My ideal scenario would be that my wife, about a month or two before my birthday, would start planning on delivering my birthday present of an intimate boudoir photo album. Not an album of her in coy poses wearing discreet lingerie, but an album filled with her and impassioned lovemaking, naked bodies, licking, sucking, penetrating, ejaculating, and orgasming—but the male would not be. Indeed, he would be a complete stranger to me. The intimate boudoir photoshoot would capture her and another man reveling in each other's proffered bodies. My birthday gift would be also his and her gift of the sexual experience. Each year, the new boudoir photo album would be added to the previous year's albums. She and I would reexamine them in our bed at night, one of us gazing at photos as the other orally satisfied growing lust.
She would find a few potential men at websites for adulterers, such as Ashley Madison, or at swinger websites, such as Adult-Friend-Finder. The men could young or old, married or single, tall or short, any color she chooses. She would meet each potential male in a hotel lobby, where they would chat and get to know each other. If she felt some promise of compatibility or sexual chemistry, she would invite him into the room she had booked for a trail run. If she didn't feel the require connection, she would thank him but decline his participation, and then she would cancel the booking. She might end up having to pay for three or four hotel stays, before she found Mr. Right. These also-ran male candidates would prove useful pillow-talk fodder later.
Until my gift arrives, she would keep silent about its making. As my birthday approached, I would carefully and feverishly evaluate any difference in the feel and scent and wetness of her vagina as we made love, knowing that I might not be the first to have fucked her that day. Once the giftwrap fell to floor, my eyes would devour the first full-page photo of her in tight embrace with another man, his hands clutching her body through her sexy dress, their mouths joined, their eyes shut, as they passionately kiss.
As the pages turn, her clothes fall off her body, his hands journey and roam over her exposed flesh, until she is entirely naked save for her high-heels and jewelry. I would behold his mouth finding her nipples and his hand parting her pubic hair. The next pages reveal her undressing him, removing shirt and pants, releasing his erection from its confines, and her kissing his nakedness. I would wonder what the boudoir photographer thought of witnessing them make illicit love. Did he become sexually stimulated or was he completely detached and analytical as he captured her mouth and tongue caress this stranger's hard cock? Did he guide or direct their actions and positions? How did his nose respond to that singular sexual scent a man and a woman make when their sexual fluids mix, an intimate aroma as unique as a fingerprint? Did he wish the roles were reversed, with him fucking my wife, while the other man photographed the deed?
As I near the album's end, she would free my painful erection and tenderly suck me as I beheld the photo of the stranger's cock first divide her labia and forse itself inside her body, investigative probing, happily exploring her inner ridges and wet grip, seeking some small portion of yet untouched and virgin recess, relishing and appreciating her offering to him this most private pleasure. Photo after photo would showcase their sexual union, their delight and hunger. Like a personal Kama Sutra, their varied sexual positions would enthrall my gaze, filling me with awe and desire of release of sexual tension. The last photo would capture the evidence of his completed pleasure by exhibiting her unfaithful vagina dripping his spent lust, whereupon she would swallow my pent-up lust and then kiss me, before asking if I enjoyed my birthday present.
She would find a few potential men at websites for adulterers, such as Ashley Madison, or at swinger websites, such as Adult-Friend-Finder. The men could young or old, married or single, tall or short, any color she chooses. She would meet each potential male in a hotel lobby, where they would chat and get to know each other. If she felt some promise of compatibility or sexual chemistry, she would invite him into the room she had booked for a trail run. If she didn't feel the require connection, she would thank him but decline his participation, and then she would cancel the booking. She might end up having to pay for three or four hotel stays, before she found Mr. Right. These also-ran male candidates would prove useful pillow-talk fodder later.
Until my gift arrives, she would keep silent about its making. As my birthday approached, I would carefully and feverishly evaluate any difference in the feel and scent and wetness of her vagina as we made love, knowing that I might not be the first to have fucked her that day. Once the giftwrap fell to floor, my eyes would devour the first full-page photo of her in tight embrace with another man, his hands clutching her body through her sexy dress, their mouths joined, their eyes shut, as they passionately kiss.
As the pages turn, her clothes fall off her body, his hands journey and roam over her exposed flesh, until she is entirely naked save for her high-heels and jewelry. I would behold his mouth finding her nipples and his hand parting her pubic hair. The next pages reveal her undressing him, removing shirt and pants, releasing his erection from its confines, and her kissing his nakedness. I would wonder what the boudoir photographer thought of witnessing them make illicit love. Did he become sexually stimulated or was he completely detached and analytical as he captured her mouth and tongue caress this stranger's hard cock? Did he guide or direct their actions and positions? How did his nose respond to that singular sexual scent a man and a woman make when their sexual fluids mix, an intimate aroma as unique as a fingerprint? Did he wish the roles were reversed, with him fucking my wife, while the other man photographed the deed?
As I near the album's end, she would free my painful erection and tenderly suck me as I beheld the photo of the stranger's cock first divide her labia and forse itself inside her body, investigative probing, happily exploring her inner ridges and wet grip, seeking some small portion of yet untouched and virgin recess, relishing and appreciating her offering to him this most private pleasure. Photo after photo would showcase their sexual union, their delight and hunger. Like a personal Kama Sutra, their varied sexual positions would enthrall my gaze, filling me with awe and desire of release of sexual tension. The last photo would capture the evidence of his completed pleasure by exhibiting her unfaithful vagina dripping his spent lust, whereupon she would swallow my pent-up lust and then kiss me, before asking if I enjoyed my birthday present.
