How I Came to Watch my Young Wife Used by a Hunk. Part 1, The Dream of Thin...

*Part 1I?m going to tell how it began, how I first became obsessed by thoughts of my wives being fucked by other men. Not that I?ve ever been married to more than one woman at any one time, never had four of my darlings lined up to be fucked by strangers one after the other. I mean, what loss of rationality would induce a man to share his domestic arrangements with more than one woman? Not me, that?s for sure. I mention it because I've been married four times and each new wife eventually took the starring role in realising my fantasy.This life-long fixation started with a dream. Yes I know; other people?s dreams are boring -- but please bear with me because this dream was special, was responsible of me taking a first step on a road that eventually saw my gorgeous first wife getting fucked senseless by a slab of a guy sporting a cock the size of a rounder's baton -- well, nearly.*Abbi was twenty at the time all this happened. I?d married her only two years earlier. Looking back I realise now eighteen was far too young for her to have become my bride. And besides, she was just not the settling down type. Three year after I slipped the ring on to her finger she left me.*Perhaps we would still be together today if I had not encouraged her to live out my dream -- and by dream I mean one of those things that happen when you are asleep. It was a dream that became a*fantasy,*my obsession.Even though she did what she did willingly -- *whether to illuminate some dark corner of her own soul, or for her own pleasure, I don?t know -- she never would have walked that road if not for my leading her the way step by step. What a stupid young man I was to have asked her to enact such a perverse fantasy.*Even before this all kicked off, Abbi received a lot of attention from blokes. Hardly surprising really, she was an inordinately attractive young thing. But it was something more than just her prettiness and the little-girl-lost look*she affected which drew men to her. Her almost naïve openness and endearing, unsophisticated breeziness could snare a man in an instant. All those men! Drawn to her like insects to a sweet-sap-sticky carnivorous pitcher plant. It was not as if she trapped them by some deviously hinged intent, they went to her thinking her sweet and biddable. If a*man was stupid enough*let down his guard he could soon find himself*hopelessly in love with her.If she took a liking to you, male of female, her warmth towards you and interest in you would be immediate and genuine; you could even say intense -- at first. She would listen to what you had to say, and had the knack of saying the things back to you that you wanted to hear. She was a very tactile person and liked to touch her friends in small affectionate ways. But for some men it might have been better if she had never shown them any interest at all.*Her baby-faced prettiness and waif-like frame belied a hidden undercurrent of sexual voracity. Some men sensed it, intuited the sexual lava-flow that ran beneath her butter-wouldn?t melt facade. Maybe it was in her eyes; maybe it was how she wore her flesh about herself; maybe it was in the way her fairness of skin and slightness of frame made everything else in her proximity appear obtuse, gross.*When a guy had it real bad for her, when his need for her stared to impinge on our relationship as Ümraniye Escort a couple, then it was up to me to put him straight. Things often got ugly.Even at the age of twenty, she could never understand why men floundered at her feet:?Oh, what have I done, Martin? Have I encouraged him?? she once asked me, talking about a poor sod in our social circle who?d gone all tragic over her. His name was Sean. What a pratt.?Abbi,? *I said. ?You don?t have to do a thing. You just have to be Abbi.?*She was perhaps her own worst enemy, her need to be liked by others her undoing. And when her easily bestowed friendship elicited far more than she intended, she could never bring herself to hurt someone?s feeling by rejecting them outright.**For example: it was a Saturday night and we were out clubbing with a bunch of friends. We were supposed to be enjoying ourselves but Sean and Abbi had sequestered themselves away together in the dark corner of an alcove our clique were in the habit of using to touch base with each other during those heady early morning hours. The pair were having this big heart to heart. She loved all that probing of other people?s psychological garbage heaps.*I was sitting close, talking to someone else, and overheard her say to Sean, ?We can never be like that with each other, Sean -- but I do *love you -- I love you like a brother.?*I saw her hold his gaze, touch him gently on the arm. Jeeez!Then there were the phone calls at ridiculous hours. the unexpected ringing of our doorbell just as we were sitting down for tea, or looking out of our bedroom window at midnight and seeing his car parked in the street, the windows foggy, him hunched inside with phone in palm.*Sean was not the first, nor would he be the last. Sometimes It was like she wasn?t married to me, as if she had become public domain. That?s when I had to play the heavy husband, let them know they were trespassing on private property, were pissing me off.Of course, this was all before I had my dream. Things were different after my dream.So yes, Abbi was that certain type of girl deadly to a certain kind of male. Princess-pretty as she was, her nature really was guileless. I think she had not yet discovered herself, still needed the feedback loop of other people?s attention to make herself feel a valid person. God, how I tried to satisfy that need.*As for those who fell at her feet . . . . I suppose she presented a blank canvas for the strange needs some men harbour. She was not in anyway conceited about her looks, her charm. Far from it, she didn't have a clue just how easily a glance from her enormous manga-eyes could unhinge a man.*Reading this back I have made her sound, perhaps, less than bright. She was anything but empty-headed. At the time of this story she was doing all sorts of courses to get her accountancy qualifications. The last I *heard from her after our divorce was she had become a partner in some important London firm that handled the financial affairs of A-list celebrities. Tax evasion and all that.Although I hate psychobabble, I?d always put her need for attention down to her parents divorce when she was seven. She often spoke of her father, who should had not seen since the day he walked out on her and her mother.**Mostly I didn?t have to worry too much about the poor Ümraniye Escort Bayan saps she captivated; the fools kept me amused. There was one guy, though, whose interest in Abbi meant I had to keep my wits about me. The attention he gave her was blatantly suggestive, outright salacious, totally unlike the moon-stuck, love sick idiots she captured and drew into her orbit. A different beast completely. The problem was, he was not the sort of bloke I could intimidate. Tall and muscular, he had a reputation as the hard man of *our neighbourhood. He was so sure of himself, had that air of self-satisfaction only a congenitally handsome man could wear without looking a complete buffoon. Full of hubris, he had yet to suffer a nemesis.I wouldn't say he was keener than any of the others, the one?s who thought of Abbi as their soul-mate. He was more pushy, his interest uncouth, viscerally amourous. The stuff he used to say to her made me squirm sometimes.*His name was Nathan, the husband of Abbi?s best friend, Belinda. Nathan and Belinda were not part of our weekend social crowd. Belinda was Abbi?s old friend from school. The two girls got on well together: Nathan and I could barley suffer each other.Before Belinda gave birth to her first baby, the four of us would occasionally go out together, usually just the local boozer. On those occasions Nathan sometimes made comments about how gorgeous Abbi looked and how she was wasted on me.*He would call her Princess, which she hated. One time, affecting a joking tone, he asked when she was going to join him and Belinda in a threesome.*When he came out and asked her that, asked her to her face, Abbi raised an eye brow, turned and fixed Belinda with an incredulous look of disbelief. ?Is he being serious?? she asked.?He hadn?t better be,? was all Belinda said.I often wonder what Abbi would have done If Belinda had said she was up for a threesome too. I?d never seen any signs of Abbi having an interest in women in all the time I knew her -- but *that night when she asked Belinda if Nathan was being serious about a threesome, I saw something in her eyes I?d not seen before. The finding of a new door and the possibility of it opening.*As for me, I didn?t think anything of his wise-cracks, saw them as laddish-bullshit tinged with Nathan?s unique humour of the gutter. I?d always enjoyed watching moths burn their wings on Abbi?s bright-angel flame. Most men like to think his girl is desired by other blokes -- especially when there is no chance the other man will ever get to taste what he alone enjoys. And apart from that one comment about a threesome that got her hackles up, Belinda seems not have to minded her husband?s bawdy banter. She was a lovely girl but not the most astute.*Abbi and I could talk about stuff like this; her admirers and the crap they would tell her confidentially. I would laugh and she would say I was cruel and not to laugh because it was so sad for them.*And of course I asked her if Nathan?s attention bothered her. ?No it didn?t,? she said. I asked if she fancied him. After all, he was as good a looking bloke as any woman could hope to meet: six-three, worked out most nights at the local gym, his body a walking commercial for the benefits of weight training. He had the swagger of Achilles.*She said she Escort Ümraniye didn't fancy him, said she loved me and never thought of any other man in a sexual way. But I had my doubts. I?d seen how her eyes followed him. At twenty-seven, he was seven years older than Abbi, two years older than me. If he hadn't been my wife?s friend?s husband I wouldn?t have had anything to do with him. I *thought him a real grunt.After Belinda finally gave birth to their first child, Nathan started coming round ours a couple of evenings a week. He?d drink my beer and moan about the chaos in his own house. He?d go on about how he couldn't put up with the mess, the nappies everywhere, the baby?s constant bawling.On these visits the three of us often played card games. If Abbi had college stuff to do from her evening classes, he and I would spend time on the console. We also played chess a few times but he wasn?t much of a strategist so I usually beat him. He hated that.So that?s the background -- and it was a dream about chess, of all things, that led to Abbi getting shagged senseless by this guy, me looking on.* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ******************The dream came to me in the early hours of a Saturday morning in late July. In the dream, *Nathan was round ours and the chessboard was laid out for a game. The dream Abbi was all dressed-up in the clothes she would wear when we went out for the night clubbing in town: short, black dress, sheer tights and strappy heels, heavy makeup and earrings.She was sat perched on a tall bar-type stool, positioned at the side of the coffee table on which the chess board was laid out. Her legs looked sensational: dream legs, sleeker and smoother than even her real legs. She sat up bolt straight on the stool, her head held high, legs crossed at the knee showing lots of thigh. Her eyes shone with a burning sexual expectation. I don?t know how it had come to be but we were playing this game for her. She was the prize.*Have you ever had one of those dreams where you?re fighting an adversary and no matter how hard you hit them they just won?t fall down? The chess game became something like that. For every brilliant *move I made, Nathan managed to come up with a better one. And as he took my pieces one by one, he would get up from the sofa and go to Abbi and remove an item of her clothing.The first pawn taken, he stood up and went to her and knelt at her feet and, with her still perched on the stool, removed her right shoe and caressed her foot while slowly rubbing his cheeks over her calf. The dream was so lucid that I actually heard whiskers rasp against the lycra of her tights. I imagined her ever-so slightly moist, warm sole in his palm, the arch and ball of it. When I caught her eye, I did not recognise the Abbi who looked back at me.He returned to his seat and we continued the game. While he made his moves, I watched Abbi closely and realised she was willing him to beat me. When our eyes met she looked embarrassed, like a child caught with her fingers in the candy jar.*Another pawn taken, another shoe removed. His lips kissing her toes.When I lost my queen?s bishop, he stood up and went to her and lifted her bodily from where she sat. I?d thought of her as a kind of umpire overlooking a tennis match at Wimbledon, his lifting of her from her seat seemed a violation of some unspecified rule. He positioned her before him and held her by the shoulders, drawing her to him so her breasts pressed against his lower chest. They just stood there, her looking up at him, he down at her, their eyes sharing some mystery I couldn't fathom.