I see his tips sliding under her underpants and finding her moist labia, moving them apart and pushing into her vagina, and I see her catching her breath as she fights to control herself, but still savoring the feel of his fingers inside of her. “Fuck me,” I hear her plead as he moves his fingers in and out of her.
She fumbles with his belt in my imagination, then unzips his pants and fishes out his already erect penis. She urges him as she turns away, spreads her legs, and lifts her dress, allowing him to slid himself inside of her.
“Oh god yes,” she surely cries as he fucks her from behind while she stands among the trees with her legs apart, bent over at the waist “I need to lie down,” she’d say and he’d help her to the ground, lift her dress up, and climb on top of her, sliding himself once again in her pussy. My wife and the Best Man would fuck like that for ten or fifteen minutes, then she would come and cry out and put her hand over her mouth, then stiffen and push up against him, holding him inside of her, pushing her pubic bone against his weight.
They would stay that way for a few minutes while they got back their breath and came back down. As I imagined it, I got an funny excitement from imagining my wife fucking the Best Man at their secret place off away from everyone. I even smiled to myself as I pictured it.
When she returned from their time together, had she smiled at her friend the bride, sharing a secret communication with her best friend, a moment of vicarious pleasure between them? Did Betsy know she had been off with the Best Man and let him inside of her?
On the way home I asked what she liked best about the weekend and she grinned and quietly said, “Being with Henry.” She was quiet for a while, and considering her blatant honesty I knew what was coming, then she turned to me and said, “I was a very naughty girl this weekend.” Then she smiled and looked at the floor. I looked over at her as I drove and waited for her to go on. “He asked me not to wear any panties during the wedding,” she said with a grin.
“And did you wear any?” I asked.
“No,” she said with a smile.
“Did you tell him?” I asked, becoming more and more interested as she talked about her affair with the Best Man at her friend’s wedding.
“I told him I wasn’t wearing any as we started down the aisle,” she said. “arm in arm. I said, ‘I did what you asked,’ and he just smiled and squeezed my arm.”
“‘I’d love to see,’ he said,'” she told me.”
“So when you were dancing together during the reception, you didn’t have any panties on?” I asked. She simply shook her head and grinned. “You were a naughty girl,” I said. “Did he ever see you without panties?”
“Are you upset with your randy wife?” she asked, “who fucked the Best Man?”
I told her I was glad she had such a good time and for some reason I really meant it. I also told her I certainly was not angry with her for what any woman would have done in her place. As we sat in the front seat and talked about the wedding and her time with Henry, I was amazed at how much I meant it and was actually delighted to hear her tell me about her affair at her friend’s wedding.
“He made love to me many times,” she said. “Many, many times, and I loved every inch of it. I couldn’t help myself.” She was quiet for a while, then she said, “Yes, he fucked your wife, over and over again. It was less making love than just wild fucking, but I loved it. I don’t ever know that I’ve let myself go like that before. I guess I have. He fucked me and I loved it, all of it. Are you okay with it?”
I reached over and took her by the hand. “I’m glad you had such a good time,” I said, meaning it. “Every wife needs a Best Man to fuck every once in a while. Tonight, in bed, you can tell me all about it, every lustful second.” For the rest of the drive, the whole three hours, we didn’t talk and I figured she was thinking about every thrust, every kiss, and every wild sensation in her loins.
Over the years my wife has been to many, many weddings and each time she was in the wedding party I’ve wondered who she fucked, who put his hands under her Matron of Honor dress, and fondled her pussy before and after the ceremony. She always came back happy, in a good mood, and I imagined her being fucked by someone handsome and charming had much to do with it. I wondered who lured her into bed and made the wedding something special that she’d always remember fondly.
Our sex is very good and our times together really great, so why would I risk all over a little sexual fling at a wedding. She can have her romance with a handsome man or two now and then at weddings, and I can put up with it for as long as I have to, because the benefits are amazing and the rewards are certainly worth it. She can be the wedding wench for as long as she wants and I will listen to her tales of lovemaking and raw sex, and I will celebrate her adventures with delight and enthusiasm.