I stared across the kitchen at Isla with jaw agape, frozen in place and stunned.

She read the flyer. She knew what it entailed. It was pretty darn specific.

What the actual hell was going on here? Was she just fucking with me? I entertained that idea for a moment, but she’s a terrible actor and even worse prankstress.

No, she wasn’t fucking with me. She was really considering it.

Geez, who had I married?

I’m not complaining in the least, but seriously, WHO HAD I MARRIED?

Sure, we once swung and dabbled in kinky shit. But that was a long time ago, and the past fifteen-plus years were consumed with raising a family and establishing respectable and successful careers.  We weren’t in the game anymore. Sex with Isla was never bland, but this was way beyond anything we’d ever done or even talked about when divulging our fantasies.

Damn! I don’t know if this was even in the deepest reaches of my fantasy land!

A couple months ago, we talked about trying to slowly get back to our old ways of sexual non-monogamy and swinging. That’s why we went to that sex club last night, and I was pretty convinced that it worked. The fuck session in the truck after we left the club certainly made it seem so.

This morning, as I made breakfast, we talked about what we liked and what we might do when we went back to the club. That got me riled up and hopeful not just for our future in returning to swinging, but also more pressingly for a before-noon session tending to her pussy.

But when I moved some stuff on the table to make way for plates, I found “the flyer.” I was thankful for finding it, as it kept us on topic during toast, omelettes, and coffee. But I never took it seriously. It seemed kinda sleazy, over-the-top, and absolutely ridiculous. Insanely slutty and hot, but ridiculous.

To my profound shock, it apparently struck a chord with Isla.

My response to her, when I found my tongue, was simply, “What? Are you serious?”

Her: “You don’t think I should do it?”

Me: “I’m not saying that. Do you really want to do it?”

Her: “I don’t actually know. But what I do know is that I think I want to find out if I want to do it.”

Okay, this was a good place to start. She was at least thinking somewhat rationally, even if her kink had a firm hand on the rudder.

I asked her, “Are you thinking about it because you know that I’d love to see it, or is this something you want to do just for yourself?”

I seriously needed to know this, and so did she.

When we swung, I had plenty of other women, but almost always in a one-on-one capacity. There was this one group thing where I fucked another woman next to her boyfriend, who was busy fucking another woman, but we were so high on acid and molly that I really don’t remember much other than I never released, so I can’t really count it. And Isla wasn’t there for any of it.

She had a few other men in one-on-one fucks, and once had a spur-of-the-moment threesome with a random man and woman. Nice.

But there was one man with whom we had nearly uncountable threesomes.

I don’t lean towards men, so it was the two of us tending to her. But I’ve absolutely seen her pussy getting railed with cock that wasn’t mine. Many times.

Yeah, call me what you will, but I loved seeing her fuck, and she knew it.

Hence, my question to her. I didn’t want her to go through with this if she was doing it only for my pleasure. I was totally fine with her entering the contest…in fact, nothing would turn me on more! But the baseline, non-negotiable aspect of my kink is that I need to know that she wants it.

Ultimately, what turns me on most is seeing her get off. By me, another, or any combination therein, I don’t care - so long as she experiences bliss, freedom, and release. I love nothing more than knowing that Isla, the love of my life, is experiencing the pinnacle of what this existence can give. I love her, we’re free, and she deserves it. If I can see it happening with my own eyes, that’s a sweet bonus.

So I was totally serious in asking, “Is this something you want to do just for yourself?”

In that moment, she couldn’t answer with words. She just stared at me, calmly breathing in and out.

Knowing she was struggling with her thoughts, I thought I’d lay it on the line. Honest, raw, and bare.

I told her, with complete and unmistakable sincerity, “Honey, do you wanna let it all go? Do you wanna spread your wings, and your legs, and fuck like you’ve never fucked before? Do you wanna drop all the inhibitions that all those stuck-up motherfuckers say you should have and just let go? If you do, and if this is only for you, I’ll support you. If you’re thinking about it for any other reason, don’t do it. I wouldn’t want you to.”

The next two minutes were somewhat painful. I desperately wanted to keep talking and share my thoughts, but I held my tongue while she pondered in silence. I’d said the important stuff and needed to give her space to think.

Eventually, she said to me, “Yeah, at first the total kink got to me, and it seemed like a blast. But you’re right. We’ve, or I’ve never done anything close to this before. I guess I should think about it. You know I’ve fucked a stranger before, but only once, and it was in a private tent during that threesome. This is a whole different thing, in front of a crowd. Even if the crowd’s a throng of horny sex fiends, still… it’s a crowd.”

I got her meaning. She’s not shy. She’s beautiful, has a fabulous body, and isn’t afraid to show it. But what this contest entailed was on another level. It was displaying everything… not just skin, but lust and actual sexual performance, to a crowd of sex-crazed onlookers. This was entirely new. At first thought, it seemed hot as fuck from an exhibitionist perspective, but that was something we’d never dabbled in.

Of all our talk on sex and fantasies, exhibitionism never really entered the picture. Astoundingly, this just dawned on me at that very moment.

We’d talked about who we fucked and what made it good (or not). We both liked the stories. We also talked plenty about what we’d like to do and haven’t yet. Mostly group sex stuff. But exhibitionism was never part of the mix.

Until now.

Scenes and scenarios started to flood my mind, and I welcomed them. In that moment, I realized that I could totally get down with this new kink. Other things like bondage, humiliation, subservience and pain were an easy “no” for me, but I was thrilled to see that this unturned stone of “sex on display” was something that lit a new fire of excitement in my soul.

This new flame might have set me alight, but I kept any outward display at bay. I didn’t want my newfound kink to influence her thoughts and decisions. Those had to be hers alone.

With great effort, I simply said, “Okay, think on it, my love.”

We finished our breakfast and said no more about the contest. Of course, all of this riled us up for a before-noon session. It was fabulous as always, but I think we were both trying to intentionally not bring up the contest and get back to normal.

The afternoon was filled with a trip to the garden store, planting our haul, trimming shrubs and other gardening endeavors. Dinner was a home-cooked meal. No restaurant in our town can compare with my shallot tart and steak with Roquefort sauce. A simple dressed arugula salad completed the picture, along with a fabulous Côte-du-Rhône. The nightcap was a perfect Armagnac, and we were both tired, full, satisfied, and a little drunk when we crawled into bed to go to sleep to a cheesy Netflix Christmas movie called “Champagne Problems.”

Fuck, Minka Kelly’s hot. I’d love to feel her pussy’s clench around my cock’s shaft as I kiss my beloved Isis passionately.

I was on the brink of dozing off when I felt Isla hovering over me. Shaken from Morpheius’ grip, I asked her, “You okay, baby?”

She breathed on me heavily, the French distilled wine on her breath and her perfume taking me further into another plane. In the haze of slumber’s mystical twilight, my mind got her message:

“Honey, I’ve thought about it all day, and yes, I really want to do it. Can you be there for me?”