

Morgan and I have obviously discussed this over the years, and there’s no part of me that holds this stuff against her at this point. Forgiving Keanu was a lot more difficult; he knew exactly how I felt about Morgan and nominally supported my pursuit of her.

Morgan was rebelling against a relationship that was going to take over her life forever, and I get it.

Keanu? Well, he is a guy who thinks with his dick first and foremost. This remains true to this day. He’s one of my closest friends and the friend with whom I have the most frank and candid discussions about our sex lives and our fantasies.

Would you believe it, Keanu is a Fellow Traveller. As in, if I send an amateur porn video in the group chat of some hottie getting spit-roasted or passed around at a party, he’ll respond with a drooling emoji and say “God I wish that was my wife.” (He’s happily married with two kids at this point). He has never had any trouble admitting that he fantasizes about this stuff among our friend group.

He’s been a tremendous influence on me in this regard. It takes balls to embrace these fantasies, even in the privacy of our own minds. Meanwhile, this guy loudly and proudly asserts that jealousy is simply not an emotion he is capable of feeling when it comes to matters of sex.

So, I do think Keanu is just wired to embrace any sexual opportunities that arise, including taking advantage of him and my pseudo-girlfriend being drunk together that night after I’d bowed out.

The other wrinkle here is that Keanu and Morgan really were quite close before I got to know her and completely monopolized her life. He didn’t indicate anything at the time, but just a few weeks ago he mentioned to me out of the blue: “I still think about how you stole Morgan from me.”

This blew my fucking mind. I truly had no idea he felt that way!

In fact, I can just literally copy and paste the conversation for you:

Keanu — 11/30/2023 9:28 AM
Hahahaha
I still think it’s funny that you basically stole Morgan from me
But I love that it happened

Scarfolamew — 11/30/2023 9:29 AM
nuh uh i had dibs on her from like, day 1 freshman year
you should be apologizing to ME and thanking me for getting to fuck my wife

Keanu — 11/30/2023 9:29 AM
Hahaha wait really? You guys already had a history??

Scarfolamew — 11/30/2023 9:29 AM
nooooo not at alll lmfao

Keanu — 11/30/2023 9:29 AM
Oh hahaha
I was about to be blown away

Scarfolamew — 11/30/2023 9:29 AM
Actually it's funny, when I got to [REDACTED] I had this whole awakening
of like, you actually can just walk up to ridiculously hot girls and tell them you think they're hot
and sometimes they'll react well! and even let you kiss them and touch their tiddies and stuff!
but Morgan was way too fucking pretty to approach
i was terrified of her for years
I'll tell you more later got a meeting for 15 minutes

Keanu — 11/30/2023 9:30 AM
Hahaha awww
Ok word

Scarfolamew — 11/30/2023 9:31 AM
but did you really feel like i stole her or just like, in the sense of I deprived you of a convenient FWB scenario

Keanu — 11/30/2023 9:37 AM
The latter lmfao
Honestly I didn’t care about the hookup part that much, but I did kinda feel like I lost her as a friend
Just cuz we went from spending like every moment together for a semester or however long
To suddenly I never saw her
But like I saw how much you two just clicked and that always made me happy
Happy for both of you

—

Ain’t that kinda sweet? It was really nice to get this stuff out in the open between us after all these years.

Obviously I didn’t get into the weeds with him about how he had continued fucking her after her and I were kinda-sorta together; he might not even remember those specifics. And I truly don’t think it was the sort of thing where they had some intense sexual chemistry that kept bringing them together. They were comfortable having sex with each other, and they lived in the same building, so it occasionally happened.

So Morgan and I worked through it; my jealousy and possessiveness, her reluctance to accept the reality of our relationship.

We talked about her and Keanu. She was reluctant to share details because I was persecuting her for them. But, I had to stare this thing dead in the face to get past it. I craved her repeated reassurances that what had happened was just a dumb and regretful drunken hookup; that it wasn’t his physical prowess or dick size that was bringing her back to him repeatedly.

(From what I can tell, Keanu and I have nearly identically-sized dicks, although of course Morgan has always told me I’m the largest guy she’s ever been with).

Our talks did succeed in demystifying and defanging the ordeal for me. It has never been exactly something that turned me on. Going all the way back to Lanaya planting the seed of erotic jealousy and cuckoldry when she confessed her animal urge for that dude Steven: the element of sexual chemistry was just missing here. There wasn’t much to get turned on by.

Well, nearly nothing. An important detail emerged from them that did benefit me. It happened the very next time Morgan and I fucked.

It was, as typical, a fairly subdued and awkward session, with Morgan indicating a degree of discomfort as I heedlessly plunged my erect length into her. Gosh, it’s embarrassing to reflect on how bad I was at sex at the time.

She seemed like she had something she wanted to say, so I told her to spit it out.

“When Keanu did it, he didn’t use a condom…” she told me.

Gulp. “Yeah?”

“Yeah… he just pulled out and came on my stomach.”

“.. So, how was that?”

“It was kinda nice…”

And that, my friends, marks the last moment that a latex barrier would ever intercede between us.

As soon as the condom came off, sex between us improved instantly and immeasurably. Morgan absolutely despises them and will not under any circumstances demand that a sexual partner uses protection. Has this gotten her into some risky situations? You bet.

—

One such situation would arise quite soon. Winter break was upon us. It happened that Keanu, Morgan, and a third friend of ours who we’ll call Camila had pre-existing plans to go on a trip together.

They had been planning this since before Morgan and I became friends and lovers. Camila was from South America and invited Morgan and Keanu to come visit.

That’s right, in the midst of all this, I had to cope with Morgan and Keanu going on fucking vacation together.

“You guys are obviously going to fuck,” I accused.

She vehemently denied that this would happen. But, she also maintained that if it did, it wasn’t my right to complain, since we were officially NOT a monogamous couple in a romantic relationship, but just two very close friends whose relationship had evolved a sexual component.

So, I capitulated. Armed with an explicit hall pass, Morgan departed for the tropics with her friend and fuckbuddy, while I went out of my mind with anxiety.

[scarfolamew]

Believe it or not, Morgan didn’t fuck Keanu during their time together in [redacted South American country because that’s how paranoid I am].

Or did she? I consider Morgan to be one of the most honest-to-a-fault people I’ve ever met. She’s admitted so many things to me at great inconvenience to herself when she clearly didn’t want to. Whenever she’s tried to keep something from me or fudge the truth, it’s been so painfully and immediately obvious that the facade crumbled immediately upon the merest prodding.

And I’ve revisited the topic over the years. At first, accusatorily. And more recently, with the dark hope that something had happened and she’d somehow managed to hide it from me all these years. But her answer, and complete straightforward assuredness with which she provided it, has always been the same.

This is not to say that Morgan failed to have some extracurricular fun on her vacation.

At first, she was vague. “I met somebody and slept with him,” she told me.

I had been bracing myself for such an event. I was determined to not give her any grief over it. To keep my jealousy at bay, to let her know that I was providing a safe space to share whatever details about it she was willing.

I didn’t completely succeed. I also found it wildly titillating. I knew, with certainty, that I would have made any number of ill-advised bargains with any number of demons to be a fly on the wall and witness her tryst. That I would have cashed in my life savings for grainy cell-phone footage of the event, should it have existed.

I still had no frame of reference for these feelings. It would be years before I became familiar with any of the terminology associated with this kink, or indeed that such a kink even existed as a categorizable phenomenon.

So, with some degree of shame and humiliation, I tried to coax details from Morgan about what had happened without seeming too fixated or lascivious about it.

The essential breakdown of what transpired:

Morgan, Keanu, and Camila went out clubbing / bar hopping. Morgan is a shy type for whom alcohol is a powerful social lubricant, and the circumstance allowed her to connect with a guy in the course of their partying. He intimated that he had drugs he was willing to share with her if she was interested in joining him at his apartment. Let’s call him Lorenzo so I don’t have to keep saying “this guy”, although I couldn’t provide his actual name even if I wanted to because Morgan doesn’t remember it

His intentions were clear, and Morgan was interested. However, logistics were not in Morgan and Lorenzo’s favor; Keanu and Camila were ready to wrap up the night’s antics and return to the gated community where Camila lived.

Here’s where things get pretty embarrassing for Morgan, from her perspective. She procured from Lorenzo his address, and told him she’d endeavor to sneak out and meet with him later that night.

And she did.

Lorenzo turned out to be, thank the gods, a decent and trustworthy guy. This story does not end with Morgan getting kidnapped and human trafficked, or taken advantage of beyond her level of comfort, or contracting any sexually transmitted disease from the several rounds of unprotected sex she engaged in with this dude whose name she can’t remember and whom she had just met earlier that night, while in a state of severely impaired judgment.

He was an amateur filmmaker, and projected his work for her using a 16mm projector onto the wall of his apartment while they blew lines of cocaine. Which, I find quite sweet. It seems like they actually did have somewhat of a chemistry and connection; he treated her like a human being and not just a set of holes.

I would discover details about what transpired between them inadvertently while spending time with Morgan upon being reunited following that winter break.

Example:

Morgan and I in bed together, post-coitus, enjoying a joint together while nude. I comment on how relaxing and indulgent it feels, and isn’t it cool to engage in our first naked joint-smoking together?

“Actually… this isn’t my first time doing this,” she admitted with the slightest bashfulness. Lorenzo had enjoyed first rights in this regard.

Example:

Morgan and I in bed together, post-coitus. Me successfully mustering the dickward bloodflow to engage in our first-ever Round Two. Boasting proudly about it and offering that this was Morgan’s first experience with a guy who was able to get it up for her twice consecutively.

Again, she had to let me down. “That guy actually went several times. In all fairness, there were drugs involved…”

These details made me a bit jealous, but mostly I found them erotic beyond belief.

One thing I didn’t have to coax out of Morgan or discover by happenstance, was the fact that, unlike me, Lorenzo had unloaded his seed deep into my beloved Morgan’s unprotected fertile cunt during each round of their night together. Another first that I wouldn't match for years to come.

This of course, compounded the embarrassment Morgan felt over the whole scenario. Not only had she gotten caught by the gated community’s security upon trying to sneak back after she was done getting filled out and filled up all night, but she had to waylay whatever plans she and Keanu and Camila had for the following morning to obtain emergency morning-after contraception.

Of course, Camila and Keanu both knew that Morgan and I were kinda-sorta together by this point, and that she had let some other guy nut in her unprotected and repeatedly. So I had that sting of humiliation to carry around with me whenever I spoke to any of them.

—

Shortly after Morgan’s adventure in the tropics, she came to terms with the fact that she and I were not just close friends with an intimate component, but a couple in a committed, exclusive, monogamous relationship.

Nonetheless, further adventure and searing jealousy awaited Morgan and I. Stay tuned!

[scarfolamew]

I think at this point we’re nearly ready to set aside the linear narrative of all of this and talk about what we’re here to talk about: Morgan and my sex life, how it’s evolved, why I’m a wannabe, and the potential for me becoming anything otherwise.

Morgan and I have led a fucking wild life together. We’ve lived in many different parts of the country. We’ve explored different career paths before setting them aside and starting over completely. We’ve been wealthy; we’ve been homeless. Her and I must that DRD4-7R explorer gene, although I don’t know much about biology so I can’t speak to the veracity of the theory. But we’re definitely driven to discover what is beyond the horizon, and by god, we’ve repeatedly taken the journey and found out.

She is the most heroic and amazing person I’ve ever met, and I’ve only come to look upon her with increasing admiration during the precious and magical time I’ve spent with her through the soaring ups and catastrophic downs of our life.

She is also just insanely fucking hot. Like, so much so that I have no choice but to walk around with a semi-inflated dick the entire time I’ve known her. And she just looks better and better as the years go on (we’re both in our late 30s).

Morgan and I don’t have sex nearly as often as I’d like. I’d say we average once every two weeks, but there have been a few rough patches where it was maybe 3-4 times in the entire year.

Morgan doesn’t like oral sex. She’s willing to go down on me every now and then and, if she’s in an exceedingly rare mood, she’ll even seem to enjoy it somewhat… for like, 30-45 seconds. She let me nut in her mouth early on in our relationship and found the experience so deeply unpleasant that she vowed to never do it again. Granted, my diet and lifestyle were absolutely abysmal at the time. I fantasize and scheme that I’ll talk her into it again someday, but before I do that I’m literally going to have to taste my own cum and verify that it isn’t ghastly, because there’s no way in fuck I’m going to permanently cement her aversion to it.

(I’ve never tasted my own cum; I’m afraid to.)

Me going down on Morgan, on the other hand, is strictly off-limits. When she masturbates (which she actually does often; we both masturbate far more than we have sex, often together) she doesn’t use any direct contact with her clit and she certainly doesn’t plunge any fingers into her pussy. I don’t get to do any of this. My wife has to be extremely worked up for me to be allowed to touch her pussy at all.

Which brings us to the next vignette I’d like to share, which takes place immediately after Morgan and my return to school following her trip with Keanu and Camila.

As far as I was concerned, whatever hallpass Morgan had invoked during her vacation was now expired. I was intent on having the necessary conversations with her to establish that we were indeed committed to one another romantically and sexually.

And, to my delight, Morgan was on the same page! There was just one problem.

I’ve mentioned that Morgan was working an off-campus job at a local bar. She arrived back on campus literally one day before I did, and worked a shift there.

The next day I arrived back at my school, jumping out of my skin with eagerness to reunite with my beloved Morgan and reclaim her adventurous pussy. It didn’t go as planned.

“Look, I have something I need to tell you,” she told me the minute we were in one another’s presence for the first time in several weeks. I could tell that whatever it was, it was serious, because none of the attendant joy I had expected was in effect.

Morgan had gotten very, very drunk during her shift at the bar the previous night.

Too drunk to drive home. So, one of the bartenders was, um, nice enough to offer her a ride. To his place, of course.

“So, yeah, I woke up in this guy’s bed,” she told me. Looking ashamed, feeling displeased with herself.

“.... Are you fucking serious?” I returned, immediately becoming agitated, angry.

“Unfortunately I am.”

“Like, were you wearing clothes when you woke up in this guy’s bed?!”

She snorted, beginning to rise to my emotional level. “Nope.”

“Well what the fuck Morgan?!”

“See, this is why I was afraid to tell you, because I knew you’d react like this!!”

The conversation quickly deteriorated. This was Morgan and my long awaited reunion and this is how it was going. She had gotten drunk, and gotten severely taken advantage of, and now I was punishing her for it. Severely.

“Did you fuck him?!” I eventually demanded.

Morgan, thoroughly incensed, responded in the most hurtful way she could.

“Yes, we fucked! And I begged him to go down on me!”

[scarfolamew]

It wasn’t true, though (the begging him to eat her out part). Or I suppose it might have been. She had been completely black-out drunk and couldn’t remember what had or hadn’t happened between her and Mr. Shithead Rapist Bartender.

I really made both a short- and long-term blunder by reacting the way I did. First of all, though she’d been irresponsible in getting impaired beyond the point of judgment or even cognizance, that in no way justified this older and less-inebriated guy’s decision to take advantage of her. And she was already feeling horrible about what had happened. I’d had the opportunity to demonstrate my maturity to her and offer her my emotional support. Instead, I threw a temper tantrum and blamed her.

It was also a mistake in terms of me being a wannabe cuck who now openly wishes she’d be a slut for me. These days, Morgan is well acquainted with how much the thought of her promiscuity arouses me. She knows I browse this forum and I openly masturbate to the threads I read here, in her presence. And she’s extremely skeptical that I would react well to the reality of her engaging in any such activities, given the degree to which I’ve been a jealous asshole in the past.

At any rate, in the grand scheme of things that incident was just a minor bump on our road together. I realized how inappropriate my reaction had been within like, hours, and did what I could to apologize and offer the belated comfort and support she deserved. And we did have the conversations about us officially being together, and that’s what happened!

—

Returning to the general description of my sex life with Morgan.

So oral sex and handjobs were not destined to feature heavily in our bedroom. And penetrative sex in general was (note: was) a rarer occurrence than I’d hoped. But even at our most infrequent, I’ve never felt like we lacked intimacy or sexual connection.

That’s because Morgan has always indulged me to an unbelievable degree, in certain fashions.

I mentioned that in our initial condom-clad fumbled attempts to fuck, she’d actually said something to the effect of “do we have to do this?” Not a great indication of sexual chemistry!

A solution we quickly worked out to me wanting to have sex more often than Morgan was mutual masturbation. (We’d work out other solutions, such as actually becoming good at having sex with each other, but that would take years).

Morgan has no problem with me masturbating in front of her. To her. While she’s engaged in other activities. She’ll groan in pleasure and slide her pants down so I can worship her devastatingly juicy backside, back arched to maximize her curves. If I ever start masturbating in bed next to her, she’ll automatically (even while nearly asleep!) thrust her DD-cup tits at me to fondle and suck and get off to.

She will often join in. For the first several years in our relationship, 100% of the orgasms Morgan enjoyed were due to her own ministrations.

She also doesn’t mind me looking at porn while all this is happening. Like, I can literally browse y_guy’s story on this forum and fap to his girlfriend giving up exclusive anal rights to Daddy, while I fondle my wife’s luscious tits. Or I watch clips of amateur girls getting shared and spitroasted while engaging in same.

Every now and then, she’ll even become aroused by what I’m watching, she’ll invite me to mount her from behind and rail her prone-bone while we watch together. It’s never happened with any cuckold- or poly-themed material. The last time it happened, it was prompted by one of Kimmy Granger and Chad White’s legendary brother/sister videos.

Morgan also likes porn. She reads erotic stories. It took her a while to open up to me about the nature of the fiction she enjoys, and once she did… well, I understood her hesitation.

Friends, I thought Lanaya was a freak. I had no idea just how gutterminded women could be. We’ll discuss it in more depth in subsequent posts.

Sometimes, Morgan gets unbelievably horny and will lie in bed cumming to the filth she reads, over and over. But that’s pretty rare. She does casually pleasure herself each time I take care of my nightly fap / fondle, but she usually doesn’t finish. Overall, sex is not as central to her worldview and interests as it is to mine.

It’s one of the things that drives me towards my darkest fantasies. That somebody else will come along and awaken her to her latent sexual obsession. Turn her into someone who wants all the things she currently doesn’t, and all the time.

But regardless. I love the nature of my sex life with Morgan, and it’s hard for me to imagine a scenario more suited to my bizarre mindset. We still don’t have sex all that frequently, but it’s honestly better this way because at this point, sex between us has become so fucking intense that I don’t know if I could handle doing it more than the weekly average we’re currently achieving.

Meanwhile, I am married to the hottest woman I’ve ever met, and her tits and ass are available to fondle and kiss in aid of my self-pleasure twenty-four hours a day.

—

Besides our mutual love of erotica and masturbation, another thing that Morgan and I share is our complete disinterest in having sex with strangers. I’ve heard this mentality labelled as “demisexuality” but to me I would simply define it as “being normal”.

That’s right, people like Celeste and Lanaya who are comfortable with one-night stands are the weird ones. I only want to have sex with people I have fostered a deep connection with over time, and Morgan is very much the same.

Which is why the next anecdote I will relate hit me like a punch to the gut…

[scarfolamew]

Morgan and I were fresh out of college and, for a variety of boring and off-topic reasons, in a directionless state of uncertainty. We were both working dead-end jobs in a town neither of us wanted to be living in. We were about a year beyond the point where our relationship was fresh and exciting and a couple years before we’d fully adjust to living together and come to grips with the fact that we were both in it for the long haul.

There had been a few instances of less-than perfect fidelity between us. I had a “work wife” thing going with a coworker at the minimum wage retail job I’d been working and both me and this coworker thought it would be hot if she snuck kisses behind the back of her fiance who worked at the same shop. I agreed, and it was pretty hot, although the guilt of cheating on Morgan far outweighed any arousal I derived from it. I eventually confessed my transgressions to Morgan and she hadn’t much choice but to forgive me – we’d only made out some, and it hardly stacked up against Morgan’s own adventures – but it stung her deeply and she continued to lament my actions for years to come.

Another adventure happened when we drove a few states over for a concert. We stayed with some rock and roll buddies I’d made, including the band themselves, all crashing in this enormous mansion. This was my one and only experience doing cocaine with my future wife, and the drug turned Morgan into a completely different person: one who was in love with everyone and open to everything. Memories get choppy but I remember she made instant friends with some strange men at a bar who wanted her to abscond with them to go party elsewhere. And Morgan was completely willing to do it. It took me and my friends some effort to talk her out of it, and she was pretty resentful that we did so. She insisted that we were wrong about their obvious intentions to pass her around like a piece of meat. I’m still not sure what was going through her head. Group sex has never been one of her particular turn-ons, but she was not herself at the time. In fact, I’ve not seen her behave in such a way before or since.

When we got back to the mansion, I was spent and ready for bed, but more drugs were on offer and Morgan was keen to indulge in them. I woke up in the dead of night, everyone asleep and Morgan nowhere to be found. I passed out once again on the floor somewhere in my efforts to find her. In the morning, I found her sound asleep in one of the place’s large beds. We were among the last individuals to rise, and neither of us have ever been able to sort out whether she slept alone that night.

In my heart of hearts, I suspect she did not. She was in an effusively friendly and horny state, surrounded by severely inebriated men, all of whom had 20+ years on us, who would have been faced with the choice between moral decency, and taking advantage of a consequence-free dalliance with my young huge-breasted bubble butt smokeshow of a then-girlfriend. But, we had nothing to go on the next day but the worst hangovers we had experienced to that point in our lives, and we moved on.

—

The one that stings, though, can’t be blamed on intoxication or momentary lapses of reason. It was something that Morgan planned over time, tried to resist, and then eventually gave into.

We were living in the town where Morgan had gone to high school, and several of her friends had decided I wasn’t the right guy for her. There was this other guy, they added, who would be a much better fit. It was a former classmate of Morgan’s and I suppose he’d had feelings for her that went unrequited during their youth; to Morgan’s friends, the fulfillment of these urges would be the most romantic thing in the world. Plus, if she found out what else was on offer in the world of men, surely this would dissuade her from her (to them) misguided loyalty towards me.

Morgan shot the idea down numerous times. What finally convinced her to go through with it was both the most torturous and erotic thing possible: she was possessed of a purely animal attraction to this man that overrode her better judgment and her desire to be faithful to me. To hear Morgan tell it, the sexual tension between them was so intense, for years after the fact the mere thought of him made her heart leap into her throat. Her friends, she decided, were right: she just had to experience him, just once. If she didn’t, she’d spend the rest of her life wondering what it might have been like.

She called him and made arrangements to come visit. It was not explicitly specified that the intention was for them to finally have sex, but no specification was needed. Their mutual desire for one another was so pervasive and consuming that they both knew exactly what purpose their meet-up would serve.

Morgan never fucked this guy. Some malicious or benevolent god reached down into the engine of her car while she was en route, and caused it to break down.

Logistics, and perhaps the dawning sense of guilt, were such that she had no choice but to call me and have me rescue her.

And as I’ve said, Morgan is not a gifted liar. The whole thing came tumbling out at my slightest prodding.

Of course, I forgave her. She’d forgiven me the stolen kisses at work, and whatever her intentions, she hadn’t even kissed anybody in this instance.

But oh did this one eat away at me. Still does. It brought me all the way back to Lanaya and Stephen. There was someone out there who had the power to bewitch my girl with a sexual magnetism that was more powerful than our pact of monogamy. It was one thing for her to engage in the spontaneous, intoxicated adventures she’d had – especially when she was insisting that the two of us were not yet Officially Together. This was premeditated, and spurred by a genuine and unconquerable urge within her.

—

Apologies for the somewhat dark chapter. I know some readers (is anybody reading this? lol) will be inclined to judge Morgan for this one, but it’s uncalled for. This happened over a decade ago at a time when we were both uncertain about the future of our relationship. And it happened on the heels of me actually cheating on her, if we consider kissing / petting to be cheating (I personally do).

To my mind, Morgan has never actually cheated on me – all those earlier stories predated us officially agreeing that we were Together and Exclusive – and this one instance where she embarked with the intent to do so has crushed her with guilt ever since.

Perversely, my ridiculous brain has alchemized these events into something scaldingly erotic. I’m not sure exactly why; I suppose the fact of her intense sexual attraction to this guy (which she’ll still acknowledge in moments of vulnerability and openness) actually gives me hope that Morgan is capable of nonmonogamy, which she seems to be strongly wired against on the basis of hundreds of conversations and, like, 16 years of unblemished faithfulness and honesty on her part.

But that’s not the real reason. I’m not turned on by this stuff out of some calculated, intellectual, strategic urge to be cucked.

The fact is, I’ve been titillated and aroused by this sort of thing my whole fucking life. The notion of Lanaya offering herself to Stephen while she was supposed to be my committed and exclusive girlfriend devastated me, but it made my dick hard from the moment she confronted me with her desire to do it. Gods help me, I wish she’d gotten to. If I could turn back time and find the courage to delight in Celeste’s casual college sex instead of rebuking her for it, I would. And a part of me wishes Morgan’s car hadn’t broken down, and that she’d been able to sample the forbidden fruit of her desires.

Well, only if she’d been willing to videotape it and/or tell me all about it in excruciating detail afterwards!

—

We’re basically at the end of my stories, but there’s one last major event between Morgan and I, which occurs more than a decade after all the events I’ve related so far.

It was a decade of immense changes in our lives: relocating across the country numerous times, changing careers, getting married, and falling more deeply in love and lust with one another as the years went on.

It was a period in which we gradually opened up to one another sexually. As I’ve hinted at, Morgan and I both are sickos, and as a result we guarded our somewhat shameful kinks from one another. Our mutual trust and familiarity gradually overruled our reservations, and as we became experts in pleasuring each other’s bodies, we also delved into the hidden parts of each other’s imaginations.

My last tale is somewhat climactic, and I look forward to telling you about it soon!

[leggysman]

My last tale is somewhat climactic, and I look forward to telling you about it soon!

I'm reading

[scarfolamew]

Thanks Leggysman, it's nice to hear

[scarfolamew]

I will offer a trigger warning on this one. If the fact that some women are aroused by idea of their lack of consent being violated makes you uncomfortable and upset, this may not be something you wish to read. It contains descriptions of fictional sexual assualt.

—

It was only a matter of time before Morgan and I would discover the details of each other’s kinks and the specific type of erotica we both rub ourselves off to. As detailed, Morgan and I love masturbating together at least as often as we like to fuck, and it’s a nightly routine for us to have our bodies pressed side by side, our phones in one hand, the other alternating between pleasuring ourselves and fondling one another.

Due to this, I consider myself the luckiest motherfucker on the planet. She doesn’t get jealous of me stroking it to all manner of depraved imagery and text while burying my face in her ample breasts, and she eventually became comfortable enough with me to allow me some insight into the sort of material that she likes to enjoy while teasing her clitoris to powerful orgasms.

We were both quite ashamed and embarrassed to admit our kinks to one another.

For her part, she was utterly baffled by my consumption of cheating and cuckold-oriented pornography. I did assure her of what I firmly believed to be the case: that it was purely a theoretical fantasy. It was hot to read about both men and women being betrayed by their partners, but I’d never want to actually explore any such scenario in our relationship.

This remains half true: cuckquean scenarios are wildly erotic to me, but I have no interest in cucking my lovely Morgan. Especially since she would not like it one bit.

Being wired to experience arousal at virtually any taboo subject, I was better able to grasp her tastes than she was mine. Nonetheless, Morgan shocked me with the specifics of the sordid tales she almost exclusively pleasures herself over.

Her requirements: the victim is ideally a virgin; at no point is this young lady persauded by the unwanted fucking she’s receiving such that she starts begging for it (consent ruins the eroticism for her); if her body betrays her and the violation causes her to orgasm against her will, this can be acceptable, but at a fundamental level her unwillingness must be maintained and emphasized. Multiple assailants is a no-go for her because it makes the violation less personal, less… intimate.

… Gulp.

The full measure of how aroused she gets with this stuff came tumbling out when I contracted covid towards the beginning of the pandemic and we were isolating from one another. After more than a week of sleeping in separate beds and avoiding all physical contact with one another, we were both going out of our minds with mutual desire.

We decided to facetime and have some good old fashioned mutual masturbation over video chat. I found a story on reddit that I believed would push her buttons, and as I read it to her, I discovered that I had chosen very well.

The scenario was as follows: the female had narrator had grown up idolizing and trusting her older next door neighbor, also a youth but with a large enough age discrepancy to have been her babysitter when she was young enough to require one. Now she was returning home from her first year in college and eager to connect with this young man as friends. She made the blunder of inviting him over while her parents weren’t home, and confessed that she hadn’t managed to lose her virginity during her freshman year.

The man proved unworthy of her trust, and, well, roughly took the narrator’s virginity against her protests.

As each detail unfolded, Morgan began howling her approval.

“Oh god, I want him to rape her so badly,” she gushed. “Please tell me it’s going to hurt when he does it.”

Yes folks, my wife is an even bigger pervert than I am.

She begged me to ignore the remainder of the quarantine period we’d been recommended by health guidelines, and to walk across the house and punish her naughty pussy for the impurity of her thoughts, as she deserved.

When I pointed out that I would be “taking advantage” of her worked-up state if I did so, since she surely wouldn’t “consent” to such a thing if she was of sound mind, my words pushed her over the edge and she came, hard.

—

Now, neither Morgan and I ever want anything like her extreme fantasies to actually happen to her or to another human being. It is only erotic to her in the realm of pure fiction. And it’s only erotic to me because I like seeing my wife become aroused.

Within those boundaries, of course, I have done everything I can to cater to her fantasizes. I am a very lucky guy in this respect as well. We have a few general guidelines: when she’s asleep and can’t consent to me touching her (since she’s asleep), I’m allowed to do so, provided I describe my actions to her in the morning so that she can get off to them. This includes penetrative sex, of course, but also activities that she doesn’t normally consent to even when she’s conscious.

When she’s awake, “no” doesn’t necessarily mean “no,” except when it does. I’ve not once failed to tell the difference, and we do have a safeword she can invoke in the event I ever do. But she’s never had to use it.

There’s also the issue of anal sex, which has been one of Morgan’s hard limits throughout our relationship. She will, occasionally, tolerate a fingertip in her ass, but she has to be immensely worked up for me to get away with it. She knows that sometimes I’ll take advantage of the sleeping rule to spend hours with my tongue up her butthole, which embarrasses and turns her on in equal measure when I taunt her with the information the next day.

However, it did occur to us that since she’s an anal virgin, and since she genuinely does not want me to fuck her ass, this could be the closest she might ever come to actually living out the dark fantasies she masturbates to, physical discomfort and all. She buried her face in her hands when we charted out this possibility and confessed that a part of her desperately hoped it would someday happen. It probably never will – I’m not a rapist – but I do love that my wife is so fucking kinky.

—

So we’d opened up to one another about our unmentionable tastes in erotica, and established that for both of us, they were to remain fantasies. Morgan’s fantasies emphatically did not translate into reality, and I insisted that despite the perverse material I might blow loads over, she had better not take it as permission to actually cheat on me. The thought of that actually happening, I insisted, would be devastating.

I’d have a chance to find out how I really felt when Morgan and I had our closest brush ever with an actual wife-sharing scenario.

Don’t get your hopes up too much: this is the wanna-be forum, after all. But it’s a pretty wild story, and, for me, it’s the by far the most intense and provocative of everything I’ve related so far in this thread.

It was a concert Morgan and I were keen to see, but it was sufficiently far from where we lived that we wouldn’t be able to drive home afterwards. We booked a room in a hostel a few blocks from the venue, and took advantage of the walking-distance proximity to drink accordingly.

By the time we made it back to our lodging, we were feeling a total lack of pain and inhibition. As was highly unusual for us, we immediately began making friends with the other residents, choppin it up on the balcony and bumming cigarettes (which we had officially stopped smoking almost a decade prior, except on occasions such as this).

One of our neighbors at the hostel was part of a group from the UK; his mates had all retired but he was eager for more booze and socializing, and Morgan and I had both to provide.

Matthew immediately revealed himself to be a bit of a prick. Morgan was being quite friendly and sassy to everybody; observing one such interaction, Matthew questioned me about why I “allowed” my wife to behave in such a manner.

Morgan and I scoffed at such a notion. I was years beyond the point where I felt ashamed of my outlook on monogamy, so the idea that I should be concerned over my wife merely being friendly towards other men was completely laughable to me. I let him know I found his perspective outdated and ridiculous, and some back and forth ensued; it was somewhat good-natured, somewhat fraught.

Morgan was eager to impress upon this guy just how independent she was, just how unbound by the traditional gender roles. So she did something she’s occasionally given to do when she’s had a few too many: she challenged him to wrestle.

He was utterly gobsmacked that I’d allow such a thing. And, I really didn’t want her to, just because there was no safe place for them to to do it. I was also a bit humiliated that she was inviting such an intense degree of physical contact with this guy, especially in the context of him thinking I was humiliating myself just by letting my wife talk to other guys, let alone wrestle with them.

Perhaps as an attempt to dissuade her, Matthew informed us that he’d been in the military, and brandished identification to prove it. Of course, this had the opposite effect on Morgan: now she was determined to prove to this guy that she was badass enough to take him on.

“You’d better not hold back!” she warned as they squared up, in the fucking street.

And it looked like he didn’t. The two absolutely went at each other. The reality of what I’d “allowed” to transpire immediately became apparent: this was unbelievably dangerous, and the possibility of serious injury high. Me and a few of the other hostel residents intervened and broke them apart, but not before she’d thoroughly impressed Matthew with her martial prowess.

At this point, the three of us had established somewhat of a bond, and we retired to our room to finish off our supply of booze and continue our conversation. Matthew was utterly flabbergasted that two yanks could hold our own against him when it came to the drink, and that Morgan had performed so admirably while they sparred. And I’d earned a grudging respect from him, it seemed, for my balance of protectiveness and confident permissiveness.

The night became very blurry. I’m not sure when Matthew decided to disrobe, but I realized at some point he was stark naked in our room with us.

“Bro, why the fuck are you naked,” I slurred, probably not for the first time.

“I told you,” Morgan repeated, I’m not sure to whom. “I’m not having sex with anybody tonight!”

I remember feeling a bit panicked. I tried to tell Matthew he needed to get dressed and leave, but he was either too far gone to hear me, or didn’t care. Either way, he’d assessed, not without some basis, that this was a situation that he might be able to bend to his favor.

It dawned on me, in this half-aware state, that if anything like my fantasies was ever going to happen, this would be the time.

“Morgan,” I tried to say. The words wouldn’t come out.

“Morgan, sh-show…”

I faltered again. Just fucking say it I told myself.

“Morgan, show him your boobs!”

I had said it. It had been uttered. The words hung heavy in the air.

“Nope!” Morgan chirped. “I told you, nobody is fucking me tonight.”

“N-no sex,” I agreed. “Look, he got .. he got naked for you. Just let him see your tits!”

“Not a fucking chance!” she sang. She was obviously delighted beyond measure to have two men dancing on a string, and to have the power to deny us both.

Well, that was that. I kicked Matthew out. He grabbed not his clothes, but our bedsheet on the way out. Morgan and I snuggled up on a coverless mattress and prepared for the brutality of the morning’s hangover.

To be continued...

[scarfolamew]

Matthew knocked on our door the next morning. “I, uh, need my clothes back.”

He let us know that he had no memory of what had happened between us the night before. The implication was clear.

“Nothing fuckin happened,” I scowled. And, directed towards him and Morgan: “Fucking cowards.”

It was my way of owning the situation and conquering the humiliation I was feeling. I was also still pretty drunk from the night before, my inhibitions not yet returned.

When they did return, later, I was apologetic to Morgan. “I can’t believe I told you to flash him,” I said. “I’m so relieved you didn’t.” And it was the truth.

I was also a bit miffed that she’d wrestled with him, both because it was a foolish and unsafe thing to do, and because it felt humiliating considering his outlook on what sort of wifely behavior I, as a husband, was supposed to be okay with. But I kept it to myself, at first. Until Morgan did something that caused me immense jealousy.

It turned out, Morgan was more fond of Matthew than I’d realized. So much so that she approached me with a confession a week or so later.

“I feel pretty embarrassed,” she told me. “I called up the hostel we stayed at.”

She had called to see if she could leave her contact info, in case Matthew decided to try and seek her out and get in touch. And also to check to see if he’d done the same – he hadn’t.

“Why the fuck would you do such a thing?!” I demanded. “After he whipped out his dick in front of us? You know he wants to fuck you, right?!”

She shrugged. “I guess, but I have no intention of ever having sex with him. I do really like him, though.”

I demanded to know what she meant. “Really like” as in, she had a crush?

“No!” she protested. “It’s just so rare that I meet anybody I actually have a connection with.”

She elaborated a bit. He had scored big in her eyes in his willingness to engage her in martial combat. He hadn’t treated her like a fragile woman, but like an equal.

I rolled my eyes at this. “Babe, I saw the bruises on your chest and ass the next day. He just wanted the excuse to feel you up. He’s ex-military, obviously he could have kicked your ass if he’d wanted to.”

It was a tremendously shitty thing to say (not to mention a self-defeating one if I had any desire for my cuck fantasies to ever be fulfilled). And I dunno that it was even true: it sure didn’t look like he’d held back, and my wife is a fucking badass whom I’d never want to tussle with in earnest.

Morgan was wounded, I was jealous, and my actions had cast an aura of bad feeling over the whole Matthew affair.

—

It all changed, for me at least, when Morgan and I got a hold of some MDMA, which we’d always been eager to try but never had.

Yes, it’s pretty dorky to do molly for the first time in your late 30s, but so be it.

It was an experience during which I became completely unglued. The walls opened up, and I realized I would be down for anything. Makes me wonder all over again what Lanaya might have uttered into that recording, but I digress..

For my entire relationship with Morgan, I’d known about my kinks and fantasies, but had really believed that I wanted them to remain just that: fantasies.

That all changed when we took molly together, and it’s remained the case for me ever since.

That night, I would have literally been down to stroke every male friend I’d ever had to erection and guide their dicks into my Morgan’s sloppy cunt. Any sexual thought I could muster was electrifying.

I began talking to her about Matthew.

“You didn’t just like him as a friend,” I said, not accusingly, but voice dripping with lust. “There was sexual tension. You’re attracted to him.”

Morgan shrugged. She couldn’t deny it.

“Please tell me you got in touch with him,” I begged. “Please tell me you’ve been talking to him behind my back!”

“What the fuck are you saying?!” Morgan hissed at me.

“I want all the things,” I confessed. “I want to show your body to other men. I want to watch you get kissed and fondled and fucked. I want other people to talk you into doing things you've never let me do. I want you to do them behind my back and then let me in on the details little by little.”

“Oh godddd,” she moaned, writhing in the ecstasy of our touch, and (I hoped) my words.

—-

We’ve talked about it a number of times since then.

Morgan goes back and forth. During sober and serious heart-to-hearts, she admits she might be capable of acting upon the extramarital urges that so very rarely strike her. The right person would have to come along, like Matthew or her high school classmate she’d almost cheated on me with.

But she is glad that she hasn’t, and doesn’t want me to push her into anything. And I try my utmost not to, including during our sex talk.

She worries it could be end up a disaster, and given our propensity for getting into unsafe and unpredictable situations (especially while doing drugs/alcohol), I acknowledge that she has a point. And, given the way I’ve acted in the past, I get why she doesn’t trust me to handle any such real-life scenario well.

For my part, I no longer can pretend that it’s only something I fantasize about. I’ve told her that if the opportunity did present itself, it would be extremely difficult for me to resist taking advantage of it. “You only live once,” I’ve told her. “We’ve been through so much crazy shit and our relationship has only ever gotten stronger.”

—

So that’s all I got, folks, barring some future event. Everyone who sees photos of my wife in her college days agrees that the years have been very kind to her and that she looks the hottest she ever has as we approach 40. A visit to a certain rather well-known nude beach is logistically feasible for us, and showing her off in that context is a semi-realistic fantasy I maintain; Morgan teeters back and forth on her willingness to entertain the possibility depending on how horny she is and how critical she’s feeling about her body.

I am, of course, open to any advice from the community of how I should approach my relationship with my Morgan. I am not looking for strategies on how to manipulate her towards something she doesn’t want, but just wisdom from fellow wannabes or those actively in the lifestyle on how they’ve navigated the ins and outs of being burdened with such a ridiculous kink.

Thanks for reading my story. If there’s any other details you are curious about regarding any of the relationship and scenarios I’ve discussed, lascivious or otherwise, I’m more than happy to chat!

[leggysman]

If you'd all been more sober - and if you had established her safe word by that time - the Matthew incident might have been an opportunity to enjoy both your, and Morgan's, kinks...

“Nope!” Morgan chirped. “I told you, nobody is fucking me tonight.”

"Yes we are, honey"
(to Matthew) "Grab her legs"

[PaNic]

I’m reading too!

You have some great stories, and an amazing relationship from the sounds of it. I’m surprised your thread isn’t getting more response. There’s so much in it that maybe we’re all been gobsmacked, spellbound and waiting to see where this leads

Well done and thanks

[2inUPMichigan]

I understand that people are enjoying your thread but unfortunately I will need to do some editing in the next few days as the beginning of your thread discusses sexual contact involving underage people.

Please read rule 4.3 at the rules book link at the top of the page.

[scarfolamew]

I understand that people are enjoying your thread but unfortunately I will need to do some editing in the next few days as the beginning of your thread discusses sexual contact involving underage people.

Please read rule 4.3 at the rules book link at the top of the page.

I totally understand if you need to do this. My discussion of my high school experiences are intentionally vague about any timeline so I'm not sure how you concluded they involve underage people; there are, of course, 18 year olds in HS. But please edit as is necessary.

[scarfolamew]

I’m reading too!

You have some great stories, and an amazing relationship from the sounds of it. I’m surprised your thread isn’t getting more response. There’s so much in it that maybe we’re all been gobsmacked, spellbound and waiting to see where this leads

Well done and thanks

Thank you so much for the kind words!

[scarfolamew]

If you'd all been more sober - and if you had established her safe word by that time - the Matthew incident might have been an opportunity to enjoy both your, and Morgan's, kinks...

“Nope!” Morgan chirped. “I told you, nobody is fucking me tonight.”

"Yes we are, honey"
(to Matthew) "Grab her legs"

One of the many scenarios I've gamed out in my head and rubbed several out to...

[scarfolamew]

I understand that people are enjoying your thread but unfortunately I will need to do some editing in the next few days as the beginning of your thread discusses sexual contact involving underage people.

Please read rule 4.3 at the rules book link at the top of the page.

To be more explicit than my previous comment: all the experiences I related exclusively involve people who are 18+.

I did intentionally scramble some timeline-related details for reasons of privacy, and may have inadvertantly given the impression they involve underage individuals. If you can indicate where I've done so, I can provide clarification.