The Anniversary Gift

📅 Our Tenth Anniversary

"I have a surprise for you."

Michelle said it over dinner, her eyes sparkling with something I couldn't quite read. We were at our favorite restaurant, the same one where I'd proposed ten years ago. Candlelight played across her face, highlighting the woman I'd fallen in love with—still beautiful, still mysterious, still capable of surprising me.

"What kind of surprise?"

"The kind I can't tell you about. The kind you have to experience."

I'm Nathan. Ten years married, fourteen years together. We'd built a life—careers, home, inside jokes, shared dreams. I thought I knew everything about my wife.

I was wrong.

"Give me a hint."

"It's something we've talked about. Something you mentioned once, a long time ago, that you thought was just a fantasy."

My mind raced through possibilities. A trip somewhere exotic? A new car? Something kinky I'd once suggested after too much wine?

"I mentioned a lot of things after too much wine."

She laughed—that full, genuine laugh that still made my heart skip. "This one, you were sober. And very, very nervous."

Oh.

Two years ago, after a night of particularly intense sex, I'd confessed something I'd never told anyone. A fantasy that felt too dangerous to speak out loud, too likely to make her think less of me.

"Michelle, are you saying—"

"Finish your steak. And then we're going somewhere."

📍 The Hotel

She'd booked a suite at the most expensive hotel in the city. The kind with a view of the skyline and a bathroom bigger than our first apartment.

"Michelle, what is this?"

She set down her purse, turned to face me. Her expression was serious now, searching.

"Two years ago, you told me about a fantasy. You said watching me with another man, seeing me desired, seeing me... taken... was something you couldn't stop thinking about. Do you remember?"

My mouth went dry. "I remember."

"You said it made you feel guilty. Like there was something wrong with you. Like a real man wouldn't want to share his wife."

"I remember that too."

She crossed the room, took my hands in hers.

"I've been thinking about it ever since. At first, I was confused. Maybe a little hurt. But then I started to understand. It's not about me being inadequate, or you wanting to be replaced. It's about..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "It's about loving me so completely that you want to see me at my most... alive."

I couldn't speak. No one had ever understood me like this.

"So I've arranged something. If you want it. If you're ready."

"Arranged... what?"

She glanced at her phone. "He'll be here in thirty minutes. His name is Marcus. We've been talking for two months. Getting to know each other. Making sure this is safe."

"You found someone? For... for us?"

"For you. For us. A gift."

My heart was pounding. "What if I'm not ready?"

"Then he doesn't come up, and we have an incredible night together in a beautiful hotel. No pressure, Nathan. This is your fantasy. It only happens if you want it."

I looked at my wife. This woman who had taken my darkest secret and turned it into a gift. Who had spent months planning, researching, finding someone safe. All for me.

"I want it."

She smiled—that smile I'd fallen in love with. "Then let me get ready. And you... pour yourself a drink. You're going to need it."

📅 Thirty Minutes Later

Michelle emerged from the bathroom transformed. She wore a black dress I'd never seen—tight, short, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her hair was down, her makeup darker than usual. She looked like a woman on a mission.

"My God."

"You like?"

"I love. Where did you get that dress?"

"Online. Three months ago. I've been waiting to wear it."

There was a knock at the door. My stomach dropped.

"Ready?"

"No. Yes. I don't know."

She kissed me—soft, reassuring. "I love you. This changes nothing. It only adds."

She opened the door.

Marcus was... not what I expected. I'd imagined someone threatening, intimidating. Someone who would make me feel small. Instead, he was normal. Good-looking, yes, but approachable. Friendly. He shook my hand like we were meeting at a business conference.

"Nathan. Thanks for having me."

"Thanks for... being here."

What do you say in these situations? There's no script.

Michelle took charge—of course she did. She poured drinks, made small talk. We sat in the suite's living room like civilized adults pretending this was normal.

Eventually, she stood.

"I think we've made enough small talk, don't you?"

Marcus looked at me. "You sure about this, man? No judgment if you're not."

I looked at my wife. At the anticipation in her eyes. At the gift she was offering me.

"I'm sure."

📍 The Bedroom

I took my position in a chair by the window—close enough to see everything, far enough to not intrude. This was what I'd fantasized about, what I'd barely allowed myself to imagine. Now it was happening.

Marcus approached Michelle slowly. He touched her face, her hair. Gentle. Respectful. She looked at me once—checking in—then gave herself to the moment.

Their kiss was tentative at first. Two strangers learning each other. But it deepened quickly, and I watched my wife's body respond to another man's touch. Her back arching, her breath quickening.

The jealousy I expected didn't come. Instead, there was something else. Pride. Arousal. The heady knowledge that this incredible woman was mine, even as she surrendered to someone else.

Marcus unzipped her dress. It fell to the floor, revealing lingerie I recognized—the set I'd bought for her birthday. She'd worn it for this. For him. For me.

"You're beautiful."

"Make me feel it."

He did.

Marcus was skilled—I could tell from the way he touched her, read her responses, adjusted his approach. He kissed down her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. Michelle's head fell back, her eyes closing.

When he unhooked her bra, she didn't cover herself. She stood proud, exposed, letting him look his fill. Then his mouth was on her nipples, and she was moaning in a way that sent electricity down my spine.

"More. Please."

He guided her to the bed. Laid her down like something precious. Kissed a trail down her stomach while his fingers hooked into her panties and pulled them away.

My wife lay naked before another man, and I was harder than I'd been in years.

Marcus positioned himself between her legs. Looked at me one more time.

"Still good?"

"Still good."

He lowered his mouth to her.

The sound Michelle made was one I knew well—that guttural gasp of pleasure when the first wave hits. But there was something different too. Excitement. Novelty. The thrill of something forbidden finally permitted.

I watched as Marcus worked her with his tongue. Watched her hips rise to meet him, her hands grip the sheets. Watched my wife build toward an orgasm at another man's touch.

"Oh God, oh God, yes, right there—"

She came hard. I could see it in the tension of her body, hear it in her voice. Wave after wave, while I sat in my chair and watched and felt something crack open inside me.

Not pain. Liberation.

When Michelle recovered, she reached for Marcus. Pulled him up for a kiss. Her hands found his belt, worked it open.

She freed him, and I saw another man's cock for the first time since college locker rooms. He was bigger than me—not massively, but noticeably. I waited for the insecurity, the shame.

It didn't come.

Instead, I watched Michelle wrap her hand around him, stroke him while she whispered something I couldn't hear. Watched her guide him down onto the bed and straddle him.

"I want to ride you. I want my husband to watch me take you."

Jesus Christ.

She positioned herself above him. Our eyes met across the room.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

She sank onto him.

The moan she let out was primal. She took him slowly, inch by inch, adjusting to his size. Marcus gripped her hips, letting her set the pace. When she was fully seated, she stayed still for a moment, eyes closed, feeling everything.

Then she began to move.

I watched my wife fuck another man. There's no other way to describe it. She rose and fell on him, her body undulating, her breasts swaying. She braced her hands on his chest and rolled her hips, finding angles that made her gasp.

"You feel so good. So big inside me."

Dirty talk. She rarely did that with me. Another gift, another revelation.

Marcus began to thrust up to meet her, and their rhythm became something wild, urgent. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room. Michelle's cries grew louder, more desperate.

"Come for me. I want to feel you come on my cock."

She did. Her second orgasm was even more intense than the first. She shattered above him, crying out, her whole body shaking. Marcus held her through it, then flipped her onto her back and began to drive into her with renewed urgency.

"Yes! God, yes! Harder!"

I was touching myself—when had that started?—stroking in time with his thrusts. Watching my wife be taken, be used, be worshipped. Watching her discover pleasures I couldn't give her alone.

And loving every second.

Marcus came with a groan, buried deep inside her. They lay tangled together, breathing hard, sweat-slicked and satisfied.

Then Michelle turned her head toward me.

"Your turn."

Marcus politely excused himself to the bathroom. Michelle pulled me onto the bed, kissed me deeply.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I'm going to explode."

She laughed, reached for me. "Then let me help."

I was inside her within seconds. She was different—open, wet, slippery from him. And somehow that made it better. Hotter. More intense.

"Feel that? Feel what he did to me?"

"Yes. God, yes."

"I'm yours. I'll always be yours. He just... primed me. Got me ready for you."

I lasted approximately ninety seconds. The orgasm was volcanic, obliterating. I emptied into my wife while she held me, whispered my name, reminded me who she belonged to.

When Marcus emerged from the bathroom, we were a tangle of limbs and emotions. He gathered his clothes without awkwardness.

"That was incredible. Thank you both."

"Thank you."

I meant it. This stranger had given me a gift—a piece of my wife I didn't know existed, a piece of myself I'd been afraid to claim.

When the door closed behind him, Michelle and I lay in silence for a long time.

"Best anniversary gift ever."

She laughed, punched my shoulder weakly. "Better than the watch last year?"

"Significantly better."

"Good. Because I had to think about it for a long time. Whether this was really what you wanted, or just a fantasy you needed to stay a fantasy."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't. Not for sure. But I know you, Nathan. And I wanted to give you something extraordinary. Something that showed you I see all of you—even the parts you think you need to hide."

I pulled her closer. "Where did I find you?"

"At a terrible office Christmas party, fifteen years ago. You were wearing that awful sweater."

"It wasn't awful."

"It had reindeer with light-up noses."

"Festive. It was festive."

She laughed—that full, gorgeous laugh—and I knew that nothing had changed. Or rather, everything had changed, but in the best possible way.

📅 One Year Later

That night opened doors we didn't know existed.

We've explored more since then. Sometimes Marcus joins us; sometimes it's someone new. Sometimes I watch; sometimes I participate. Every time is different, every time is negotiated, every time ends with the two of us, alone, reconnecting.

People wouldn't understand. I know that. They'd call me weak, call Michelle unfaithful. They'd miss the point entirely.

What we have isn't about sex with other people. It's about trust so deep it can hold anything. It's about seeing each other completely—desires, fantasies, darkest needs—and saying "I love all of it."

Our eleventh anniversary is next week. Michelle says she has another surprise.

I can't wait.

Because the gift was never really about another man in our bed. The gift was her seeing me. Really seeing me. And loving what she saw.

That's the anniversary gift that keeps giving.

Every single day.