A married couple unwraps erotic pleasures with a group of randy revelers.

Some people say marriage changes everything. I’m not sure I believe that, really. But it seems to have changed me and my wife a whole lot. We’d lived together for 10 years — since she was 22 and I was 34 — before getting married three years ago. It was high time, we’d thought. But, once the vows were spoken and the honeymoon was over, our libidos seemed to shift.

Just months into our married life, I began having fantasies about Sylvia being fucked by other men. This was something entirely new to me, and it unnerved me more than a little. Sylvia’s a gorgeous woman — a dark-haired beauty of Italian heritage, with the tempting voluptuousness of Elizabeth Taylor in her prime. She has smooth tan skin, ripe breasts and a firm ass. She’d always turned men’s heads. We used to laugh about it: Ah, Syl’s making the boys gaga again. But after the wedding, when men came on to her, I would get really turned on.

Sylvia would giggle a little and blush — whereas before she would have rolled her eyes and ignored the flirtations. Now she sometimes flirted back!

Neither of us had slept around much before we’d met. Of course, considering the difference in our ages, I’d had more sexual experience than she before we fell for each other. But we both had practiced serial monogamy, more or less, during our young lives. Now, though, I felt a pang of something slightly distressing in my stomach, even as something stirred in my groin. It was only a matter of time before we had a talk about what was happening. That led to some sexy role-playing and naughty talk about the responses she was provoking in other men — and me.

Maybe it was just a coincidence that — at the same time we were having these feelings — this cultural thing known as “hotwife” syndrome began to erupt everywhere. Suddenly, the practice of men getting off on having their wives pursued, seduced and — ultimately — plowed by other guys was an actual thing. About a year ago, we found ourselves talking about making such a fantasy a reality.

We looked online for guys who might be interested in helping us out. We weren’t remotely prepared for the number of responses we received. Eventually, we began corresponding with a man in New York City named Miles, who seemed like a good possibility. He had had some experience with swinging and the hotwife scene before, so he seemed like a good candidate.

We agreed to meet mid-December in the big city. Sylvia loves Christmas shopping in Manhattan, so we figured we would make it a three-day weekend — get a hotel near Times Square, enjoy good restaurants and all the trimmings. We even made plans to see a Broadway musical. (No luck securing “Hamilton” tickets, but we found another show we both thought sounded pretty good.)

In the weeks preceding our hotwife weekend with Miles, anticipation left us almost nonfunctional at times. I would describe in exquisite detail what I wanted to happen after we brought Miles back to our hotel. Sylvia would listen to my pervy ramblings while jamming her large, buzzing vibrator in and out of her cunt and moaning frantically.

But then we got bad news. Just days before the scheduled weekend, Miles emailed us to say there had been a family emergency. He needed to fly to California immediately. To say we were disappointed was a huge understatement. Miles assured us that he was definitely interested in playing at some later date, but we still felt deflated. However, as we had the theater tickets and a hotel reservation, we decided to go ahead with the weekend and make the best of it.

“Who knows?” I said. “Maybe somebody else will come along.”

Neither of us thought that was at all likely. But I did quietly do some research online about places in Manhattan where we might encounter eager libertines.

When we left our hotel for our shopping excursion that Saturday, we noticed that there were hordes of people — mostly college-age or slightly older — roaming the streets in Santa Claus costumes or other holiday getups. Some of the sidewalks near Rockefeller Center were crimson with these posses of rowdy overage kids — shouting, joking and horsing around. Most of the guys, and some of the girls, wore Santa suits (or at least Santa hats), but there were also contingents of rambunctious elves and squealing female reindeer complete with antlers and perky little tails. Plenty of the young women exposed their toned legs to the frigid air, and they were as sexy as hell. They were certainly getting a lot of attention from the guys, who seemed to grow a little freer with their hands as the hours passed, as they no doubt downed another beer or chugged another eggnog at every venue they visited.

“It’s SantaCon,” the hotel concierge told us in the afternoon. “Happens every year — a big, citywide pub crawl. Lots of noise, tons of drinking. Watch out for puddles of barf.”

That night, as we walked from a fine Italian restaurant to the theater, we pushed our way through a tangle of crimson partiers. It was then I noticed the heads of some of the young male Santas turning Sylvia’s way. And why wouldn’t they? She was dressed to the nines, wearing a rich-looking white faux fur over her slinkiest, sexiest black dress and black fishnet thigh-highs. Her hair and makeup were flawless — she’d given her eyes the Cleopatra treatment, which made her look even more like a robust Liz Taylor. I was looking forward to fucking her silly later that evening.

“Some of those Clauses like your goodies,” I teased her.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she said. But her smile told me she was fibbing.

“Ten seconds ago we passed a Grinch who stared right at your tits.”

“Really, David?” she said with mock innocence. “The Grinch should have stolen a little Christmas from me.” She said it so suggestively that my pulse raced and my dick twitched.

After the show that night, we strolled through the Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood. I’d read online about a bar in that nabe that catered to a young, “sex-positive” crowd.

Walking west toward the Hudson River, we eventually found the place. It was a bustling but not too crowded establishment. We stepped inside, where a gal near the bar was dressed like a snow-woman and was playing a samba version of “White Christmas” on a portable keyboard. A small group of 20-something SantaCon celebrants gathered around the pool table in the back. We found a small booth nearby that had just been vacated. No sooner had a guy come to clear our table than a tall waitress in reindeer antlers appeared, bringing us complimentary shots of cinnamon schnapps.

“He brought the panties to his face, inhaling the scent of my wife’s cunt.”

“This’ll take the shiver off,” she said. “I’m Prancer, How are you two doing tonight?”

Soon we were doing very well indeed. Prancer was right about the schnapps. It did warm us up. Before long, Sylvia and I felt like we were finally unwinding after an enjoyable but hectic day.

Prancer was razzing the three young men and one young woman who were playing pool. They seemed to know her well. These revelers weren’t rowdy like some of the others we’d seen. They were jovial and a little buzzed but not blotto. Soon the gal and one of the guys came over to our booth, where we were telling Prancer about our day.

“Prancer, you cheeky reindeer!” the guy said. “There you go again. Flirting with somebody outside your species. Santa is very disappointed.”

The guy’s friend — a short, trim, ginger-haired female elf — stood on tiptoes to kiss Prancer on the cheek.

“He’s right. No bestiality tonight!” the elf scolded the reindeer. Then she looked at Sylvia and me. “Unless these pervy humans are into that, of course. The redhead grabbed Sylvia’s hand and shook it. “Hey, there. I’m Jennifer. This is Jonathan. Okay, if we share your booth?”

Before we could say “yea” or “nay” (and we would have said “yea”), they had pushed in beside us — Jennifer next to me and Jonathan alongside Sylvia. He was tall, thin, brown-skinned, hirsute and quite handsome. Later in the evening, he would tell us he was half Ethiopian and half Israeli-American. He had a sly smile and a cool, edgy look.

Innuendoes flew as the holiday spirits continued to flow. Eventually, the two other pool players joined us, making for an even tighter squeeze in the booth. Bret was a skinny, quiet, slightly awkward Santa, with a scruffy face. Will was a short, stocky Asian-American man, in a full red Santa suit, complete with a white beard.

Was I just imagining — or fantasizing — that these people were interested in trading something more than bawdy wisecracks? Jonathan was certainly not shy about having his body pushed up close against Sylvia’s. And Jennifer flirted shamelessly with the Santas — and me.

At one point, Jennifer and Sylvia went to the ladies’ room.

“So, is Jennifer a girlfriend of one of you guys?” I asked.

“‘Girlfriend’ is maybe not the right expression,” Jonathan responded.

“I’m old and married and out of the loop,” I told him. “So, what is the right expression for her?”

“I’d say ‘partner in crime,’” Will ventured.

“Wingwoman,” Jonathan added.

I looked at Bret, whose reply was: “Let’s just say…she’s someone we all know very well.”

“You guys are very lucky,” I told them.

“Us? Are you kidding?” Jonathan beamed. “You’re the man. I mean, what a hot wife, dude!”

Yes, he actually said those words. “Hot wife.” Hotwife? Was it deliberate?

“Listen,” I said. “Do you guys spell ‘hot wife’ as one word or two? Because from what I’ve read, when it’s spelled as one word, it has a special meaning.”

“You’re right,” said Jonathan, a devilish look on his face. “I believe I would spell it as one word.” Will wore a shit-eating grin. And Bret looked down at the table, suppressing a shy smile.

I grew bold. “Listen, fellas. If the ladies are up for it, what would you say to joining us for more fun and drinks back at our hotel?

Silence. Finally, Will asked, “Are you shitting us?”

“Most definitely not.”

At that moment Sylvia and Jenny came back to the table, both giggling.

“Hey, Santas!” said Sylvia. “What would you think about going back to our hotel room for some private holiday cheer?”

“I’d say ‘Ho-ho-ho,’” quipped William.

Sylvia laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Jonathan lay back as Sylvia edged her pussy down onto his big prick.”

Arriving at our room, everyone piled onto the queen-size bed, except me. I took a seat on a chair near the small desk and faced them all. I had managed, during the walk back to our hotel, to establish some guidelines for the boys. As Sylvia and Jennifer walked ahead, the three Santas and me hung back, establishing ground rules for the encounter to come. (I had hoped Prancer might join in the fun, but her shift didn’t end till later — and besides, the guys told me she had a serious boyfriend and wasn’t into fucking around.)

The boys were expected to play safely and respectfully, and to honor any veto Sylvia might voice. But they were also expected to listen to my requests. I would essentially be directing them in a live sex show.

As the group cuddled and stroked each other, I kicked the action into overdrive.

“Jonathan,” I said. “Please kiss Sylvia on her mouth.” He draped his body over Jennifer, who was nuzzling my wife. He began French-kissing Sylvia slowly but with confidence.

“Elf, remove her panties, please.”

Jennifer moved to the foot of the bed, then scooted up so she could reach beneath Sylvia’s dress — pulling off my wife’s skimpy, lacy bikinis. She held them aloft. “What should I do with them?”

“Who wants them?” I asked.

Will and Bret both reached for them. But Will was faster than his friend and was soon clutching the moist lace. He brought the panties to his face, inhaling the heavenly scent of my wife’s cunt.

“That leaves you free to lick her pussy, Bret,” I said.

“Ha!” he barked at Will, having lost out on the panties but gotten the better part of the deal. He took Jennifer’s place between Sylvia’s legs and quickly buried his head beneath her dress. I knew the sweet taste he was savoring as he fed on her juicy hole and sensitive clit.

“How’s he doing, Syl?”

Jonathan’s mouth on hers allowed her only a garbled response — a very enthusiastic “Uhmm.”

Jennifer sat at the foot of the bed. I wasn’t sure what Sylvia had told her during the walk to the hotel, and I wondered what she thought her part would be in the unfolding adventure.

“Sylvia?” I asked. She broke away from Jonathan’s mouth for a second. She was breathing heavily from Bret’s ministrations between her legs.

“Yes, David.”

“What would you like Jennifer to do right now?”

“I’d like her to be a good Santa’s helper and get these guys naked,” she responded.

Jennifer complied. She began unbuckling Jonathan’s belt. Soon she had his pants and briefs pulled down to his ankles, revealing an erect, circumcised penis.

Will was now standing beside the bed, and Jennifer joined him, helping him strip off his clothes. She yanked his scarlet Santa pants to the floor. Underneath he wore a pair of long thermal underwear, which made her giggle. Impatient, Will stripped off the rest of his clothes. He had a tubby, smooth belly, but the rest of him was muscular, and his uncut dick was at full staff, looking like a meaty prong.

Before you could say, “God bless us, every one,” Will and Jonathan had helped Jennifer strip and had pulled off Bret’s pants and shirt, too. Then they were all back on the bed, clustered around Sylvia, whose head was propped up by a mountain of pillows. But Bret, who was again lying on his belly with his face and tongue pressed to Sylvia’s vulva, still wore his tighty-whities.

“Elf!” I said. “One Santa still has his undershorts!”

Jennifer stood at the foot of the bed and tried to yank down Bret’s briefs, but he held on to the elastic.

“Bret…” I said rather sternly.

He turned his head my way and gave me a sheepish smile. “Yeah?”

“Is there a problem?”

“No.”

“You do want to make love to my wife, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then lose the shorts.”

“Okay. I’m a little shy is all.” He chortled nervously. “My ass is kind of hairy.”

The other guys laughed. But Bret then let Jennifer resume her de-briefing.

“You’re right. Your ass is hairy,” I said, to more laughs. “Roll over, and show us what you’re working with.”

Slowly — hesitantly — he did as I’d instructed. He had a fairly small, circumcised prick, but it was fully engorged and granite-hard — and Sylvia would love it just fine.

“You have nothing to be shy about,” I told him. I took a condom from a box on the desk and tossed it to him. “Hold on to that. You’ll need it in a minute.”

“Thanks.”

“Jonathan and Will — please remove my wife’s dress,” I said. “And be careful. It’s one of her favorites. Mine, too.”

Sylvia got on all fours, and Jonathan unzipped the back of her dress, and then he and Will pulled the loosened garment from her body. She was now nude but for her sexy stockings and lacy brassiere. Will caressed her bare ass and slapped it playfully. He seemed to be contemplating whether he should slip a finger up her butthole.

“In seconds he was pumping away missionary-style, grunting and moaning.”

I directed Jonathan and Will to kneel on either side of Sylvia’s face so she could suck their dicks. Jonathan’s hard-on was beginning to drool pre-come, which Sylvia lapped up. I could no longer allow my own erection to stay imprisoned. Down went my pants and out sprang my boner. I began tugging on it, keeping my eyes on the orgy in front of me.

“Elf, will you unwrap Sylvia’s breasts for the Santas, please?”

Jennifer giggled and worked her way into the flesh pile to unfasten and remove Sylvia’s bra. My wife’s dark stockings remained, however. As the boys continued to enjoy having their dicks licked and sucked, they played with Sylvia’s large, dark nipples — pinching and tweaking them.

“How are you doing, baby?” I asked.

“What do you think?” she said to me cheekily. Then she uttered, “Elf Jennifer, come back over here for a second. I want to tell you something.”

The elf scrambled up near Sylvia’s face, pushing aside Jonathan and Will’s erect penises so that Sylvia could whisper in her ear. Jennifer then got off the bed, moving over to where I was sitting. She knelt on the floor and pulled off my shoes and then the tangle of pants and underwear that had been bunched around my ankles. Her mouth then went straight for my smooth-shaven ball sac, which she began to lick and kiss. Now I was ready for the main event to begin. Jennifer’s soft elf lips made my hard-on stiffen further as I contemplated what was coming next in our impromptu sex show.

“Bret,” I said. “Please gift-wrap your dick and fuck my wife.”

He fumbled with the condom for a moment or two, but soon he had wrapped his package with care. He pushed open Sylvia’s legs and thrust his rod toward her dripping vagina. In seconds he was pumping away missionary-style, grunting and moaning.

“How’s he doing, Syl?” I asked.

She answered with a sort of faraway sigh that made us all laugh. It occurred to me at that moment that this was the first time in many years that a man other than I had thrust his organ into her. I celebrated the moment. Jennifer’s small, sweet tongue, meanwhile, had moved to my cock. Soon she was sucking my shaft deep, letting it plunge back toward her throat.

After several minutes of pumping, Bret gave a surprisingly loud moan as he shot off inside Sylvia’s pussy. His hairy body was drenched with sweat as he slowly pulled away from her. I now tossed condoms to Jonathan and Will.

“Who’s next?” I said.

Will proceeded to plow Sylvia doggy-style, which didn’t surprise me, as he clearly had a thing for her full, firm ass. His round jelly belly bounced against her buttocks as he took her from behind.

I wasn’t sure how he and Jonathan would feel about double-penetrating Sylvia, but I eventually gave them the direction, and they went for it. Jonathan lay on his back as Sylvia edged her pussy down onto his big, dark prick — which was at least eight inches long and thick, too. Will strapped on a new condom, took the bottle of lube I offered and happily went for her tight butthole. Nobody spoke much, but the room was filled with the sounds of squishing and slapping, along with eager grunts and whispered obscenities. The guys moved faster until both shot their loads. Sylvia started coming — pushed over the edge by Jonathan’s final thrust. Afterward, the Santas all lay back to watch Elf Jennifer suck me to completion, while Sylvia munched her new gal pal’s elven twat to orgasm. Sylvia later told me how turned on she was by the flame-colored pubic hair around Jennifer’s cute puss — as bright as the ginger tresses on her head.

So that was our first hotwife orgy. During the past year we’ve kept in touch by email with Jonathan. And we’ve decided to make the Manhattan Christmas fuckfest a holiday tradition. Jonathan has alerted Will, Bret and Jennifer that we’ll again be in town for SantaCon this December.

Also, throughout the year, Syl and I have also been lucky enough to meet and play with our online friend Miles, and I think he’ll fit in well with the others. To top things off, Jonathan just wrote to tell me the gorgeous Prancer recently broke up with her boyfriend. No guarantees as to whether this means she’ll join in this year’s festivities, but some reindeer games would certainly be at the top of our holiday wish list!

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