The Best Lingerie Makes a Man Blush

Chronicle of an Open Marriage #21

I had a husband-approved hot sextual relationship with Hungry Man for just over a month. Separated by a continent, our plan was to meet in New Orleans at the Southern Decadence Festival in September, which I’m attending with a girlfriend. What would happen when we met there? I ran a number of sexy scenarios in my head, and even wrote down one or two…

Meanwhile, I shopped for lingerie, a new interest since I started cultivating my inner “salacious little slut,” and by SLS I mean empowered and fully activated sexual woman. When I got a batch in hand, I modeled them for Hubs. He gave me a rating of 1–10 for each item.

The first batch, he awarded mostly 8s, a couple of 9s, one 7, and one 6. He reserved the 10 for no lingerie, he told me, since he prefers me nude. For the second batch, when he was mad at me, I got mere 7s, until I put on the teddy in the featured photo.

“Turn around,” he said when I came into the living room wearing it. Then he muttered, “nine or ten,” looking down at his laptop, practically blushing because he liked it so much. He didn’t want to like it, but he liked it. Hahahah! I love exerting my newfound sexual power over my husband, over Hungry Man, and in theory, over my new lover, whenever he or she arrives on the scene.

Later, Hubs said I should throw away all my other lingerie and just get five more of these.

One “Meet Hot” Scenario

So imagine that I’m wearing that irresistible 10-star teddy under my clothes at the start of this story.

I’ve heard the term “meet cute” used to describe the moment the male and female leads of a romantic comedy meet, presumably in a charming or “cute” way. But what if it’s not a love story, but a sexual one? Can we coin a new term: “meet hot?”

Here’s the “meet hot” I wrote about Hungry Man and me meeting for the first time at the hotel in New Orleans where we both reserved rooms. There’s a bar on the ground floor.

Since HM has read my stories here on Medium, he already knows I have a spanking fetish. It felt strange to have this deep, dark secret on the table up front, but since it was, we talked about it freely, and about switching roles from dominant to submissive while exploring this kink in NOLA (he promised to purchase little leopard-print panties), so I didn’t feel embarrassed about including spanking in the “meet hot” scene below.

It starts with me sitting at the bar, wearing a flattering, form-fitting, sleeveless sheath dress. I’ve got my red lipstick on, dangly silver earrings, and my sparkly ring of power (more about that later). I’ve rubbed fragrant oil all over my smooth skin. I’m wearing sandals, which show off my red polished toes. And I’m waiting anxiously for my first glimpse of Hungry Man.

I’ve seen him on video chat (I’ve seen him cum on video chat. I own this man!), so I know what he looks like, but this will be the first time I encounter him in the flesh.

Here’s what I sent him in an email a week or two ago, which he read while at work. Not much work got done thereafter.

When you come into the bar you are already desperate. I watch with amusement as you scan the room. I’m sitting at the bar in my pretty blue dress. My lips are red. You lock on me and stride purposefully over. No polite introductions. You take my head in your hands and give me your wet mouth, hungrily. I stand up to meet you. You sit down on a bar stool and open your legs — pull me in. Our lips haven’t unlocked.

“Settle down there, you two,” the bartender laughs. “Maybe you should get a room.”

“I’ve got one,” you tell him, and grab my hand. You squeeze it hard as you lead me up the narrow staircase to your loft. You are already murmuring your sexy French nothings. I can make out only the sexy musical tone and my name. My yoni is throbbing and already wet.

In the room, you take my dress off in one swift motion, then sink to your knees to pull the crotch of my teddy aside, burying your face in my nest. “I’ve waited so long to taste you. I have to taste you,” you mumble, your lips buried in my pussy. I laugh.

Wait. What?!?

You stand up and grab me forcefully around the waist. “What are you laughing at, little girl?”

“I’m laughing at your desperation,” I tease. “I’m laughing because I’ve got you so wrapped around my little finger.”

“You think so? We’ll see about that!”

You grab my hand and pull me over to the black sofa. In a flash, you are seated and I’m over your lap, butt in the air. SLAP! Your hand stings on my bottom as you administer my punishment.

“Ow! Stop that!”

SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP!

Very soon I am squirming and crying on your lap. Your cock is rock hard beneath my punana. “Please stop!” I beg, but it only inflames you. And soon my butt is red and rising to meet your big hand, my pussy dripping its juice all over your thighs. I’m on the verge of cumming, but I don’t want to! It’s humiliating with my bright red butt in your face.

“I’m sorry,” I cry out. “I’m sorry I disrespected you.”

Your hand is raised high but my contrition stops you. You bring it down gently on my soft bottom and rub. “Okay, Baby,” you soothe. “Okay. I forgive you.”

Your hand slips between my legs and into my soaking pussy. You finger my clit and my hips start to grind involuntarily. I can’t help it! “Let’s move this over to the bed now, Lover,” you instruct me.

I lead you to the bed obediently. I lay down before you on my sore butt. You bring out your beautiful cock. We fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck until we’re both groaning and practically crying.

Afterward, you lick your lips like a big, satisfied cat.

“Who’s wrapped around whose finger now?” you ask.

“I am, Baby. I am. It’s definitely me…”

A Fantasy in More Ways Than One

So, what do you think? Have I got a future in erotica? It seems possible, with one major problem. Every scene would include spanking!

I remember a friend making that complaint about Anne Rice’s erotica. Rice, who wrote the brilliant Interview With a Vampire, also released a four-book erotica series based on Sleeping Beauty that was originally written under a pseudonym. It wasn’t a kiss that woke up Rice’s sleeping princess…

When I asked a friend if she liked the series, she said “Not really. Too much spanking. He spanks her. She spanks him. They spank each other…” Given my kink, I’m guessing my erotica would have the same flaw.

But there’s another big problem with this scenario, and that’s that Hungry Man will never walk into that bar.

I got the email a few nights back. After witnessing him frolic with me in our virtual garden for five weeks, his wife decided that she wasn’t ready for polyamory after all, so our planned five-day fuckfest, and our daily hot sextual relationship, was suddenly off.

Groan.

I’m disappointed, of course, but not bitter. Because the lust and attention that Hungry Man lavished on me over these past weeks has helped me to fully open to the idea of polyamory. (Hubs has been on board for months.) The only problem is, I don’t know how to make an outside lover manifest!

I got on a dating app for a hot minute, before I somehow unintentionally deactivated my account, and the three accounts I made thereafter; I swear that app has something against me (possibly that I never gave them any money); it won’t let me log in!

I even had a conversation with an alluring man I met on the app who seemed to check all my boxes for an “ideal lover.” But then he ghosted me for unknown reasons, and now I’m frustrated again. I think my salacious little slut scared him off.

And I get it. Because my SLS with her hungry punana is a lot. It feels really good on an energetic level to have my libido fully activated, and it’s done wonders for my sex life with Hubs. So I don’t want to put it back to sleep in the face of these disappointments. But I don’t want to hop in the sack with any passerby either.

One of Hubs’ lovers would be happy to fuck me, but I don’t want Hubs’ hands on my first sexual foray in 40 years. I want to be independent. I want to do this by myself. How can my newfound sexual freedom smash the patriarchy if Hubs is pimping me out? It’s a conundrum. And my newly-minted salacious little slut is still sitting at the bar, drumming her fingers, trying to figure out her next move.

My ring of power

A few weeks ago, one of my writing partners showed up at a session wearing a big, honking diamond engagement ring. “Notice anything different about me?” she asked coyly, and it took me two guesses to notice it on her hand.

Then I looked down at my own hands. They are bare of rings. I’ve been married for almost 40 years, but my gold band is too small now and the antique platinum ring of sparkly little diamonds that Hubs gave me on our 10th anniversary is also. They sit in a little bowl on my dresser. I thought about getting them enlarged.

Then three days later, I was in a jewelry store to get the battery in my watch replaced when I saw a ring I really liked in the case. It looked witchy and powerful and understated all at once. I tried it on while I was waiting. It was expensive. It was also too small. But the clerk assured me they could have one made in my size by the end of the month.

Then I went home and told Hubs I wanted him to buy me that ring. He was unenthusiastic. “How are you going to get $1,500 worth of value out of a ring?” he scoffed. We are usually humble people. I drive a 2006 car. I put the idea aside.

But at my next writing date, when I told my buddy that story, she admonished me. “How old are you? What are you waiting for?!? If you want that ring, just go and buy it for yourself!”

So I did.

I also had them engrave “ring of power” on the inside. And now I’m waiting for them to call and say it’s ready for me to pick up.

And the more I think about it, the more I like the fact that I bought this ring for myself. It’s not a stamp of approval from my husband. It’s not a signal of how much a man values me. It’s a signal of how much I value myself.

This may seem unrelated to my sexual awakening, but to me, it’s all of a piece. When I put on that ring, I will remember my true value. When I put on that ring, I will acknowledge my power. I will use its magic to ground and center me, to call forth my magic, and to bewitch my suitors.

When I put on that ring in New Orleans, I will call to me the new sexual partner that I crave.

What happened next? Read Chronicle of an Open Marriage #22. Find all of my stories about opening our marriage on the list below, or about sex in general on this one. Get an email whenever I publish. And have an inspirational day.