I’m sure you have all heard of the Butterfly Effect in Chaos Theory. How a small, inconsequential action can have huge effects. Well, our butterfly moment was my request for Mary to pose for some glamour style portraits as a birthday present for me. A seemingly innocuous request that had life-changing consequences.
Up to that point, I had a wife I loved dearly, but who could only be described as being demure, prim, puritanical and Victorian in her outlook to sex. Now I have a wife I adore, who is a tsunami of hedonistic, wanton, perverted, dirty minded, debauched womanhood. Here’s how it happened.
I was coming up to my fiftieth birthday, and Mary asked what I would like as a present. I thought about it for a while, and whilst having little hope of getting a yes, asked if she would pose for some professional glamour portraits.
We had, like most couples these days, I would imagine, shot a few photos in the bedroom, on my phone, but I’m hardly a great photographer. In fact, I’m a useless photographer, so the results weren‘t stunning, or if I’m honest, sexy. It was a couple of years ago and it had been an uphill struggle to get Mary to pose.
Even though it was only the two of us, it acutely embarrassed Mary and only once did I get her to take her bra off. No way would she pose for me without her knickers on. So I gave up asking.
So, I was expecting a resounding no. I laid it on about it being a special birthday, being my fiftieth and all, and how I still thought she looked glamorous, and it would be super to have that preserved for the future in a photograph or two. I suppose that was enough of a lever to get her to actually discuss it and not ban the idea outright. She asked what exactly I had in mind, and not wanting to push my luck, I said just glamour shots, boudoir style, in some sexy lingerie.
“I don’t have any sexy lingerie,” she replied. That was true. I can’t remember how many years it had been since I had seen her in anything lacy or sexy, if ever.
“That’s not a problem,” I said, “we can go online and buy you something, or pop into town and look in the lingerie shops.”
“No way am I wandering around a store buying that sort of underwear,” she said, “too embarrassing.”
I’m not sure I agreed, but I didn’t argue the point, and it gives you an idea of how prudish she was (note the operative word was). I said we could look online together and choose something I liked and that she would wear. “I’ll think about it,” she retorted.
Mary says:
I didn’t consider myself a prude (although I’ve since realised that most people who knew me did) and I enjoyed the sex with Dan, sort of. I’d been brought up to believe sex was for procreation and to regard ‘sexy fun’ as ‘dirty.’
Ha. If only Mother could see me now!
Anyway, that night in bed I thought about it, and my mind went back to some Radio 4 programme I’d listened to some time back. About the changing behaviour of middle-aged women to sex, and how something fresh could brighten their lives. Our lives could certainly do with that.
Had Mother been wrong then? Could sex be fun? A little doubt was sown in my mind.
But doing ‘naughty’ things in bed? No, no, not Mary, at least, I didn’t think so. Anyway, I mulled it over. It was a special birthday, so I reluctantly agreed to do it.
Amazingly Mary had said yes, so, before she had time to change her mind, I hit Google to find a photographer. It seemed not all of them would do boudoir shoots and some others sounded very seedy, but I eventually booked one who sounded pleasant and would hopefully put Mary at ease.
Oh hell! What have I done? What was I thinking when I said yes? I can’t do this. Take my clothes off in front of a stranger? I won’t even go topless on the beach. No, it wasn’t even fun doing them ourselves if I’m honest. I was, though, surprised to find myself, in some strange way, excited at the thought of posing in front of a stranger, but really? No way!
Unfortunately, we could not fix an immediate date to do it, so it gave Mary time to get cold feet and she asked me to cancel. I was really disappointed, but phoned the photographer, Sam, to tell him. He was sympathetic and understood, but suggested that we still kept the appointment, as it involved my birthday, and Mary could just have a few portrait shots done. She could see if she felt comfortable in front of a camera and, if she wanted to, we could progress to some glamour shots. He assured us it could stop at the portrait shots or continue, entirely at our discretion.
Another lengthy chat with Mary (I mentioned the bit about the possibility of it going beyond portraits, but didn’t labour the point) and she finally agreed, although I had little hope she would pose for anything remotely sexy.
The day arrived. We had spent quite a lot of time online buying Mary lingerie. She kept saying, “But I’m not likely to be posing like that,” but I convinced her it was hardly wasted, as I enjoyed seeing her wearing it anyway, and she could have it as an early birthday present.
Too right. I wasn’t posing wearing scanty underwear in front of a stranger. It was embarrassing enough when Dan tried to photograph me. I was stupid to say yes. I had by now convinced myself there was no way on God's earth I would ever have the wish, or the courage, to strip off in front of another man.
So, we arrived at Sam’s studio with Mary somewhat nervous, even though she was probably only going to have portraits taken. I think it showed how she hated just to be in front of a camera. Sam opened the door and ushered us in and it was reassuring, especially for Mary, that he had a very pleasant, easygoing attitude.
He sat us down and got us a coffee, and we chatted for a while. I could see Mary relaxing and I was harbouring the hope she might, just might, pose in her lingerie. Secretly, I would have loved her to pose naked, and even in some porn style shots, but I thought that was just wishful thinking.
After a while, Sam suggested they start. We had brought loads of clothes, as well as the underwear, but Sam suggested she pose as she was - in a sweater and jeans. She had spent ages doing her makeup that morning, and spent what I considered a fortune the previous day on her hair. But Sam thought, as it would only be head and shoulders, there was little point in changing and he usually found if models were dressed down, they felt less self-conscious.
He did various poses with her standing and sitting, then sat her on a chair, elbows on knees, and hands under her chin. Given how Mary was leaning forward, and that the vee neck of her fairly loose fitting sweater was gaping open, she was revealing a great deal of cleavage (she is a C cup). Sam called me over to look at the picture on the back of the camera. “Wow, that’s sexy Mary. Come and have a look.”
Sexy? What’s he talking about? I’m wearing a jumper and jeans. I went over to look at the image on the back of Sam’s camera. Christ, bloody man has got me so he’s looking down my top. I could even see the top of my bra. Bloody pervert. I’m not having this. But even as that thought went through my mind, I also noticed a strange tingle, definitely where there shouldn’t be a tingle of any description.
She looked and blushed, but I caught a glimpse in her eye that seemed to show she liked it.
“Want to do more?” Sam asked.
“More what?” retorted Mary.
“Well, something a little more sexy, you brought some lingerie didn’t you?”
“Well, yes. But I’m not a tart. You think that’s sexy? It’s bloody perverted. Looking down my top.”
“Oh, come on, Mary,” I pleaded. “It’s only for me. No one else will ever know, and we aren’t getting younger. It would be incredible to have some glamorous images of you.”
“Glamorous, OK. Porn no. All right?” After some hesitation, and further prompting, she relented, “OK, I’ll do it.” A very hesitant yes from Mary, and the suggestion she might change, started the most sexually charged afternoon (up to that point) of our lives.
Did I just agree to having photographs taken in my underwear? I walked to the changing room like someone walking to the scaffold. I can’t tell you my mixed emotions. It was Dan’s fiftieth I was doing this for, I kept telling myself, so it’s a one-off. He’s been a loving husband, so perhaps I should do it for him, but can I? With every fibre tingling (Hang on. Every fibre? Yes. Why on earth should every fibre be tingling? I don’t want to do this. Do I? Something deep inside was saying I did.) I changed into what I hoped was the least revealing set of lingerie Dan and I (well, mainly Dan, I just vetoed some of what I regarded as the more revealing sets) had chosen online, put on a robe and went back out, shaking like a leaf.
Mary came out of the changing room modestly covered with a dressing gown/ kimono type thing (not great at ladies’ fashions!) visibly shaking. On Sam’s suggestion, she started with some glamour shots, still in her robe. I wondered which lingerie set she had chosen, some being more revealing than others.
I suspected it would be the least revealing, red set. The bra was quite lacy but a full cup, and not that see-through, whilst the knickers were a French style, with fairly tight legs and plenty of coverage. There was obviously a matching suspender belt and stockings to complete the outfit.
To settle her down, Sam did a whole load of shots of her with the robe on, gradually getting her to let it open a little more. It was proving right to get a good professional to do this. He knew how to make models relax in front of the camera.
At last, he suggested removing the kimono, and that proved me right about the underwear, although that was probably the last time that day I foresaw what would happen.
Mary’s face was a strange mix of nervous anxiety and anticipation. Sam started her off in simple poses, as she was so stiff and self-conscious, and even I could see the photos would not be sexy, but Sam persevered, and slowly, I could see that my beloved wife was gradually getting in the mood, adopting various poses, with direction from Sam. After a while, he asked how comfortable she felt, and amazingly she nodded, saying she was OK, and it was actually quite fun!
Great, I thought, I wonder what’s next.
“Ok,” said Sam.“How do you feel about taking your bra off?” Now, probably, to a lot of you, that would not seem a big deal, but Mary had never even gone topless on a Mediterranean beach, when virtually every other woman was, so I wondered how she would react.
Take my bra off? In front of a stranger? No way! Christ, it was nerve-racking enough standing here in my undies, anyway. That was my immediate reaction, but even as I was thinking it, I realised I was moistening up between my legs. What? No, I can’t be. Seriously? Am I finding this sexy? I reluctantly admitted to myself I was. I thought back to that radio programme. So, instead of saying no, I nodded and awaited Sam’s directions.
“Ok,” he said seeing the fear on her face, “let’s go slowly. Turn your back on me, unclip your bra, take it off, then, when you are ready, turn round.”
Ready? Ready? I thought. I’ll be frozen to the spot for eternity. The mixed feelings shooting through me were contradictory. My head was saying stop, get dressed, go home. My heart, or more accurately, my libido (amazing really, I didn’t think I had one) was saying YES show everything. (Yes, everything. My inner self was saying, grow up dear, be a REAL woman.) I turned my back on them and reached up behind myself, unclipping the two fasteners. I could hardly do it, I was shaking so much.
I hunched my shoulders and shrugged the bra straps off, holding the cups in place over my breasts. I still wasn’t sure what I would do next, when out of nowhere, that thought re-entered my mind. I’m in my forties, not getting younger. If other Radio Four listeners can do it, so can I. What the hell. Dan was obviously supportive. Go for it. So I did. I took my hands off my breasts, let the bra fall to the ground, swivelled round on my heels, put my hands on my hips, adopted what I hoped was a sexy pose and pouted. Oh-My-God. At that point, I realised my knickers were getting soaked.
I waited with bated breath. Her hands came behind her to unhook the two clasps, she hunched her shoulders and just let the bra fall to the floor. She stood like that, for a good few seconds, and I wondered if she would turn. But then she swivelled on her heels, putting her hands on her hips, shoulders back, pouted lips and with a blaze of sexuality in her eyes I’m not sure I’d ever seen before. She took her hands off her hips and squeezed her breasts, looking directly into my eyes. God, if it made her feel half as horny as it made me feel, she was definitely enjoying it.
Sam continued to shoot, giving instructions, and making the poses ever so slightly more provocative all the time, although either Mary didn’t realise, or did, and was content to go with it.
“How about losing the knickers?” Sam suddenly asked.
I expected a flat refusal but instead heard Mary huskily reply, “Why not? In for a penny, in for a pound.”
With that, she pushed her thumbs under the waist of her knickers, pushed them down, and stepped out of them, screwing them up into a ball, and throwing them to me and blowing me a kiss. I really couldn’t believe this. My wife, standing stark naked, in front of another man and appearing to enjoy it. God, it was making me horny.
Sam got her to pose sitting in the big armchair and then asked her to throw her legs over the arms. I really, really didn’t think she’d do that, but with hardly a moment’s hesitation, she followed his instructions and didn’t even bother to cover herself with her hands.
Shit. My wife, exposing herself provocatively to another man. A dream come true.
The next fifteen minutes were a blur. I really can’t remember much, it was like being drunk. I was intoxicated with the sexually charged feeling coursing through me. Totally unknown, I’d never experienced a feeling like it, but boy, was I enjoying it!
Like coming out of a dream, I suddenly came back to reality when I realised I was stark naked, apart from my stockings and suspenders, and had my legs as wide apart as possible, with Sam, and his camera, literally inches away, shooting for all he was worth. This should have been the time when I came to my senses and rushed back to the changing room to cover up, but that was the old Mary. The Mary of a couple of hours ago. Now I wanted, and needed, this experience to continue and intensify.
By this time I have to admit I was rock hard, and would desperately have loved to have been able to get my cock out and stroke it, but didn’t think I should.
Sam was now down on his knees, with his camera inches away from Mary’s nest. “Touch yourself,” he directed and my wife of twenty-three years obeyed him. She started gently moving her fingers up and down her slit and then concentrated on rubbing her clit. Her head went back, and I think she was off in a world of her own. With the camera still clicking away her hips bucked as she brought herself higher and higher, and then a long loud moan signalled she had brought herself off. God, I was so horny and frustrated.
Had I really just done that? Had I fingered myself off, in front of two men, and had an orgasm? The first time I had come in a very, very long time.
Mary sank into a heap on the chair, looking like I had never seen her before. Alive. An intensity in her eyes that spoke volumes. She did not try to cover up, but sat there, openly naked, and still lightly rubbing her clit.
“Oh. Wow. What was that? I feel so good.”
Was my old Mary of the last twenty-three years gone? I couldn’t wait to talk to her about this.
I think I immediately realised that something fundamentally earth-shattering had just happened. It’s almost like the medieval idea of the devil being driven out, but in my case, the devil was modesty, and hang-ups, about sexual matters. Yes, all I had done was to pose naked, and have an orgasm, but deep down I knew this was just the start and, providing Dan would come with me, we could embark on a journey of sexual discovery that should have happened long ago.
We both sat there for a while in our own thoughts while Sam talked about post-production, and editing, and presentations, and I don’t know what. I really wasn’t listening, I was just hoping Mary would continue down this path.
We regained some composure, and Mary went to get dressed. I got Sam to repeat everything he had just been telling us. Yes, we would come back and view the photos and see what we wanted. I’d call him and fix a date.
We were eventually calm enough to leave and drive home, so said goodbye and that we’d be in touch. We wandered back to the car holding hands, and when we were seated Mary leant over and kissed me. Our tongues like two vipers darting at each other, going as deep as we could.
“Dan,” Mary whispered “did I really just do that? I feel so alive.”
“You did, and it’s made me feel so hot,” I replied. I had to ask the question. “What made you so horny so suddenly? You were so shy and reserved to start with.”
“I know. I was shaking even more inside than out, then, I don’t know, when Sam asked me to take my bra off, I thought, no way, then as I turned my back I suddenly thought about something I’d heard on the radio, about middle-aged sexuality, and it somehow just hit me, I suddenly felt a rush at the thought of flashing my breasts and by the time I’d reached up and unclasped the bra it’s as though I’d been plugged into the mains. I had this huge surge of wantonness going through me. You didn’t mind did you?”
“Mind? No way, I would have thought that was obvious.”
“Mm, probably was. Let’s get home and celebrate.”
I won’t bore you with the details of our celebration, suffice to say we were both completely and utterly exhausted by the end of the evening.
I woke first in the morning, and went down to make the coffee, and spent the time thinking about the previous day, and alternated between euphoria and concern that, in the cold light of day, Mary might regret what she had done. I was bloody certain I didn’t. Even after the night we had just had, my dick was still interested in more action.
Carrying the mugs into the bedroom and being greeted by Mary’s smiling face I knew she had no regrets. Oh, and perhaps the fact she had thrown the duvet back, had her legs wide apart, and two fingers working hard in her pussy was a clue too!
The coffee went cold!
Lying there, after, I asked “Where do we go from here? Do you want to do it again or was it a one off?”
“Oh no,” she replied, “as long as you don’t mind, I’m desperate to do it again but... you are happy that I do?”
“Mm. More than happy. What did you want to do? Up to you entirely. I know what I’d like, but you tell me.”
“Well... what really got me so horny was Sam being up so close, and I was just wondering what I would have felt if he’d touched me.”
“Touched you? How? Touching your tits, or pussy do you mean, or more?”
“I’m not sure. I think using his fingers, or massaging my breasts, would have been magic, but I can’t help thinking I would so have loved to have had him fuck me. Is that bad of me?”
“Hell, no,” I said. “That would make me so, so horny. Look.” I said pointing to my cock which was swelling again just at the thought.
“Naughty boy,” Mary responded, slapping my penis hard.
“Ouch. That hurt. Do it again!” So she did. Something else new. We were entering new territory, that’s for sure.
So we talked further, with long interruptions for our hands and mouths to work hard on, and in, each other.
The upshot was that I would phone Sam on Monday, and suggest we went to collect the results of the shoot. We discussed how I should approach Sam. Mary decided she would rather just let things develop, in case she changed her mind, but she was definitely thinking about letting him fuck her. I couldn’t wait, the thought of seeing another man enter my wife was mind-blowing.
So, a week after our life-changing afternoon we were back at Sam’s studio to see the results, and who knows what else. I had phoned him on the Monday to say we had decided to come and collect the photos, and he asked if we were happy with the way the shoot had gone and would we want another.
I told him how much she/we had enjoyed it and, yes, she couldn’t wait to give it another go. I didn’t tell him any more than that and left him thinking it would be a repeat of last week. Mary had spent another fortune on her hair and was dressed in a plain skirt and white blouse.
Her underwear was another story. She had on a pale pink set. A very lacy, sheer bra, which allowed everyone to see her nipples, and matching knickers, which revealed that she was not shaven. She had asked me if she should shave, but I told her no, that’s how I preferred her and that’s how I wanted her to stay.
The week between our visits to Sam’s studio seemed like an eternity. I was alternately as hot as hell at the thought, and so nervous I thought I might be sick. The evenings and nights with Dan were as sexually full as our honeymoon had been. Probably more so, because suddenly there was no shyness, or reservation, between us.
We’d discussed the coming meeting and Dan had said, without my prompting, I was free to do anything I wanted with Sam, a hand job, blow job or full fuck, he said he didn’t mind. I could tell that was true, as whenever we talked it over, his cock showed his feelings by engorging itself to a rock-like state! So there we were. Sitting next to each other. My knickers already getting damp, but I was still full of doubt whether I could go through with it.
Sam arranged chairs at his desk, with Mary and me on either side of him, and started showing us the images, asking which ones we particularly liked and if we wanted any more editing done on them. All very professional, but speaking for myself (and Mary, as she told me later) neither of us were really concentrating that hard, both just anticipating what might happen next.
The photos were great and were heightening the sexuality of the moment, and it was when we got to the ones of Mary taking her knickers off that Mary leant towards the screen a little. She placed her hand on Sam’s knee as she pointed to the picture, and asked him to enlarge it. I'm not sure if she meant the picture or what her hand was close to.
“Wow,” says Mary, “that is really making me so horny. How about you Dan?”
“Stiffening up nicely,” I replied, which got a little laugh and Mary’s hand rubbed up and down Sam’s thigh. Sam seemed to ignore Mary’s hand and continued to scroll through the pictures professionally, until we got to where Mary had her legs wide apart and was fingering herself. I glanced across at her, and saw she was getting to a point where her actions would be controlled by her libido, rather than common decency. “God, that’s so horny. I remember thinking I wish there was a cock handy.”
Although we had talked about this incessantly in the last week, it still came as a huge shock to hear my once demure wife saying it, and even more so when she went on in a hoarse whisper “Any chance Sam?” And with that, her hand went to his crotch, and gently squeezed.
Sam turned to me, and before he could say anything, I dumbly nodded and croaked, “Go ahead,” as Mary’s hand squeezed and rubbed Sam’s through his trousers.
I couldn’t believe this. Mary taking the lead, guided Sam’s hand to her tits and encouraged him to knead them.
Not sure how to describe my thoughts. Not sure whether anyone reading this is the same, but I’d had a fantasy of seeing my wife with another man for years. And here I was, watching her enjoy his hand going into her blouse and bra, while she was unzipping him and taking his cock out.
Mary’s hand closed around Sam’s cock and wanked him as he pushed a hand up her skirt. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but judging by the small groan from Mary, he must have got inside her knickers and have a finger or two well inside her.
I was beside myself. I couldn’t just sit there. I extracted my cock, which was already like a rock, and slowly masturbated. No way did I want to bring myself off, but I had too much sexual energy going through me to just sit there.
Mary continued to wank Sam, and I judged that he wanted to move it up a gear, although Mary was showing no signs of wanting to. Perhaps she was concerned about how I was feeling, so I said to her, in a very broken voice, why didn’t she see how Sam tasted? Jeez. I had just encouraged my wife to suck off another bloke!
“Not yet,” she replied, and I detected nervousness in her voice. Oh. Was she having regrets? Second thoughts? I hoped not, but she showed no sign of dropping her head to take Sam’s penis in her mouth. His hand was still firmly up her skirt and I assume firmly in her cunt. Her legs drifted apart to give him more access, and at last, I could see that he had two fingers inside her, and his thumb was massaging her clit.
Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps this was turning her on so much she didn’t want it to stop. She brought her other hand down, and cupped Sam’s balls in it, and started vigorously wanking him. Hard was not the word for it. Her hand was a blur up and down his shaft, she was pushing his cock against his belly, then pushing it down between his legs.
Totally alien for Mary, or at least the old Mary, her wanking of me had always been very perfunctory, a duty more than a pleasure. His hands came away from Mary’s pussy and he gripped the arms of his chair. He was trying to hold on, but Mary’s hand continued at the speed of light and with a deep grunt his semen sprayed everywhere.
Her head dropped, and she opened her mouth to take the final spurts from his engorged member, then hunting around for the spunk that had flown everywhere, she gathered it on her fingers and, looking me directly in the eye, put them in her mouth, sucking them clean.
“Fuck. What have I been missing?” she said. Then, looking over at me, my cock still at full attention as I tried to process the most erotic few minutes of my life, she said, “I need more.”
With that she walked over and, totally ignoring the fact that Sam was sitting only feet away, she hiked her skirt up, pulled her knickers down, and off, and straddled me. I had no problem penetrating her. She was soaking. Dripping in fact. I slid into her. She was so moist there was no friction. So I pushed a finger into her as well, which extracted an intake of breath.
She moved rhythmically, first forward and back, sliding up and down my thighs, then up and down, almost withdrawing my penis totally and then slapping down hard on me. There was no doubt who was in charge of this fuck. If you will excuse the pun, it was as if I was only along for the ride!
Her hips were thrusting back and forth. Her head was tilted back. Her mouth was wide open, with low moans escaping, and then becoming louder and more urgent as her bucking reached a crescendo. She went rigid. The orgasm she was having brought me to the brink, not that it needed much.
I had been struggling the whole time not to shoot into her, as I desperately wanted this fuck to never end. But now it was. I came. And came. And came. My cock continuing to twitch inside her as I grabbed her around the hips, pulled her deep onto me, then pulled her head to mine and we sank our tongues into each other’s mouths. Heaven. We collapsed into a heap.
I suddenly remembered we were not alone. I looked over at Sam to see him gently massaging himself.
“Dan, you have a hell of a randy wife.”
“So it seems,” I replied.
“Too fucking hot by half. Making me cum early like that. God, what a missed opportunity.”
“Oh Sam, I’m so sorry,” said Mary. “Can I make it up to you now? Ok, Dan?”
I dumbly nodded, as my adorable wife climbed off my lap and went over to Sam, and kneeling, started gently massaging his cock, which was still limp. “Not sure that will be successful,” he said. “No matter how much I want it. Any chance of another day?
Ah,” he sighed as Mary had dropped her head and now had his cock fully in her mouth. She hadn’t answered his question (ladies don’t speak with their mouths full!) but from my point of view, I had no problems in wanting a repeat of this scenario. Mary continued sucking him, his head was back, and he was obviously not disliking it, but there was no sign of him getting back to hardness. Eventually, Mary removed his penis from her mouth, kissed it gently, and said yes, perhaps another day would be more interesting!
“That would be all right wouldn’t it darling?” she asked, “if we came back another day, and I gave Sam a proper fuck?” The emphasis she put on the word fuck was dripping with lust.
“Bloody hell, yes,” I responded still on a high from what I had seen her do today.
Not sure I can add much to this. Dan has summed it up much as I remember it. To say I was randy that day is an understatement. I still don’t understand how I had gone so quickly from an everyday, middle-aged, sexually repressed, housewife to what now seemed to be a wanton slut who couldn’t get enough. Ok, I know all I had done was wank off a stranger in front of my husband and then have sex with Dan in front of the said stranger, but I knew in my heart I needed much, much, more now, and there was no turning back.
