Before we got married she had a past. A real one. The kind she didn't hide from me and didn't apologize for. That was part of what pulled me in. A woman who knew what she wanted sexually and went and got it without a lot of worry about what it said about her. I got aroused by her past stories instead of threatened by them. She loved that about me. I was her BFF, her husband, and her wingman, sometimes all three at once.
I didn't want to be the man who put a ring on her and turned her into someone else.
She travels for work a few times a year. I always fantasize about her in a hotel with another man. If she tells me, that's a bonus and equally hot imagining maybe she didn't. A man who catches her eye at the bar, a swipe on Tinder, a work colleague she's had chemistry with for months.
There have been weekends too. An adult club we've been to together, and sometimes she goes without me. Walks in looking like that and comes home with that particular satisfied energy of a woman who got exactly what she went there for. No strings and no feelings to manage. Just her body, her appetite, and the freedom to feed it with cock.
People assume the emotional part is what does it for cuckolds. And for me, yes when she fell in love with someone else that hit different. Deeper. The ultimate version of it in a way I wasn't prepared for.
But this? This was always the foundation.
A wife who fucks other men because she wants to. Because she's wired that way and always has been, and marriage didn't change that, it just gave it permission. The angst is still there. It always is. That's what makes it real. But it's quieter with the casual stuff. Less heart, more heat. The low steady burn of knowing your wife is out there right now being exactly who she's always been.
Slutty, unapologetic and mine.
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