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Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 01

By: diagones



Note to the reader: This was written as a novel, with scene and chapter structure. That didn't readily transfer to the format here. So chapters were combined in parts. Each part can be read sepeately, but of course are best read in sequence, which asks too much of readers who might or might not visit Lit with any regularity. So, read and enjoy as you will.



JILL GOES OUT



This wasn't the first time my wife left our house to go fuck another man. It was the first time I drove her to do it. Her car was in the shop to investigate why the warning light on the dash kept lighting up. I didn't want to be grounded. Calling a taxi for her purpose had a peculiar, faintly dangerous smell. So I had chauffer duties to perform.

She was in the bathroom finishing her preparations to look her best for her lover. I lay on our bed, and our conversation, such as it was, half shouted around the open bathroom door, played out. At last she was ready. She came into the bedroom, did a little spin, and said, "How do I look?"

She looked stunning, a beautiful woman, lush and sexy. She wore a cream silk dress with a dusting of pastel floral design. It wasn't a provocative dress. She could have worn it to a garden party that hustled subscriptions for the local symphony. Still, the fabric flowed over her body with a liquid effect, accentuating the weight, yet soft resiliency, of her breasts.  The fabric sang a hymn to the sculpture of her bottom, where all swells and curves expanded the mathematical precision of perfect linear scale to create the most entrancing scale of erotic allure I had ever seen or known. She wore no jewelry except her wedding rings. She was Jill, my love, my wife, my life. 

She was fifty two years old, and the years had given a natural expansion to her curves that was, for me, as sexual and desirable as she was at thirty when I saw her for the first time. Only more so.  I told her how beautiful she looked, with sincerity that could not be compromised, and that was exactly what she wanted to hear. The deeply moved pleasure of my never wavering love and devotion to her infused her and flushed her skin and face and sparkled her eyes as she gazed at me with a depth of love beyond words. She was enveloped in a shimmering glow of light. Her entire being, outer and inner, vibrated with fizzing expectancy.

"Today, Mr. Larsen is the luckiest man in town," I said.

Jill reached for my hand and practically jerked me off the bed to stand so she could hug me with a passion that always connected us, but then was greatly increased in fervor by what was set in motion.

"It's about that time," she said. "Shall we?"

I handed the white leather purse to her. "You're all turned on," I said.

"I'm very turned on." She moved her hand to brush my cock in my pants. "And so are you."

I drove her to the most upscale hotel in the city where Steve Larsen had booked a room. There was really nothing left to say about what we were doing. She had shared with me every detail of how and when she met Steve, the first recognition of sexual attraction, the intricate steps of flirtation and courtship, their first kiss, his first finger touch on her breasts, the tantalizing promise of his first hard on in pants pressing her dress covered groin. Her hand getting the feel of that promise in his pants. The delicious progress of romance and two adults open to the build up sexual desire. Every detail she had related, in a charged excitement that made her look as young and vibrant and beautiful as a blooming girl of twenty.

Steve Larsen didn't know this. I had never met him. He only knew me as the oblivious husband somewhere in the background. But if I didn't know him personally, I knew a great deal about him. Jill had taken several photos of Steve with her cell phone without his knowing. He was a handsome man, well groomed, fairly tall, masculine and reasonably trim. He was forty seven, a year younger than me, and divorced. He was hot for my wife, but that is hardly definitive. What man wouldn't be in the right circumstances? 

Jill was convinced he met all requirements for her opportunity to have safe and highly promising sexual satisfaction with him. I trusted her judgment. Still, I bent our rules of absolute trust and openness a bit by hiring the firm I have used many times for business to research this Steve Larsen. I did this with all the lovers Jill had since we formed out agreement she could have solo affairs, and I never told her about it. I did that because I am her husband and protector and she is my wife. Larsen had no red flags in his background. He was in all ways an ordinary man of upper class economic circumstances, and he had been seduced by my wife, without really realizing it, and he was primed with lust to fuck her. I wanted him to, because my wife was just as eager to have him. 

There was little more to be said as I drove her to the hotel. Jill punched a number in her cell phone. "I'm on my way," she spoke. She listened. She giggled. "Soon," she said, and disconnected.

"Are you as excited as I am?" Jill said.

"Every bit as much, probably. That's not likely to change."

"No. It had better not. If you didn't have your own benefits as great as mine, I wouldn't be doing this."

"After the other three, we both have managed to subdue the excitement a bit. Maybe even pretend this is no big deal. But deep inside we have this electric erotic sizzle that connects us like Siamese twins. It has been with us from our beginning, and most likely will stay. Until you are eighty and I am eighty five, and suitable men in our nursing home are hard to find." 

She laughed so hard I was afraid she might dribble pee.

We arrived at the hotel. "Call me when...you need to," I said.

I pulled into the circular drive, and a uniformed doorman dashed forward to flash courtesies. Jill said, "I simply don't know how long I'll be here. We might have dinner. Might not. It won't be late tonight. Maybe early evening. Much will depend on Steve's energy and stamina," she said with an utterly wicked smile. She looked into my eyes for a prolonged moment, and said, "You are my husband, my love, my life. I love you with all my heart and soul. I always have. I always will." She didn't kiss me - to not smear her lipstick, I supposed, which was a practical and understandable reason to me. I didn't say "I love you too." There was no need to. My love for her was inside her and as essentially a part of her as her heart and lungs.

Jill got out of the car and walked past the performing doorman as if he wasn't there. I stared at her back, transfixed by her regal beauty. Her carriage erect, her stride purposeful. Her buttocks rolled beneath the silk as unaware and indolent as two otters playing in a pool. Or maybe they were aware. Maybe her ass cheeks were declaring to me, and anybody watching, that this magnificent middle aged woman was striding into the hotel with supreme confidence to be with a man not her husband and experience his hard rampant cock pushing into her. The pay off for her meticulous planning of a couple of months. Which included the intoxicating effect of pure selfishness in absorbing the concentrated focus of that man's desire for her, his charm, his courtesies, his attentions growing to helpless lust, confirming for her that while age was steadily taking its toll, she still possessed a wealth of sexual allure to attract men in general and men in particular.

All married women experience this question mark in some fashion or other, to some degree or other, at various stages. Most repress it. Some reclaim a sense of youth and desirability in cheating affairs that too often inflict critical damage on all concerned. Few, I imagined, have their husband's permission. My contract with Jill to do this was a gift I gave her to spread her wings, fly, nourish her sagging self esteem, and have, it proved, a hell of a lot of fireworks fun. I gave my wife that gift for a variety of reasons, all of which distilled to a summation - because, honestly and simply, because I could.

I glanced at my dash clock. Two p.m.  Jill and Steve would have more than enough hours to indulge their illicit pleasures. Depending on Steve's energy and stamina, of course. There was nothing I could do except return home and wait. Wait and ride the emotional roller coaster of trying to fantasize the timing of all the sequential steps that occur when another man has my wife all to himself. It is quite impossible to mentally line up those steps. Most likely Jill would want prolonged foreplay. But she is more than capable of urgent insistence that he fill her with his cock at once. It all depends on so many variables. 

I knew for sure that in coming hours I would ask, even out loud, what are they doing right now? Has he fucked her already? Are they warming up to do it again? What do they talk about through out the afternoon? Will his cock be that ideal size - unlike mine, which is too big - for her to totally let go in that dreamy, deep throat cock sucking state she truly loves? Will she suck him off and swallow his cum? Will he do her doggie style, which she truly loves? After a few hours, my question would be, is he fucking her from behind RIGHT NOW!!??  

Those are the kind of questions I would ask while waiting for Jill to finish with her new lover. And I would get a huge erection, and I would masturbate at least once. That was what waiting was like when she fucked the other men. It would be the same for Steve Larsen. I drove home to wait, my insides riddled with that terrible excitement that zaps at will when my wife is with another man. I chuckled to myself, having no doubt she had over supplied her purse with condoms, overly optimistic of Larsen's energy and stamina. When he was done using her and pleasuring her, and I went to pick her up, I would hear all the details. I only had to wait.

*****

The Path That Led Me To Drive Us To The Hotel

Steve Larsen, the man of the afternoon back at the hotel, was the fourth man my wife Jill had fucked, or very soon would, without my on the bed participation. Before I gave her the gift of private affairs, threesomes with another man had been our only extra-marital indulgence. That was our strongest shared fantasy after we fell in love and married. We made the choice of really doing it, and my sharing her with another man gave us both a transcending experience far beyond the reach of fantasy.  She left it to me to choose the men, and she was always happy with my choice and fucked them with unreserved enthusiasm as I joined in or watched, then took my turn. 

We never had another woman in our bed - Jill's jealousy made that impossible, not to mention she had no bi inclinations whatever, but sharing your wife with another man is far more complicated to arrange than the uninitiated can really imagine. There is tremendous exposure for the husband to approach even his closest and most trusted man friend with the stunning offer of his wife.  "Hell yes I would like to fuck Jill!  But... are you serious? Really?" Complicated, the MMF threesome, very complicated. But doable, with a lot of luck. 

We had good luck, in addition to very stringent analysis and accounting of probabilities, evaluating his intelligence and emotional stability as a first requirement, before the other man ever stripped naked and joined us for sex. Joined me, that is, in making my wife a Goddess to be adored and lavished with all the pleasures she could absorb. And our very private opportunity for me to see my wife release her inner capacity and open herself to driven plunder by another man.  My seeing her release was the basis for our threesomes from the beginning. Her tsunami of pleasures and orgasms naturally followed from that basic private sharing of our inner beings, and two vigorous men fucking her to limp, exhausted satiety.

We did not see ourselves as "swingers." And we were definitely not open. All our friends and relatives and certainly our children had no inkling of our carefully guarded secret. Only the other men knew. It is possible some of them might have boasted at some time or other. If they did, no word of it ever reached us. So the first nineteen years of our marriage included MMF threesomes with very wide gaps between them. Jill bore us two children, and for eight years there was no threesome at all. 

Another man with us was a privilege my wife saw as extremely valuable. And of course I did too.  After a long denial, she would get antsy with urges and revive the elements in our inner core sexualities that were so compatible and tightly enlaced, so thoroughly dissected and discussed, so intimately shared, and which moved us to have MMF threesomes from the beginning. 

The spacing of our chosen indulgence had no fixed pattern. First was my selecting a man that fit all our requirements. If he met expectations, and better, exceeded them, then we wanted him again. But not right away. Both of us suspected, and found, that repeats with the same man dulled the keen edge of erotic excitement and sexual liberation if done too soon. Worse, anything like regularity could easily open a Pandora's box of temptations, especially for single partners. Some, but not all, assumed entitlements that Jill and I quickly made clear didn't exist and never would. They chose to withdraw from the arrangement. The other single men followed their own life paths and married or remarried and settled down, or moved to distant locations. The two married men who joined us had a tendency to fall in love with my wife, and could not deal with her unequivocal instructions that no other man would ever excel me, in bed and all else, and most certainly never replace me. So our threesome fun spacing was very wide. Single events could be years apart. Repeats could be separated by three or six months.  If a gap stretched to years, the urge would emerge from hibernation and Jill, or I, would start expressing ideas, musings, memories, option arousals for the proven thrills of my sharing her with another man.

The public "Market Place" - internet, published interest groups, clubs and bars - was so far removed from our safety net we couldn't even consider the idea of resorting to them.  Impetuous sex with a stranger met in a bar or any other location was unthinkable. We had gone a long time without my finding a suitable man, when Jill hit on the idea that maybe it was time for her to select a partner for us.

Maybe it was. But that idea constricted my chest with some very alien sensations. Complete role reversal. Jill had always trusted my judgment, and she had some preliminary acquaintance with the men, and time to build up a desire to fuck them with me present. Indeed, if that were not so, the other man would not have joined us at all. She had absolute right of rejection, and also absolute right of accumulating a positive desire, at her own pace, to fuck the man I put on offer. But I was always in charge. Now she would be in charge, and I would have to take responsibility for my comfort with men of her choosing. Most readers will see this as balanced equality so obvious it needs no discussion. Never the less, I had to make some serious psychological adjustments in giving her the control. I did, and at that point our evolution to my driving her to the hotel to fuck Steve Larsen began.

Further Background Of Jill Making The Selections

My wife Jill became sexually active at age fourteen. She had sucked many cocks and fucked many boys and men before I ever saw her. Nothing unusual about that. I had many girls and women before Jill. That is expected today. So I was well aware she had a wealth of experience to draw from in seducing a man to join us in bed. As it turned out, she renewed friendships with two of her fuck buddies she enjoyed before we ever met. They were good choices. They were intelligent, experienced, and very mindful of my status as husband, and they understood it was all for her. They understood discretion. They had been there before, and they knew how good she was. Jill luxuriated in the renewed experience of past couplings with them, with an increased flexibility of freedom, and exposed to my awed eyes an even deeper look into her boundless capacity for receiving and surrendering to sexual pleasures. She was in charge.

But her being in charge proved as problematic as my being in charge. Her old friends of optimal trust and minimal risk had lives to live and went their own merry ways. And middle age was creeping in on us. Sex, including perversions, is ridiculously easy in our twenties. We are a little less randy in our thirties, and increasingly tied with binds of adult responsibility. In our forties, LIFE can go on a rampage and inflict mental changes unimaginable in younger years. That is the decade of most divorces. Mid -life crisis of every description. At worst, previously sane people become rabid born again Republicans. In other words, choosing a safe man for a threesome became even more complicated. We had a dry spell going on three years. Jill was feeling that old familiar itch. She had recently turned forty six. We had been married nineteen years.

Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 02



"I think I have an admirer," my wife said one day.

"Oh? Do tell."

She told. The man was a divorced, highly successful business man who served on the museum board of trustees, as did my wife Jill. I had met him once or twice, very casually, and it took some concentration to remember exactly what he looked like. Nothing impressive came to mind. And that made Jill's fluttery, bubbly response to his admiration all the more intriguing. 

They had spent proximity time at the museum, enhanced with private lunches and other togetherness, talking business. He was obviously attracted to her, and had been tossing signals in a civilized and courtly way.

"You know? I had pretty much forgotten how much power that kind of flattery can hold." She said.

"And... are you... attracted to him... in, you know, that way?"

She looked me in the eye, and said, "Yes. I am."

For the very first time I felt a sharp twist of jealousy. In our threesomes I had watched her suck cocks of other men. I had watched her dig her heels into the ass cheeks of other men to pull their thrusting cocks deeper into her as she reached for her orgasm. And I never felt the slightest bit of jealousy. I had no jealousy whatever of the many men who fucked her in her single years. But when she looked me in the eye and said "Yes. I am," sexually attracted to her new admirer, I felt the clinch of jealousy. Crazy!

She read all that in my face, with a very strange expression on her face, which contained - damn it - gentle amusement. "You will like him when you get to know him." She said.

"Are you thinking...?"

"But of course! It's been a long time. We both need it, don't you think?"

"This is a new avenue of approach."

"And a quite exciting one. So... shall I cultivate him? Explore the possibility for our mutual benefit?"

"Hummmm." I stalled. This was different. Cultivating him, exploring the possibilities, was packed with ramifications never present in our previous threesomes. He was not an old fuck buddy of hers. He was a stranger to me. My wife was seeking my approval to unload all her seductive charms on him, all on her own. In many ways, it was like reverting back to our earliest fantasies of another man - do we really want to do it for real? Do we have the nerve? Actually, the question was did I have the nerve to reverse our roles and allow her to select and seduce a man to join us , instead of me choosing a man and giving him to her. 

"What's his name again?"

"Roger."

"If Roger really turns you on, then okay," I said. "Cultivate him. Just be extremely cautious about exposing us to scandal."

"Do you really think you have to give me that warning?" She said, genuinely miffed.

Jill began a seduction of Roger. For all her experience in her single years, it was child's play. But she had to play her cards very carefully, calculate odds, manage her bets, cultivate his capacity for adventure, lure him into the jackpot of a threesome. An altogether new excitement gripped her. In many ways it was similar to a married woman having a cheating affair, except this husband was informed of every detail. She was more than flattered by his focused attentions, as they dovetailed with her stratagems, and her desire for him grew exponentially. Especially after their first kiss. And more kisses. Groping hands. Surging blood. Body heat.

"Nice cock?"

"Very nice. I gave it a hand rub in his pants. Big and hard."

"So, when are you going to pop the proposition?"

She laughed. "Damned if I really know. The timing is very delicate. Too soon and it could blow up in our faces. Trust me, Jack. I'm not trying to sneak in an affair under your nose. I don't want to lose him by playing our trump card too soon."

Hmmmmm. Very disquieting, her last statement. A different avenue of approach indeed. She was afraid of "losing" him.

Days later she said, "I'm beginning to suspect Roger doesn't have the mental wiring for a threesome."

"Did you ask him?"

"Much too soon. I have done some exploring of his mind set, feminine wiles and intuition, you know..." 

Days after that she said, "I don't know how else to put this, but I might have to fuck him before I dare suggest a threesome."

"Putting it that way is clear enough."

"Well, it's entirely up to you. Would you be okay with that?"

God. What a question. Hell no I wasn't okay with that. At the same time, I questioned myself what would be so objectionable about it? The difference was I wouldn't be there, watching her, participating. And watching over her. A big difference. But everything that had transpired with Roger was a big difference. Their affair (why not call it that?) was a totally new experience for both of us. She had invested serious time, thought, and emotion in "cultivating" him. And in doing so she found a thrilling excitement and happiness neither of us could have foreseen. 

"Well, if you think that will seal the deal, okay. But let's stipulate. You are not to make a habit of that."

"I know that! Trust me, Jack. You have to trust me, just as I always trusted you in selecting a man to provide that extra special thrill we both enjoy so much."

A telling reminder. I trusted her. I knew from my side of the equation the delicate risks of exposure, no matter how gradual and cleverly manipulated. My exposure, but especially Jill's. Any notion that my wife was a common whore beneath a camouflage of material wealth and social privilege had to be isolated and squashed. But her beauty and sexual allure made that relatively easy. A man could quickly reach a new level of sophistication, agree that such unusual perks could be incorporated in a solid and happy marriage, in light of his fantastic opportunity to fuck my wife. A truly unique and special woman, and he would respect and revere her. Jill's side of the equation was much different. Her exposure had already made clear her desire to spread her legs for Roger. That she was my wife was of no concern to him. But for him to learn that I knew, and was open to the possibility of his joining Jill and I for threesome sex, obligated her to protect my person and reputation at all costs. If the man I chose for us had some initial, and excusable, thoughts of Jill as a whore, what would the man that Jill selected to join us think of me, when he had the full picture? "Whore" could be a mild word by comparison.  

Two weeks later she said, "Roger invited me to his house tomorrow night. After I told him you were out of town." Bam! My guts fell to the floor and I was hollow inside.

The following day, late afternoon, I watched her prepare. I even assisted. We both were abashed, and didn't quite know what to say. We compensated for that by being ultra cool about what was happening. My wife readying herself to fuck another man at his house while I waited at home. The first time ever in our marriage. The outrageous daring to do this. The sizzling erotic thrill in doing this, each of us sailing off into uncharted seas on separate ships. Our insides were churning with emotions, many of them exactly the same, others separate and intensely private. The reality of her going off alone to fuck Roger began to bury our common motive of seducing him into a threesome.

She sat on the commode cover and asked me to trim her pubic hair. "Trim it just the way you like it," she said. "When you go down on me."

"What's the last sound of a pubic hair before it hit's the floor?"

"Ptffff," she said on cue, and we both laughed loudly, releasing tension.

I trimmed her bush just the way I like it. Cropping down the longest glossy black strands, creating a wide short border beside the lips and over the clitoral hood. For a moment I lost myself in the ever awesome, aesthetic beauty of her pussy. I really mean that. Beautiful. I don't know if other men ever see their wives' pussies in that light, but the sheer beauty of Jill's pussy was an everlasting seizure of recognition the first time I went down on her. Woman. Femininity. Femaleness. The secret allure, the depthless mystery, her sacred place.

Then it hit me that I was grooming my wife's beautiful pussy with highly focused attention, like a stylist in a beauty shop pampering a highly valued client, for another man to savor with his mouth and tongue in a few short hours. My woman.

"Thank you, my husband."

"You're most welcome, my wife."

Role reversal. She was in charge. She was confirming our agreement that she make the selection and choice, for both of us to share and enjoy. She had the power to ask me to trim her pubic hair, and give her unreserved support in all her lengthy preparations. Very much the same as her yielding to my choice of a man on past occasions, and her shaping her mind and sexual desires to make love with him, open herself completely to him and receive all he had to give with unreserved joy. 

She filled the tub and hot soaked in foamy suds. I scrubbed her back with a loofah. My woman. Luxuriating in her full prime of a vast capacity for sensual, sexual, erotic stimulations and realizations. Soon to fuck a new man with my permission. And for that very reason we talked of other things. She showered and washed her hair. I helped her dry off. Held the dryer to fluff her hair. She had that combined dreamy and electric air of a girl going to her first prom. We did not mention her date, or the waiting dance, so as not to break the spell.

That was very different from the sharing we did in a threesome. But similar in one way. Seeing and knowing her individuality, her separate entity as a woman. My wife, my love, my life, always. But a separate entity in the core of her that was her alone. The female mystery. The sexuality and potential that no man can ever totally possess. My woman prepared herself. A long while at the make up mirror. So womanly. Her body, that I had loved countless times from her toe nails to her hair roots, seemed to have a new lushness of sexual allure, the lines and curves ripened by fruitful seasons of joyful inner experience, her breasts full and proud, her ass a cosmic statement of erotic power, all seeming to be exclusive attainment of a woman in her forties. So womanly.

"New panties?"

"Of course. For my new lover."

She was in charge. She led. I had to follow. The panties were powder blue with tiny lace trim at the leg edges. She stepped into them and pulled them up and let the elastic waist band go with a little pop, with a smoldering glance at me. The panties were close to, but not quite, bikini style. Two half moons of ass cheek bulged below the blue bisecting lines. She put her hands under the half moons, and gave them a tender jostle, while twisting to see in the mirror, and send a look into my eyes. We were in telepathic communication. Calling my attention to her marvelous ass was her indirect statement she knew how men responded to it, and in less than an hour it would be available to Roger. What was happening did not have to be put in words. She left off the bra. She put on a snug blue sheath dress slightly darker than the panties. Her nipples made tension star bursts under the thin fabric.

We exchanged declarations of eternal love, honest and true and understood and unquestioned. She walked to her car on higher than usual heels, her fabulous ass under the tight dress doing a number that took my breath. I watched her drive away.

Then the waiting began. My memory banks were filled with images of her in our threesomes, and they began a herky-jerky slide show across my brain as I began my wait. But threesome images didn't work. This was different. She was alone with him. I was home waiting. I paced about the house. I sat. I experienced a variety of erratic physical sensations in my chest and guts - some of them highly exciting, some intensely threatening. I constantly glanced at the clock. The clock mocked me, saying give her time to reach his house and settle in before the sex begins. 

How would the sex begin? How soon? What steps of sequential progress? I thought back on my bachelor days, when I had opened my apartment door to welcome in girls, with our mutual intent to fuck a given. But those thoughts were unstable and fuzzy. I could not bring them into focus. None of those dim memories could portend what my wife would be feeling and doing when Roger welcomed her into his house, his arms, his bed. Would he be an excellent lover and for a few hours would she forget I even existed? Those questions exploded like pop corn on the heat of my fevered excitement, and finial full understanding of what I had agreed to. And that final full understanding made it impossible to imagine a clear vision of them together while I waited. 

I finally found a basis of comparison. Waiting at home while she fucked Roger was in some ways like our confessional exchange soon after we met. She coxed me into revealing my sexual history, with the promise she would do the same. It wasn't easy, but I experienced a liberation that has no equal in telling her things I could never tell anyone else, all in a matrix of absolute honesty, trust, and intimacy I had never known with another woman. A context of the purest love I had ever known. She was just as loving and honest and intimate and revealing. And her sexual history had much more content and variety than mine.

She discovered in her teens she loved to suck cock, and had sucked many of them. At about the same time she discovered, as she put it, "I really, really liked being fucked!" This was highly disturbing to me in a totally unexpected way. An alien excitement I had never known before. For I was completely, head over heels in love with her when our intimate confessions took place. My "natural" feeling should have been jealousy. Instead, I got spontaneous, huge erections when she told her stories of other men. Especially her detailed (I interrupted with many questions) description of her first threesome with two boys her sophomore year in college. Some erotic place in me I didn't know existed burst into flame and burned with incandescent heat. A new me was created.

She "cultivated" the new me, very carefully, very honestly, bringing me out. Giving me permission, even encouraging me, to visualize her with the man when I fucked her so wildly after she had told a story. For my burning excitement fed her with feelings of immense power in her womanhood and sexuality, and our fused excitement made her understand before I did that we were perfect mates, that in our minds in the privacy of our bed we were utterly free to do anything we both wanted to do. She gently led me to understanding, and full acceptance, that I wasn't a sick, disgusting pervert in being so aroused by her describing sex with other men. "Didn't you know that is the number one fantasy of married men? Their wife with another man?" "No, I didn't." "Many psychology questionnaires have confirmed that." The clincher was her reciprocal position. Did I see her as a sick, disgusting pervert because her excitement fed on mine and matched mine when her stories made my cock so big and hard so quickly? "No way." "We have it, my love, inside both of us. Unique, for sure. Very out of the mainstream. But it is there. Let us enjoy it, not fear it." 

That utter freedom of fused exploration and discoveries evolved. Fantasy sharing, playful but highly focused scenarios created by each of us and dedicated to the other. All centered on another man in our bed, and my giving her to him, her taking him in combined lust and pleasure in unrestricted freedom, for me to see. "Is is inevitable that we will do this for real?" "We are capable of it. We know that."

I placed her present time with Roger in the category of her stories of other men before I knew her, those stories of her, or me, selecting a man from some public environment and bringing him back home for a fantasy threesome that night, and the erotic flame grew hot. The visuals were fuzzy and fleeting, but a potent fuel, and I slowly masturbated and dove into that transport that captured me when I first heard her stories of other men having her. I emptied a great load of cum into a towel.

*****

I cleaned myself and thought about masturbating again when I heard her enter the front door. I was a little surprised. It was only ten o'clock. She came into the den and stopped to study me where I sat. Her look was composed, very steady. She had an ambiguous half smile on her lips. She didn't look the same as when she left. She had a faintly disheveled look - hair strands out of place, her complexion a little blotchy, her dress wrinkled, a general untidiness.

"You look like a woman who has been well fucked." I said.

"I have been." She said. "Come here."

I stood to walk to her, and the singularity of the event hit me anew. This was nothing like sharing her with a man in a threesome. My wife had gone out alone, to return well fucked by a man who presumably thought his superior masculinity had removed all her defenses and commanded her irresistibly to his house and bed. I embraced her. She squeezed me so hard her arms quivered. She put an arm around my waist, and holding her shoes in her other hand, led us to the bed room. I kissed the nape of her neck and unzipped the dress. I sniffed, like any alpha male in the animal kingdom.

"Do you smell him?"

"I smell something funky. Dried sweat, sex juice, his cologne I think."

Jill purred and flexed. She finished undressing. I got naked and joined her on the bed. I kissed her. Her lips had that tell tale softness of overripe fruit over squeezed on a store counter. Her lips had been used. I breathed deeply. "His smell is still on you."

"His chest was a dense matt of hair. Crackly and raspy against me."

"A treat for you," I said. I am not hairy. A hairy man was a special treat for her, for those isolated hours he was with us.

"Oh yes," she hummed. "I buried my nose in his chest hair, his pubic hair, and did my own sniffing."

I had watched her do that before, acting out her own version of the alpha female. "He was energetic?"

"He came three times. Once in my mouth." She paused, remembering. "He seemed fascinated with positions. On top of me, behind me bending me over, my heels on his shoulders, doing me from behind while we lay on our sides. Me on top riding cow girl."

"You liked that?"

"Oh yes. I liked it. Very much. It was sort of like he was following instructions he read in a manual. But it was sweet and tremendously exciting too. He was right up there with you in staying power. Thrusting on and on without cumming." She paused. "His cock was certainly adequate, but not in your big leagues," she said, putting her fingers around my cock, which had expanded to what she called "mythological proportions" when she first discovered how her descriptions of fucking other men affected me. Which always happened when she fully revealed herself to me in threesomes, too. "Now I want you. I need you. God, I need you. Fuck me, my husband."

I did. Transported to first ever heights of a new delirious excitement, because it was truly different. I filled her with my cock and absorbed all the warmth and silky snugness inside her, the pure communication ever present by the countless times I had fucked her before. Then I realized, my cock was where another man's cock had been an hour or so earlier. Experiencing the same paradise of my wife's pussy in a variety of positions. That was different, not the same as taking my turn in a threesome. Because it wasn't a threesome. She had gone off alone to fuck Roger, with my blessing, and now she was back with me. I didn't see her with him. I didn't even have a clear mental picture of what he looked like. My visions were dependent on what she told me, and her well fucked look when she returned, and the lingering smell of sex they had generated together and in private, while I waited at home alone. That was different, and unbearably exciting, and I fucked her with a new and wild release. I think she began to orgasm as soon as I entered her, and didn't stop until I exploded mine.




Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 02



We lay on our backs, doing our breathing, basking, cooling down, reassembling our wits for the here and now. She fondled my flaccid cock very lightly, much like I have seen her stroke a very expensive marquis cut emerald necklace I gave her, unconsciously exhibiting her possession to other women at a dinner table.

"So," I said, "other than his fucking you and cumming three times, in all those manual positions, was your mission accomplished?"

"Alas. I'm afraid we have to scratch him from our list." 

In a tangled way, that was a bit shocking news. Not that this man I barely knew had to be scratched, but because I had automatically assumed Jill's assets and seductive prowess would wrap him up in a package for us. Moreover, only a few hours earlier they had engaged in a marathon fucking session that surely reaped a rich harvest of pleasures and satisfactions. How could she not leave him drooling for more? 

"Tell me about it. How did you find out?"

"We were lying there in that sweet exhaustion, after he came in me the second time. He raised up an looked at me and said, 'What are you thinking right now?' I said, 'Strangely enough, I was wishing my husband was here.' He said, 'WHAT??!!' I said, 'when you had my nipple in your mouth, it felt sooooo good. My husband is good at that too, and I wanted both my breasts in your mouth and his mouth at the same time.' He looked horrified. I knew then I had blown our plan. 'Well, you did ask what I was thinking,' I told him. He said, 'No, no, no. Don't even go there.'"

"I smoothed it over, pretended my idle thought was as surprising to me as it was to him, and took out an insurance policy by sucking him off. Giving him a memory that would blank out my wishing you were there."

"And I'm sure you did," I said. "Was he the perfect size?"

"Close enough. Soft and spongy, then long and hard. In fact, I blanked out everything else and just got into it, for my own personal indulgence. Being that slut who loves sucking a beautiful cock. I gave him a blow job he will never forget."

I kissed her plump, cushiony lips that had circled Roger's cock, to slide down and up, over and over, until he spurted his cum into her mouth. "Poor baby." I said. "All for naught."

"Not all. There was some delicious fucking in it for me, make no mistake."

"I'm well aware. You came back home highly primed."

"You were primed yourself when I came home. Highly primed."

"Yes, I was. The experience was quite different from sharing you in a threesome."

"It was very different for me, too."

"How so?"

She thought about it, and gathered her thoughts. "My solo flight," she said. "You not in the picture. After nineteen years of marriage, having an affair, to use that dirty word." She broke into a giggle. "After the men you watched fuck me... I had an affair!"

I laughed with her. "Maybe a fling is the better word."

"Or courtship even better. I did have that, and it was delightful, delicious, exhilarating, flattering, stirred my juices, made my heart race. And absolutely NOT because you are lacking in any way. Because, let's face it Jack, your Sex Goddess is turning into an ordinary middle age woman."

"Bull shit."

"You are my loving husband, and so very sweet, but it is true. My face grows more wrinkles. Gray is spreading over my hair like a river flooding its banks. My thighs get heavier. My ass bigger and fatter. My boobs droop. I needed that rejuvenation that came with courting Roger. That feeling of power from my young days, that I was beautiful, that I still had that feminine allure and sexual magnetism to attract men, any man, all men, and especially Roger."

I got a queasy feeling. "Did you...sort of...fall in love with him?"

"It is not possible for me to fall in love with any man except you. And I have done that, over and over, so many times since I first set eyes on you. No, it was just as I told you. The chase. The rejuvenation. The romance of being put on a pedestal. Feeling young and beautiful, and hotly desired. And of course all that followed from that - giving him signals and receiving them, maneuvering us into moments out of the public eye, the kisses that made his cock hard and my pussy juice soak my panties. Knowing that sooner or later we would fuck, wanting him to fuck me. With your knowledge and blessing," she added.

Hmmmmm. Still, I said. "Do you think...more cultivation would bring him around to our thinking?"

She gave me a quick, round eyed, speculative look. "I really don't think so. But I would be more than happy to pursue it further. If you're okay with it."

I actually considered it, her investment of time and feminine skills and joyful returns, her returning to me and both of us highly primed. But my consideration was short lived. "No. I think it best to cut our losses and regroup."

Four days later we were at home, me doing the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle, her browsing a fashion magazine, when her cell phone rang. She read the caller, looked at me, and said, "A good a time as any to deal with this."

"Hello Roger...No, I can talk. No problem... I wasn't ignoring you. I didn't know exactly what I wanted to say... Yes, lots of thinking about it... Yes, that too. Your cock was delicious in my mouth. I loved giving you that pleasure... Everything you did to me... You are good, very good, as good as I expected... (She laughed) Yes, the BUT that looms in giant letters but isn't spoken. I have thought of much more than the sex... To get to the bottom line, I made a mistake... Don't be so dramatic. He has no idea, and he won't be coming after you with a gun in his hand... Not you, all me. It was a mistake for me to fall for you and fuck you... I don't see why. We are adults. We both knew what we were doing... There won't be a next time...Listen to me. It isn't about you. Your love making was tremendously thrilling. It is now all about me. It was a mistake. As thrilling as you were, I risk far, far too much in continuing our party... Never the less, it was a one time deal. I have made that decision...That sums it up. I am a forty six year old married woman who got hot for another man, and made the deliberate choice of going to his house to enjoy a new and splendid cock. The first time ever in nineteen years of marriage I went to another man for sex. But that's all it was. I now see it was a mistake. Like a child with the key to the candy store gorging on sweets.......... Thank you. We will go along with museum business as though our fling never happened. And please, don't call me to negotiate more sex. That's over. Okay?... Bye, Roger."



Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 03



No more Roger. No more other man anything. For the next two years, roughly speaking, Jill went through the mystifying and ruthless curse of menopause. The hormonal changes were gradual, but with unpredictable effect, like some Gremlin had entered her body and taken charge. Life for her was a battle to salvage some semblance of normalcy, get through as many days of accustomed activity as she could. She was brave and determined, but there were periods of wild mood swings, tears, depression. Needless to say, our sex life was erratic. I gave her all the loving support I knew how to give.

And one day before she turned forty nine, it was all over. No more hot flashes. Done. She had defeated the Gremlin and given it the boot. She was all mine again. But something had changed in her I couldn't exactly pin point. She was a new mysterious woman, and the same old sexy one. Menopause didn't seem to have any effect on her lubricating reservoirs at all. She flowed just as quickly and fully as before. Our fucking was slick and prolonged and sweetly loving. But in some subtle ways she became more independent and assertive.

She began a furious exercise program at our spa. "My goal is to lose 30 pounds and by God I will," she said. "You go girl," I said. "Do I look slimmer?" "Sweetheart, it's only been two weeks. Keep working." "How in the hell do you never change, always look like a Greek God? It has to be genes. I just have too many Italian Mama Mia genes in me."

One night I lay naked on our bed waiting for her to finish her suds-soak bath. She came in, drying with a towel as large as a blanket. She dropped the towel and examined herself in the large mirror on our bedroom wall, twisting about, straining her neck to get a look. "It's hopeless, Jack. My big fat ass is here to stay." She moaned.

I studied her big fat ass. My woman. My Goddess of love and sexual desire. My wife. My lover, my soul mate. She still retained much of her summer tan, and her Italian-Latina genes gave a light mahogany patina to the full, incredibly erotic globes of her ass. And I flipped, into a psychic state of old.

"Lucky me," I said. "How long has it been since you held the bar?"

Her eyes locked with mine in the mirror. There was a flashing glint in hers, part mischief, part something deeper and far reaching. "Ages," she said. "Do we even know where the bar is?"

"I do."

I got up to search it out from our closet where it had been hidden for several years. "The bar" was just that, a device I made to hook by ropes to eye screws in the canopy frame of our bed. A sort of short trapeze. Because our first sixty nine with her on top soon after we married, had segued into her abandoning her blow job, and concentrating entirely on sitting on my face. A new, totally in control, ravaging thrill for her. A new, totally submissive and ravaging thrill for me. She said it would be much better for both if she had something to hold on to, to have complete control of leverage and contact, pressure and force, demanding and taking. Complete control of me in sitting on my face. Voilà! The bar. 

Her holding the bar to sit on my face became a special thing for us. So special we seldom did it. For her it was inner need that had a genesis outside of conscious thought, that gradually surfaced into consciousness. It was exactly the same for me. The problem was those inner needs surfacing at the same time. They did, on very special occasions, via intuition, telepathy, the refined intimacy and knowledge that united us. The special occasion had arrived again, after years of neglect.

Jill lay on her back, idly fingering her clit as she watched me step over her to attach the ropes. Her body was placid in repose, but her lips formed a decidedly smug smile. Her eyes glittered in anticipation. I anticipated too, but my cock didn't rise like a roaring lion. It was only a quarter hard, swaying, bobbing, lumbering along with the rest of me.

When the bar was in place, she grasped it and positioned her knees at either side of me, facing my feet. She very slowly, ritualistically, lowered her mass of flesh and sex to my face. I watched it come down to me. The complete spread of female sexual treasure, as rich as any banquet spread for a king in a fairy tale, come to my face, for me to feed on. The gleam of mahogany tint on twin hemispheres that caught the ambient light of the room. The streaked skin of her pelvic joinery, a tiny red pimple, otherwise unknown, proclaiming itself, the curls of jet black pubic hair, the glisten of her pussy lips opening to pink nestled folds within, the nubby, purplish anus that peeked at me like a cyclopean eye from the dark recess.

I went under, literally and emotionally. I gave myself up to her and this special privilege. My woman. My wife. Her tastes and textures, the rich abundance of her sexual spread. The dark side of sex that pulls all of us, whether or not we ever go there. She sat on my face, and used it to fulfill her need. All my face. My chin, my mouth, my nose and forehead, slipping and sliding, squirming and seeking all contact points to fuel the orgasmic flame ignited in her. I got my first faint whiff of rectal moisture ever there to prevent drying out, a spicy smell of erotic pungency that pushed me deeper into my underworld of total submission to the totality of my woman

. 

I feasted on her, with hunger and overflowing spittle. She teased, lifting up and holding, making me lift my head up in a strain with my tonger out reaching, begging. Then she came back down, the hot, rich totality of her sexual center smothering my face, taking it, using it. The totality in all its parts, the loose labia lips, her rush of juices, pubic hair sawing my face, all given to me but all taking me with movement and pressures entirely of her volition for her own concentrated need in each isolated moment. She made all sorts of vocal noises, deep and guttural, high and keening. She talked dirty. "Oh, baby, yes, suck my clit... Oh yes, do it, lick my ass hole, stick that tongue in as far as you can!" 

Her orgasm was truly a full body orgasm, on my face, full force, and it was almost too long, with my nose buried in the dark chasm of her ass, unable to breathe. She got off me and collapsed, her gasps less than my desperate sucking air back into my lungs. I finally settled back down. Visions flickered behind my closed lids. All the details of her lavish bottom. All the tastes and scents of her pussy and ass, the feast of sex, still had a blanketing presence in my mouth and nose. She had ravished me, the only word for it, and I lay as inert as a slab of custard, transformed by submission and reception without boundaries. The bedroom air settled on my head and made me aware my entire face from chin to forehead was still painted with a light coat of bodily, sexual essences from her hot bottom. My entire face was still in heat. She stretched beside me, purring like a cat and watching me like a cat. She had also taken her trip down the dark side. Her orgasm was convulsive. How many years since we had done that?

"And now the finale," she finally said, with voice inflection making a tiny question mark.

"Yes. The finale." I said.

I followed her into the bathroom, and lay back on the shower floor. She straddled me, positioning her feet. She tensed, and her urine gushed.

Ceremony. She initiated that ceremony the first time I put the bar in place. All her own doing, no discussion. She had issued an order that I follow her and lie in the shower. I understood instantly she was going to piss on me, and I felt myself coming apart. I wanted her to.

All those times I had listened to her as she sat on the commode, a sound as common as a sneeze, no full vision had ever formed. I looked up at her as she towered over me. The columns of her thighs in a very slight bend, her pussy, her stomach, her hands on her hips, her eyes staring down at me with mesmerizing intensity. Her pee gushed out in a stream, splattering on my soft cock and then my chest. In the few seconds before I had to close my eyes, I saw that a standing woman pees just like a standing man, a strong stream gushing out, but not gushing out of a tube held in fingers. The sight had a miraculous quality. Her pee jetting out of her pussy gash. Something no man ever sees until he lies beneath, looking up. She guided the stream by body movement. The hot stream hit my face. I went under. Deep under.

That first time I showered and returned to bed on wobbly legs. "I love you more than words can express," Jill said.

"What led you to that?" I said.

"I have no clear answer," she said. "No more than why the extreme intensity of feeling demanded I talk dirty. So many impulses firing away at once. Remember the first time I sat on your face and had to go pee?"

"Vividly."

"I joked about the timing. Lucky for you I didn't let go on your face. You said you were so into me you wouldn't have cared at all if I did. I guess that sort of stuck in my head. I don't know. The main question is, what did it do for you?"

"A lot. More than I can sort out right now. Submission. Receiving. You. Your body. Your person. Your piss. You. Very out of this world. It might have even been for me what religious people describe as a religious experience."

"You did look utterly serene lying there, your eyes closed, my pee drenching you. Like you were in another world... How was the taste?"

"Sharp. Something like foul water out of a rusty pipe."

She burst out laughter. "So much for romance!" 

"Not something I want to drink by the cup full. But the tiny taste I had was... a part of the experience. Even necessary. And so fitting. Because it was you. It came from you. And what did it do for you? Standing over the man you love and pissing on him?" 

"It made me feel like a Goddess. Really and truly. Your Goddess of love and sexual desire. I felt like a sex Goddess. You looked so peaceful and relaxed with your eyes closed as my pee splashed on you. You had a glow, a kind of aura. It was so symbolic, you lying there totally submissive to my power over you, my pee stream splattering on your body and face, in a ceremony of marking you, claiming you, possessing you. I knew the boundless power of being your woman and your Goddess."

"You knew from the beginning. You repeated to me, 'Jack, we have absolute freedom to do anything we both want to do. Other's don't write rule books for us.' That is so true."

Only once did I piss on her. There was no association beyond our usual passion for sex and love that began on a Sunday afternoon and continued into the night. Though she did suck me off with an enriched air of adoration and worship. Got a bit wild and forceful riding me on top. Kept my wine glass full. Knelt with her ass high and her forehead on the sheets, demanding I fuck her harder. When I went to empty all that wine she said, "My turn." She lay in the shower, silently asking me to anoint her. I directed my powerful stream to her nipples with surprising accuracy. Over her pussy, her face, all over her. She glowed with submission and reception, her pee soaked hair lying close on her skull.

"Now I know," she said, when she came to bed clean and needing to snuggle. "I know what it means for you. How hot piss from the one you love can be cleansing and purifying. It really does have something of the religious experience."

Never the less, she never asked for it again. Her religious experience was far stronger in being my Goddess of love and sexual desire, emptying her bladder onto me. I was fine with that.

My Goddess bathed me with her urine after her menopause, after too many years, and the ceremony was completed, and just as emotionally powerful as it ever was. I cleaned up and rejoined her in bed. My cock was limp, and irrelevant. Her sitting on my face and the finale ceremony was all about my soul getting off, not my cock. 

"Alright," I said with authority. "Listen up. I never want to hear another word from you hating your big fat ass. That big fat ass is mine. Mine to lick and tongue and relish and savor. In all it's magnificent glory it is mine. To sit on my face any time I want it there. Got that?"

"Yes sir," she said in a soft meek voice. Later she said, in sinking drowsiness, "A good thing I have been been working out on those muscle machines. To use the bar."

*****

Jill's birthday approached. The big five O. A time for reflection and review. I could write a thousand pages of non-sexual details why I was the luckiest man on earth to be married to Jill, but this tale is primarily subject specific, about a wife who had the uncommon luxury of sometimes wanting and having a different man, a different cock, a different style and rhythm fuck her. After each event, we had always done a de-briefing, what was most exciting, how the man was perfectly suited to the intent (or not), to what degree the goal of complete liberation was attained, and with the best of the men her endless clutch of orgasms from her first taking his cock into her eager mouth till he dressed and left. But after the de-briefing, the explosion of sexual pleasure enjoyed settled down, and we gave little or no thought to it.

My sharing my wife with another man was much like taking a special vacation, the Alaska cruise to Glacier Bay, a week in Paris, any place that excited us both and beckoned for a change of scenery, color and culture. But those vacations are not something anyone does once a month. They occur on managed timing, are greatly enjoyed, and then more or less forgotten unless a reminder crops up. Daily life goes on, and with Jill and I daily life, and marital sex was a procession of mutual delight and joy.

This was maintained by a resource Jill possessed, and which I quickly absorbed and made my own. When it came to matters of sex, Jill had no sense of shame or guilt. She discovered that in herself in her teen-age years, took control of her life and destiny, and simply ignored all rules and prohibitions laid down by religions and society. She really, really liked sucking cock, and she really, really liked a hard cock inside her, and she pursued her liking and wanting with no attending shame or guilt whatever. That resource transferred to my sharing her with other men after we married, and she never looked back with regret. Nor did I.

But, as her fiftieth birthday approached, we did some looking back. I wondered of all the men I had given her, which was the most memorable? She smiled that deep happy smile rich with many memories, and thought. Her answer was most surprising. "Roger," she said.

"Roger?"

"Yes. Roger."

I was disconcerted. "Roger? That one night stand that didn't come off as planned?"

"You asked. I answered."

"I'm just surprised, that's all. We had some mind blowing threesomes that stick in my mind."

"And in mine as well. And it is far past time for another one."

"I must do some serious searching. Suitable men in our age bracket are hard to spot. And by suitable I mean a man capable of being what you need him to be." I paused and looked at her in the eyes, letting "need him to be" take shape. "You always did it for me, first and foremost, but you also embraced the opportunity of variety, of fucking a man not your husband for all the new and exciting differences he brought to you and gave to you, and your liberation to let go and enjoy him with no reservations."

"Yes. With no shame or guilt. To fuck another man with you there to see and share my pleasures. That is a gift you gave to me, and it is hard to imagine a husband giving his wife a more distinctive gift."

"I will do some serious searching."

"I could assist. Assess possibilities on my own."

"They might turn out the same way Roger did."

"Maybe. Neither you nor I have a crystal ball."

"Your romance with him was very exhilarating wasn't it."

"You know it was. I explained why it was. But never think my goal wasn't for the three of us. It just didn't work out as we hoped. But the chase, the seduction, all the intricate dance of courtship was a level of excitement different from our threesomes." 

"Because I was out of the picture."

"Yes. That can't be ignored, my darling husband. I wanted him for the both of us, but there was intense thrill in pursuing him on my own."

"And if you go out again to select a man for us, you will surely experience that intense thrill again."

"I certainly hope so."

"Would you fuck him all for yourself?"

"If I thought it beneficial for us, yes."

"And if you have grave doubts he has the mental wiring to fuck you with me on the same bed, would you want to fuck him anyway?"

"If the man I select and cultivate for a threesome gives me that same flood of thrill Roger gave me, I would want to fuck him, whether or not he is suitable to join us. But I would do so only with your permission. What I did with Roger went outside our usual boundaries. I am very much aware of that. But the thrilling excitement was utterly delicious. I am fifty years old. You give me all any woman could ask for. But my fling with Roger was a bonus I did not seek or ever think about. You gave me the gift of enjoying another man in a context the threesome doesn't provide. It was different, and very thrilling for me. I wish it could be as thrilling for you as watching another man take me."

"That's just it. I didn't watch."

"I told you every detail of the courtship. You fucked me like a stallion when I returned to you. You smelling his odors still on my body."

"That's true." I said. 

We let the subject drop. For the time being.

I privately thought of little else for several days. Her selecting the best of her single days fuck buddies to join us was highly successful. But they got older and fat and unattractive. I was never entirely comfortable with her going solo to find us a man, as she did with Roger. And I was not surprised to find that he disdained even the hint of a threesome. It takes a unique sort of man to share his wife, to make a colossal understatement. And the man qualified to partake of the sharing is, in his own way, just as unique. There has to be a meeting of minds as well as genitals. Far more difficult to find than you might imagine. Every man that shared my wife was fully aware I could beat him severely in a fight, and there was never any competitive-dominate bullshit to deal with. The word "cuckold" was so silly in describing me that we could only laugh at the idea once, and never think of it again. The men that joined us had the intelligence to know that "cuckold" was not a thought they dared to entertain either. Men of that type are not simple to find.

I also began to wonder if we had outgrown the excitement of threesomes. Had simply gotten to old for them. I could rummage in the memories of them and get a hard on, but I could not imagine what was left to see in my wife with another man. Nor what new thing I could do to enhance the experience. And I was certainly not old at forty seven. I was not the unchanged Adonis Jill still saw in me, but I was still trim and muscular and energetic. I had thick hair on my head, a ready cock between my legs. I did not need Viagra. My exercise routine was mostly down to aerobics and yoga. And Jill was certainly not old. Her being three years older than me meant nothing. In fact, in so many ways she was more beautiful to me than when I first saw her.

Her body had changed, of course. Her ass larger and more glorious for the change. Her breasts had the expected sag, which made them for me even more desirable. The suckling was highly erotic. Her nerve endings very responsive. There was a fat roll here and there. Her pregnancy stretch marks were barely distinguishable. 

We lay in bed one night and she suddenly said, "How's the search going?"

"Search? Oh, that search."

"Yes, that search."




Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 03



"Slowly. You must be patient."

No. Definitely not too old for another threesome. She still placed great value on the privilege. Variety alone was a powerful incentive. When the other man was highly desirable and all the forms of their coupling were a true joining of mutual desire and lust and freedom, another man was a luxury for her beyond conventional accounting. He would take her, then recover while I loved her, then have her again. An unspeakable luxury of pleasures and satisfactions for her. No, she still had all the youth and assets for that uniquely rewarding adventure. It was time to arrange that reward for her again.



Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 04



I began a very serious review of male friends worthy, and suitable, for the fantastic opportunity of fucking my beautiful sexy wife, but I could not get her affair with Roger out of my head. That blurred the edges of a threesome. She said her affair with him was intensely thrilling. She said she wished it was as thrilling for me as being with her and watching. Well, it was. Very thrilling. A different and new thrill. Seeing her still flushed, slightly untidy, well fucked look when she returned to me. Standing fully dressed. Not naked on a bed. Well fucked while I waited at home. Totally different. And intensely thrilling for me. I had much to think about.

One night we were tidying up the kitchen before bed time. Jill wore house slippers and a loose night dress that was functional, but in casual movement made all the parts of her body a flaunt of erotic abundance that distanced her from all other women. Her hair had been freshly colored. No dye could replicate the rich black, so her salon genius came up with a tone to hide the spreading gray that had the lustrous sheen found on highly polished black walnut furniture. In certain lights the patina had a cast similar to Ox Blood shoe polish a man used to apply to Cordovan shoes. Her hair still had that natural body bounce of wave and dip that framed her face almost to her shoulders, a style she had more or less maintained since I met her, because I like it so much. I wanted to eat her up on the spot. 

"I thought I had found a prospect. Quite the stud in appearance. Mid to late thirties. Soon realized he had no potential at all. Beneath the good manners was a selfish, arrogant streak. The type I could beat to a pulp in a wink."

"We certainly want to avoid that," Jill said. "I've seen it once, and that was enough."

Tae Kuon Do was a part of my physical regimen for a long time. I gave up hopes of attaining a black belt. I only had to use those exacting skills once. Jill was with me on a business trip and we had drinks in the hotel bar. Two louts put moves on her that were... well, insane. She had done nothing to solicit their insane arrogance. She was simply herself, which is always attractive to men. But those two turds went over the top with a primitive, arrogant assault that took no account whatever I was even there. It was almost like they had memorized a scene of punks in a Mafia movie, and wanted to reenact it. Civil discourse was out of the question. It was quickly over. One lay on the floor, trying to understand the pain - broken ribs, busted liver or spleen? - my kick had delivered. The other stood, barely, fingering his jaw bone like he was discovering he had one for the first time. Hotel flunkies scurried about not knowing exactly what to do. The cops were quick to arrive. The bar tender gave a succinct report. The cops looked Jill and I over. They looked at the punks and knew exactly what they saw. They were seriously hurting, and that might have given a spark of intelligence to their tiny brains. No, they didn't want to press any charges. Did I? "I already have," I said. The cops were relieved. Their paper work would be minimal. The punks left, very wobbly. The cops said to me, "You and your wife should leave here. They might decide to come back, with guns or God knows what." And that was that.

"Anyway," Jill said, "no young stud, even otherwise suitable, will be interested in an old gal like me."

"Don't start that," I said.

"That happens in fantasy, not in real life. Someone in our age bracket is best."

"Speaking of, have you been doing your own evaluations?"

"Not seriously. No more than I have done for thirty five years. Seeing a man on the street or where ever and wondering for three seconds what he would be like in bed."

"I've been thinking about that."

"And where did your thoughts lead?"

"You going solo."

"It was thrilling for you too, wasn't it."

"Yes it was. But there is more. I came to a conclusion that if you select a man that really appeals to you, and you seduce him and fuck him, and he is not the one for a threesome, that wouldn't greatly matter. Just like with Roger."

My wife Jill gave me a long look that expressed thoughts sandwiching in place like an expert shuffle of a deck of cards. Her beauty and fantastic sexuality did not supercede her high reach of intelligence. In fact, her intelligence governed all her part in our other men arrangements, from recognition and total acceptance at the beginning, through all we had devised and enjoyed. Her sharp intelligence was present in every day we shared since we met. She could read between the lines. I was giving her an option that was an even more distinctive gift than providing her the occasional letting go with a man in a threesome. My suggestion was she was free to pursue any man that had the chemistry and attraction to spark the flame of desire in her.

"Well," she breathed out, "That is certainly a new way of our looking at things. God, Jack, it takes my breath away." She patted her chest with her fingers to simulate the sudden palpitations thumping inside. "I won't ask if you really mean what you say. You have always meant exactly what you said. But for some reason I need to ask why. Why do you give me such an extraordinary privilege?"

"Because I love you with a depth beyond measure, and because I can."

Her eyes misted. Her breath struggled with a new surge of inner palpitations. She rushed to hug me with a fierce possession containing all the fibers and sinews of unconditional love we had shared since our first kiss. No words were required, or even remotely adequate to the moment. Our hug and our pressed together bodies said it all. Her pussy was as soft and welcoming as a pillow to my groin. Her breasts ballooned on my chest. Her hair had intoxicating fragrance. She was all marvelous, peerless, blessed woman, and she was mine.

She finally broke the hug. She stepped about with no purpose or direction at all. Rubbing the counter with a towel where no soil existed. She vibrated. She glowed, her breathing still fluttery. Her hips swayed and her ass cheeks bounced and flounced under the flimsy fabric with that utterly female assertion of pride and sexual potential, with or without any direction from her mind. I absorbed that vision, and I knew I had done the right thing and a good thing.

Because I loved her and because I had the mental and emotional stability to give her this stunning gift was the result of much deep and serious thinking I had done. The new and completely different excitement I experienced in her fling with Roger had powerful influence. Call it a curse or a disease or anything you like, but that almost unbearable excitement of other men fucking my wife was a discovery which became a fixture in me in time after we first met, and Jill proved that she was perfectly adapted to fuel my crazy excitement with her own rewards in fucking other men dovetailing with the inner me. That was well established with us. But her romance with Roger had a deeper layer. Going solo.

And going solo had a deeper layer still. A changed Jill had emerged. She passed menopause with flying colors, but the aging process had pecked away at her self-confidence. Every woman has vanities, and Jill certainly had her share. She stated them clearly in her summation of her feelings of joyful rejuvenation in courting and seducing Roger. She would be perfectly happy in fucking only me for the rest of her days. But her - grossly exaggerated, to me - feelings of losing her appeal and allure to men in general was a vanity real to her, and touching to me.

I have no doubt that all women, married or single, go through this stage. I doubt that many woman have the freedom to express to their husbands how the vanity of physical decline removes them from being an object of desire to men in general. Such an idea would be a funny laugh if Jill was seventy. At fifty, with her sexual prime at full reach of form and experience, it was no joke at all. Her allure to men in general was still very important to her. It is to every woman. None of them choose clothing, finger nail polish, apply make up just to go grocery shopping with an aim to look good only for their husbands. That, as much as my personal thrill, made me decide to give her the gift of choice of any man she wanted. With certain restrictions.

Jill wiped another clean spot on the counter. "Who ever the man," she said, somewhat dreamily, "I will always be thinking of us first. You will have to be a part of it. As much as possible."

"I trust you on that. I also know we run the risk, even high probability, that the man cannot agree to what we both want, and you will have separate and private pleasures for yourself. I give you that. As you said before, neither of us has a crystal ball. If he's good for a threesome, fine. If not, that's ok too."

"My God...."

"What?"

"I am thinking of all the men out there. Good looking, still vigorous and sexy men. Men in my usual environment, and men I've yet to meet. And you are giving me permission to pounce on any one I want." She sucked in a deep breath to contain that fantastic potential. "I feel I'm back in high school again. Discovering boys all over again. But knowing all I now know, have done."

"Your happiness is my happiness. But..."

Her look at me was a snap. Her intelligence sharp as a razor. "Ah yes. The always lurking BUT."

"I've thought this through. This gift I offer you has a certain restriction."

"Does it now..." Raised chin, arched brow.

"One man a year."

She looked genuinely puzzled.

"Once a year you may have an affair with any man you choose. Any time of that year. Choose him, romance him, fuck him. I hope he is threesome material, but if not, that doesn't matter. That gives you greater range of choice. In any event, once your thrilling affair, and I don't doubt it will be thrilling, results in him fucking you, it ends. It's all over. You will never be with him again. Unless of course he is right to join us in a three way."

Even the sharpest and most refined of female intelligence has that fragile vulnerability of doing a banana peel slip and falling splat onto a cliché in a woman's magazine.

"So that's the but, is it? You make the rules for the obedient wife to obey."

Her cheeks were pinched with red blooms of anger. Her eyes narrowed to slits. I had expected some pause for serious evaluation, but nothing as wild as this. I realized I had blown apart a rapturous fantasy of unlimited men for her taking that had seized her only moments earlier. A rapturous fantasy heavily freighted with the delicious experience of Roger, and her regret at ending it.

"Jill, Jill, Jill. Do you fully understand what I am proposing to you?"

"Once a year, one man, one fuck, and kaput, over and done with. You think I've suddenly gone stupid on you?"

"I can never think that."

"Why the restriction? Why couldn't I have him more than once.?"

"You are thinking of Roger, and how much you wanted him again."

"Well, yes. That's exactly what I am thinking."

"So am I," I said. "And that would lead to something I couldn't live with. It simply would not work."

The hard edges of her anger softened and fell away. "Jack. Love of my life. Do you think, even a little bit, I could ever fall in love with another man?"

"I think you could, a little bit, but that is not something I really fear. You honestly said before that in the passion and heat of the moment you felt some variety of love for the men I watched fuck you. They were real and alive and there, and their person and bodies and cocks were very precious to you. I understood that. Those feelings had no staying power after the men were gone. But I was there with you. If you had carte blanche to fuck Roger repeatedly, I wouldn't be there."

She thought. "I see your point," she said.

"And speaking of repeatedly, how often is too much? What if I were to say, ok, I think your fucking Roger three times a year is reasonable, but that's all you get. Would that be a restriction as onerous as once only? A rule laid down by a domineering husband?"

She broke out honest laughter. "This is the most bizarre negotiation I've ever been in! How often my husband will allow me to fuck my lover."

There was no bite of sarcasm in what she said. It was all Jill sense of humor, welling up and recognizing that comedy might well be that universal theory of unification, that one mathematical formula that scientists keep searching for that explains everything that exists. She laughed with happy abandon. I laughed with her. Our laughter had a touch of simultaneous orgasm, releasing, emptying and cleansing. When it subsided, she had some more cards to play.

"Back to our hypothetical. I'm not thinking that you are suddenly beset with insecurities. That has never been the slightest problem for you or for us. But I'm not sure I fully understand your uneasiness in me and a hypothetical lover becoming a regular, to what ever degree, thing. You have always trusted me. You would simply continue to trust that it is not possible for me to ever love another man more than I love you. An on going affair with an outside lover would not take anything away from you. Nothing that I can see."

"Possibly not. But such an arrangement would give us something we've not had before. An open marriage."

"Bah," she dismissed with a hand flick. "A label. An abstract. Our sex life has always been to ignore labels and make our own rules."

"But the abstraction of it doesn't erase it. Open marriage it still would be, and a decidedly lop sided one at that."

She stiffened. She knew where I could go. Her face and eyes went into a scurry of defenses and counterattack.

"If you and hypothetical Roger were free to be together as often as mutually convenient, for unrestrained sexual pleasure and, let's not kid ourselves, a deep affection with what ever color of love, you would have the luxury of an open marriage. But I wouldn't. For the first time ever, the temptation of my having another woman would be exceedingly great. There are thousands out there. I don't boast, but I don't discount the attractions I still have."

Her reaction was expected, but still startling. She was half murderous fury, and half a pattern of cracks from a seismic tremor of fear. "Don't even think it," she hissed. "I would kill you both."

"Well, there we are. Back to square one."

She made a strenuous effort to compose herself, and did. "Let's go to bed," she said. "I'm exhausted."

"It's been a long day," I said.

We lay on our backs on our king size bed on the best mattress money could buy. We lay together but apart, swimming in our separate thoughts. Our eyes were open. Our breathing relaxed. We shared the accumulations common to every married couple who had slept together for twenty three years. A familiarity of flesh and personality so entertwined that breathing, grunts, snorts, snoring, intestinal gurgles, the urgent relief of occasional farts, defined our humanity and declared without extraneous fanfare the irreducible foundation of marital love. It was exactly that foundation that supported us every day of our lives, and for all the occasional unconventional sex we had enjoyed. We were husband and wife, so inextricably bound together it was natural law, like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. Even so, our seamless merging contained a dichotomy.

Jill's jealousy was a seriously troubling matter when we discovered those natural components hiding in each of us - the explosive erotic excitement I experienced when she openly revealed her sexual history of previous men, and her giving great value to my excitement as a rich fund of her own excitement. One nourished the other. But early in our discovery she made clear she didn't want to hear about women I had. Jealousy, pure and simple. I was her man, and no woman past, present or future would ever have me as long as she was alive. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. But she was far too intelligent to not see the dichotomy in that. She felt guilt and other pangs of discomfort in her desire to thrill me and herself in our combined fascination with her enjoying other men. Her jealousy of me with other women was there and she had no control over it.

It was up to me to bring the conflict into balance. I was still struggling to come to terms with the wracking truth that I was some kind of despicable pervert in feeling such burning erotic heat when she told me about a most memorable event with a previous lover. With great patience, and understanding and love, she convinced me my "curse" was a unique asset we both could draw on for special treats the rest of our lives. We both were in it together, and it was perfectly right and beneficial. It did not harm us. It empowered us, to be what we were. I knew I really had no control over that singular, shattering excitement of hearing about, and visualizing other men fucking the love of my life. I cast off all guilt and discomfort and never looked back. Then I had to come to terms with her jealousy.

It wasn't all that difficult. She saved me from mental turmoil by unconditional acceptance of my discovered nature, and shaping it as a resource of great value to both of us. The Joy of Sex by our own design and rules. She made it a safe place for both of us. But more was needed for the balance. I had to recognize, and accept, her jealousy of other women having any claim to me as a natural condition as fixed in her as my subjection to erotic inflammation in the idea of her fucking other men. I had to convince her she wasn't a selfish bitch, and make her feel as safe as she made me when I gave her other men. Remove all thoughts that I could desire another woman. At that time I couldn't even form the idea of fucking another woman. I had fucked many before, but when Jill came along I entered paradise. What else could I ask for? Jill was everything. She was all. I gave her the safety she needed. With no regret, ever. 

Of course I recognized beautiful women when I saw them. On rare occasions over twenty three years I felt a sudden seizure of sexual desire for some women. But that was much like what ex-smokers experience, that whammo craving for a cigarette, that has to be captured and buried. I was perfectly happy fucking only my wife, giving her that safety and security she truly required. A lop sided balance, perhaps, but a foundation that secured our mutual rewards in her luxury of fucking other men, and the flaming excitement I had when she did. Open marriage would destroy that foundation, and she knew it. 

My bound to me woman was thinking, and I knew to the nanosecond when her vocal cords would sound speech. 

"What you have proposed is very generous."

"You could say that. I very much doubt that proposal was offered in any other house in the city tonight. Generosity is part of it, but not all. It seemed to me a timely and fitting construct for who we are in our extra private world at this time of life, what we have created, what we both enjoy." 

"There is one simple fact you seem to be overlooking."

"Tell me."

"I really don't need another man at all. Never again."

"What??!! Of course! What do you mean OVERLOOKED? My proposal wasn't some duty or obligation you had to fill. Good lord. It was only..." I put my hand on her breast, felt the soft resilence, the nipple harden. "No other man ever again, my cock only pleasuring you, you think that would be some kind of sacrifice for me?" 

"Actually, I think that would be heaven on earth."

"Consider it done. No furher discussion necessary. Just you and me babe, heaven on earth."

"Thank you," she said, the formality sounding an odd ring over our bed, but I sensed her smiling so strongly in the relative darkness it was like her smile was connected to tiny little muscles of mine. The smile spread over her face, and mine. It spread down and throughout her entire body, and mine. A deep relaxation swamped us both. We lay together on that irreducible foundation of marital love, that accretion of individual parts that over twenty three years became a solid that no external force could even chip. 




Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 04



But... The most solid of foundations of marital bliss never completely disentangles the peculiarities of female logic. A woman's chromosomal right to unpredictability. After a while Jill raised up to support herself on her elbow, and gazed into my eyes. She traced my lips with her finger tip. She put her full cushiony lips to mine with a kiss of ineffable tenderness. When she spoke, her voice was in that register of sultry, sensual, full bore Jill sexuality that sent a shiver down my spine. 

"On the other hand," she said, "we don't have to throw out the baby with the bath water. We can have both, as we've always had. Heaven on earth and the rich sweet deserts. On your terms. Once a year I can pursue a man of my choice. One and done. I accept that." She kissed me again, with the same tenderness. "If you accept this," she continued, breathing the words over my lips. "No woman for you. N-E-V-E-R." She bit my lips to leave an excalamation point on what she said, and it hurt like hell!



Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 05



Marriage is a stack of contracts, not just the one imposed by the government and exchange of vows in the chapel. In successful marriages, most are tacit understandings. Loyalty and devotion. Parental responsibilities and practices. Mutual ego support. Shared house hold labor. Compromises and unselfishness. Budgetary agreements need to be hammered out. A stack of contracts. My giving my wife the man of her choice once, and only once, a year was a new contract. A contract similar to the one we shaped for our first threesome indulgence all those years ago. I was fully aware the contract was over weighted in her favor, but that was not something like two children following mother's orders to equally divide the remaining piece of chocolate cake. That intense scrutiny of division that guaranteed the older child using the knife did not get a single crumb more than the younger sibling. We were not children. We were doing an equal sharing that defied ready recognition of conventional measures. 

For three weeks I was hypersensitive to her moods, waiting for her to spring the news on me. She was not forthcoming. She smiled a lot, revamped her wardrobe, was a treasure house of sweet sex for me. She was her every day lovable self. Sunny, charming, gracious, kind and giving. Two months passed, and I often felt an urge to probe, locate hidden urges and arousals stirring from an attractive man that had touched her sensibilities. But I didn't probe. It would have been... hell, it would have been rude to do so. Our contract had that kind of force. And the added value of a new version of erotic atmosphere. She could have joyous, private sex with any man she wanted, once only, once a year. That given fact had a substance of enormous kinetic potential. It gave her beauty and physical desirability three dimensional focus in my eyes. I grappled with an impossibility, that I loved her even more than I ever had before. Because there was an underlying truth of something more. That my gift also contained the concurrent truth of my being her heaven on earth, and that would wrap the two of us forever more.

Spring segued into summer.

"Any man I want?" She said one day, out of the blue.

"One time, once a year. We agreed."

"He has turned up. I want him."

My God. Seven simple words, and I felt like I had been plastered with electrodes and external current turned on. "Erotic" is a very special word. It is far removed from pornographic. Eroticism dwells in our brain circuitry, in the cellular structure of our organs and who knows where else in our bodies. "He has turned up...I want him" sent erotic currents streaking everywhere inside me, and I felt chills and fever and mysterious nerve thrills all at the same time.

"Who is he? Where does he come from? How did you meet him? Where? When?"

"Easy tiger, easy!" She laughed. "You are more excited than I am."

"Well, almost half a year all routine and now suddenly..."

His name was Larry Felts and he was a house builder and did remodeling jobs and - knock me down and kick my gut - he completed some work on our house three weeks or so earlier. The soffit was showing rot in too many places, and I struck a deal with him to replace it and paint it. I saw him only twice, for him to evaluate and price the job, and another time during the work. I was very busy and left the project to Jill to keep tabs on and write him a check. Now she was of a mind to give him a hell of a tip.

"Whoa babe, that is too, too close to home." I said with flat finality.

"Don't be silly," she said. "He has never been inside our home and he never will be. Sometimes I think you believe I have turned into an air head."

"I will never think that... What about him turned you on?"

"Need you really ask? You met him."

Indeed I did. Larry was early forties. Played golf often and was in great shape, as much natural as trained. He had a rough hewn look. Excessive masculinity might describe him. But nothing predatory that I picked up on. Handsome, well, hell yes, he was. Sexy? That was something Jill had exclusive rights to determine. In fact, per our contract, she had exclusive rights to him if she wanted. She made clear she did want. 

"So, uh, what have you two established?"

"Some preliminary chemistry was established. Yes, I can definitely say that. His crew did the work, while we sat on the screened porch and drank lemonade. Not every hour of the job. But enough conversation, eye contact, body language to work at will. I've called him a couple of times, making clear he is not to call me, ever."

That was meager information, and all the more erotic because of the paucity.

"Did you touch? Kiss?"

"Of course not! On our porch? His crew nearby?"

"Well, chemistry is a word open on both ends. I'm naturally curious."

"You know how it works, Jack. All those women you had. Years ago, true, but you know. You could be looking at each other and repeating the pledge of allegiance to the flag, and all sorts of undercurrents and subliminal sex signals are flying back and forth. We both had roving eyes. He kept sizing me up. I gave a few glances to his crotch. He has a curvy ass that I bet has a lot of muscle power. He was very agreeable to a glass of lemonade. Never in a hurry to leave and check on his crew. He is married. But so am I," she grinned. 

"Chemistry, as I recall, needs a little more mixing than that."

"That last day, they did the painting and he had much leisure time to chat. Again, about nothing much in particular. A light skim over his business career, his life in general, little oddities about his spouse that are amusing if slightly annoying. At first he didn't realize I wasn't wearing panties under my sun dress. Then he knew. Did he ever. It was fun to watch. He couldn't stop looking at the way the dress settled in the V of my legs, the crack of my ass. And not a single suggestive word passed between us."

"I can see it." I said. "Lifting your dress and flashing your twat would have been unspeakably vulgar and tacky. Not wearing panties sent a message one hundred times more powerful. The difference between erotic and pornographic."

"Exactly," she said. 

"In effect, you were saying to him this proper upper class housewife could be fucked, if you play your cards right."

"Good way to put it."

"Maybe he thinks you are a neglected housewife in need of repair."

"Maybe he does. Does that matter? He didn't get a boner, but his cock did stir. I saw that, and made sure he saw that I saw. Never talking anything but above board chit chat.

"Establishing chemistry." I laughed. "Now I'm getting a boner."

Her smile was pure witchery. "That's the whole idea, isn't it?"

"I don't want him around here any more."

"Certainly not," she said. "I'll see to that."

"Don't be in a great rush either. Take the time to be certain he poses no risk to us."

"Trust me, Jack."

I called my man at the security company that does background checks for prospective employees, and gave him the particulars I had on Larry Felts. Rush job I made clear. I had a twinge of guilt at keeping this secret from Jill, but the twinge was brief and ineffective, greatly overridden by my duty to protect her. The report came to my main office, and it was detailed and not alarming. Larry Felts was honorably discharged from the Marine Corps. Married to the same woman for sixteen years. No criminal record. Usual debts but no financial binds. No trashy behaviors or inclinations came to light. And most importantly, his medical records - yes, that company can penetrate anywhere to find out anything - gave him a clean bill of health.

During the time I waited for the background report, Jill made her first move.

"I have a rendezvous with Larry this afternoon."

"Where?"

"The Botanical Gardens."

"Fuck on the grass, in broad day light?"

She laughed. "More to feel him out. Establish boundaries."

Rendezvous. Meeting. With a rugged, handsome ex-Marine who was plied with a lot of lemonade and visions of panty free ass under a sun-dress. I couldn't work all day with such thoughts zapping my mind, so I went home early. Much too early. It was five before Jill returned home.

She wore tight jeans, ankle boots, and a sky blue T-shirt of latest style, with a square cut that exposed a lot of bosom, the bottom border about three inches above the nipples. Sexy as hell. The packages she carried explained that she had gone shopping after the rendezvous. She was sunny, sparkly, vivacious, glowing. "Hi darling." She gave me a brief, soft, tender kiss. "Pour us some wine while I put these away." I watched her walk to our bed room, her hips swaying, her ass cheeks in rotational rhythm under the tight denim, residual erotic energy quickening her stride. I filled our wine glasses with Champagne.

She sat in her favorite chair, crossed her legs, a suede ankle boot kicking up and down, and looked at me with warm affection. "So, how was your day?"

Yeah, right. My wife has this innate tendency toward playfulness that is often irrepressible. She was dying to tell me; she knew I was dying to hear; but she had to toy with me a moment.

"I believe your day has priority here."

She laughed. "We met at the gardens. Strolled about. Talked."

"You feeled him out..."

"In due course. He is a good kisser. Quite good..." Her eyes drifted, remembering. "All and all, I think he is essentially a good ole boy type of man. I made clear I didn't have a habit of cheating on my husband, but his attractiveness was overpowering and irresistible. He was greatly flattered. He confessed to a couple of affairs during his marriage. We kissed a lot, well hidden in the rhododendrons...He likes my ass...His hands couldn't stay away...He kissed and licked my breasts, and pulled my T-shirt down so my nipples popped out...His suckling mouth was so very sweet...My pussy got very wet...He has a big one. Big as yours? Probably not. I will make a closer comparison when it is out of his pants, in my hands, in my mouth."

She stared at my crotch, my erection so big and hard, threatening to rip the fabric of my pants. She stood and walked to me, stroked my hard-on with her fingers, arched a brow in judgment, and said, "Probably not as big."

My wife cooked us a delicious dinner, pasta shells stuffed with mozzarella and spinach and basil, smothered with a red pepper sauce. I mostly watched her work; watched her ass cheeks express themselves as she moved about, like they were still feeling Larry Felts' hands there. I kept the glasses full of Champaign. I had a hundred questions to ask her, but restrained myself, not entirely certain why. Going solo seemed to have attached a mood of privacy, in spite of her willingness to provide details she knew would be terrifically exciting to me. I would have to adjust to that. I did ask: "What boundaries did you fix?"

"That I am a horny house wife hopelessly hot for him. No more, no less. Any broader expectations would be out of the question. He was most agreeable with that reality." She paused to consider. "I have this strong sense he is a man who has nothing else in mind except taking me. Because I offer myself for his taking."

"So...When?"

"I will decide. When he can manage to sneak in the private time. He won't be coming here, needless to say, so he has his own logistics to see to. I don't see a Roger like prolonged courtship in the making. A lot of mutual lust is at work here. Do it. One and done. If he is as good as I think he will be, then I will be a happy woman, and anticipate a new man next year."

My chest became a vacuum and I had to fight for a breath. The gift I had given her. The contract. She was now using it. The reality struck home. There was nothing left to discuss. 

We were on the right side of Champagne tipsy when we went to bed. It was a potent cocktail of Champagne and ersatz infidelity that made my wife emit, ooze palpable sexuality in every move she made. Even brushing her teeth. Her naked body was full of ripe desirability and accessibility as she took her own sweet time pulling the gown over her head. She kissed me with love when we stretched out.

"Thank you my love, my life, my husband, my precious man. You give me this gift. I want this Larry Felts. I want to open my legs wide for his cock to enter me and fuck me. It's going to happen."

I went into her in one swift lunge.

"Oh God yes! You are huge and hard as iron. This is so good, good, good for both us. Fuck me my husband fuck me fuck me."

The report on Larry came in for my secret reading. A "good ole boy." Jill made the occasional phone call to him in private, keeping the lust heat on high, she reported to me. And suddenly it happened. I was at my office when she called and matter of factly said, "It's set up. I'm going to him now."

"Now? Where?"

"The Comfort Inn on sixth avenue and Patterson Street. Room 1107."

"Now!? This sure is sudden!"

"I know. He couldn't wait any longer. Neither could I. He seems to have found the right time and opportunity for his own situation, and I am more than ready........ Well?"

I was speechless, but did manage to say, "Be careful. Have fun."

Needless to say, I couldn't concentrate on any work the rest of the afternoon. I went home early. It was not exactly the same as waiting for her return from fucking Roger. The suddenness of the event was like a streak of lightening and a clap of thunder before a drenching down pour. Startling. A dash for shelter. Great forces at work beyond my control. My wife and another man in sexual heat. Bam! Just like that.

I had no idea what Jill was wearing, if she did something to her hair. If she gave her pubic bush a quick trim. No clear fantasy image of her knocking on door 1107 of the Comfort Inn on Patterson street. To enjoy the gift I had given her. For some reason, I had never imagined that gift would include an anonymous motel room, like a staple from a country song. I had to imagine it then, and all the banal trappings of common infidelity wove a different tapestry of erotic frisson around what was taking place in room 1107. Stolen hours. Cheating. My wife, the slut. I had seen my wife release her inner slut in a threesome with another man. Legs spread wide, her arms flung back, her neck and jaw taut in orgasmic seizures with her eyes clinched tight, her breasts bobble back and forth in contrapuntal rhythm to the strokes of another man's cock plundering her. My wife the slut. Releasing. And without exception that release, her gift to me to see and know and understand, enveloped her in an awesome glow of radiant beauty. I needed no more than that vision. I jerked off, and my cum shot two feet high.

I thought of driving to the Comfort Inn, find a slot with a view of door 1107, wait and see my wife come out the door. I dismissed that thought. Instead, I thought she might be working up an appetite, and prepared a supper for her, to heat when she returned. Images of her slut release activities played tag in my head, with Larry's body in the pictures, on her, his ass expanding and clinching in furious thrusting, her plump lips sliding up and down his cock. I got an erection again, but didn't jerk off. 

It was close to seven when Jill came back home, twilight on that summer day. There are many distinctive looks that attach to people. That well fed look of people leaving a restaurant. That glaze of joy on fans leaving the stadium after the college football team beat a hated rival by five scores. That "justified" look on a diligent employee who got the promotion and a ten grand salary raise. And there is that look on a woman who has been thoroughly and splendidly and monumentally fucked. That was the look my wife had when she stopped still and smiled at me. That was the look she retained all evening. It contained parts of all the examples I cited above, but something deeper and more too. Much more. An uncanny mix of lively vibrancy and utter exhaustion, and a depth-less satisfaction too complicated to itemize.

"Welcome home, my love."

She folded into me. Soft. Loving. Her body humming a depth-less satisfaction too complicated to itemize. "My husband," she said. 

She wore a simple sun dress and low cork heel sandals, and nothing else but her wedding rings.

"Did he keep your bra and panties as souvenirs?"

"I didn't wear any," she smiled. 

"This dress.... The lemonade serving dress?"

"The very one. I thought it would be a nice touch. The continuity of first chemistry."

She broke our embrace. Casual. A smile echo that refused to leave her face. Relaxed. Deeply satisfied.

"Shall I run you a bath?"

"I showered at the motel. I needed it too." Her eyes that slanted my way, and her smile, spoke volumes.

"That clunk I heard when you dropped your bag on the floor was a hair dryer."

"Yes. A cheating wife couldn't go home reeking of another man's cologne, sweat, and cock and balls, could she?"

"Advisedly not!" I laughed with her. "I fixed a nice supper for you, if you're hungry."

"In fact, I'm starving. Jack, I'm the luckiest woman on earth being married to you. No matter how many times I say that, I can't say it enough."

The meal, the evening, proceeded in a casual manner, like the end of any ordinary day. We chatted about nothing, in that habitual comfort and security of a long marriage at meal time. But our minds had little connection. Jill kept drifting off on the cusp of a dreamy smile, her eyes every changing in light and luster, with an inward focus. Her body seeming to hum like background voices to the song "I Have Been Splendidly Fucked Today." I wanted to hear every detail. I wanted to rip that chemistry sun dress off and rape her. I was patient and polite.

We went to bed, and Jill said, "Do you mind if I tell you all about it later? I'm exhausted. And a little sore too. I just want to sleep."

"Of course, my baby," I said, magnanimous, and achingly disappointed.

"Thank you my love. Good night."

She stretched and purred and nestled in and in a few minutes was softy snoring. I lay awake quite awhile.

My gift to her, to fuck any man she wanted once a year, one time only, was taking a shape I didn't foresee. How could I? Her going solo was a totally new experience for us. Obviously, an element of privacy had entered the scene. I had no doubt she would tell me all, answer any question I asked, not deliberately keep any thing from me. But going solo naturally included her personal feelings and sensations and pleasures and thrills I could not share. Private things she quietly savored and digested during our evening meal. Wanted to contain in her deeply satisfied, perfectly realized, devastatingly well fucked insides all to herself for awhile. Her regular breathing, her snore barely audible, my wife who had fucked another man in privacy that afternoon in motel room 1107, slept as peacefully as a child. What was that she said? "Exhausted... and a little sore too..." The story lurking in those words had such potential it became almost cosmic in scope, and my mind became exhausted and I fell asleep. At some wee hour.

The next morning I hung around the house. My highly paid managers run most of my business, and I am a slave to my office only on occasions of emergency. Jill still had that dreamy cat that got the cream demeanor, which seemed to be stuck on her.

"Still a little sore?" I asked, opening the dialog of our much anticipated play in our very private theater.

"A little." That dreamy smile. "A now and again twinge. That ever so pleasant, sweet reminder."

At that instant the door bell rang.

Jill let in Marsha and her crew of two, three women who spent all day once a week doing comprehensive maid service. I had forgot all about them. Jill would be busy with them all day long. I went to my office.

I couldn't get my mind off the remaining twinge of her pussy soreness. Was his cock as big as mine? Bigger? That would be a first. But I didn't feel particularly threatened by the notion. What I really wondered about was exactly what he did to make her sore? What stallion like activity he performed? The essence of which she would keep private, no matter how much of it she tried to share with me.




Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 05



That evening passed in a routine fashion. Jill wore a sense of accomplishment that the weekly cleaning crew always left in her. Mistress of the manor, the executive oversight she employed to keep our home, our estate in a most pleasing light. Her domain. I wondered how much her glow of accomplishment was augmented by residual soreness in her pussy and mental replay of Larry Felt's ravishing of her yesterday afternoon. She cooked us a modest but gourmet supper, very attentive to me, like I was a guest of honor. A gracious, charming, beautiful woman, my wife.

We did our bathing. She put on a "baby doll" type of gown. We stretched out on the bed and lying on her back she said, "Would you like to hear about it?"

"Of course I would. You know I do."

The gown was cut in a way that allowed her breasts to tumble free. I freed them and took a nipple in my mouth, my finger tips captured the other one. The fingers of her right hand went to her clit to massage at her pace. This was a long established ritual we had created back when she first told me stories of her sexual past or invented fantasies.

"It was pure sex," she began. "Raw sex. A man and a woman in heated lust. There is no other way to describe it."

I gave her nipple a little painful bite, and she shuddered.

"My pussy juice was running down my leg before I knocked on the door. Our kisses were a form of fucking. Our bodies were on fire. We were naked so fast I can't remember how it happened. No foreplay. I almost came rolling the condom on him. We fell on the bed, I opened my legs wide for him, and he filled me with his big magnificent cock and fucked me like a demon. He was powerful, taking me, and I came quickly, and again."

Her finger on her clit had gone into a frenzy to follow her memory and telling, and she came for me and herself with pelvic hunches and that muscular seizure and that plaintive cry escaping from her throat. 

She rested.

"And that was just the beginning," I said.

"Just the beginning," she sighed, most happily, with superior knowledge. "That Larry Felts is a fucking machine. With me, he was. Inexhaustible. And that's what we did all afternoon. Let it all loose animalistic sex. I'm not sure of the count... Let me think." She thought. "I think he came four times. I put four condoms on him, I'm sure of that. But one condom might have lasted and hour. He couldn't get enough of me and fucked me on and on, and all he could give me was not too much for me." Her finger was active on her clit again. "I wanted him to fuck me all day and all night. I was in pure slut space, and deliriously happy to be there. You would have loved to see it, wouldn't you."

"Yes. You totally diving into your slut space, all for me to see. My God yes! I'm seeing it now."

"There are no particular events to tell. Just his cock filling me up and moving in me. Sometimes slow and sweet, sometimes fast and furious. After he came we didn't talk much. Just rested. I used my mouth to make him hard again."

"And make a comparison?"

She laughed. "He was not as big as you, but close. Maybe he was as big as you, come to think of it. A little shorter, I think. His cock head was a mushroom shaped thing. Too big for my throat, but so very nice rubbing inside my pussy. I didn't want to suck him off. Just get him hard to fuck me again. Four condoms worth."

"A real Superman, four times," I said with genuine admiration.

"Lucky me. He couldn't get enough. I couldn't get enough. I was pure slut, Jack. The second time I got on my knees on the edge of the bed and he did me standing. That was the longest of all. He loved mashing against my ass, and said so. The third time he put my heels over his shoulders and bent me back double and I was pure receptacle for his driving cock. I could have been any woman. Which is alright. He could have been any man. His fucking and my being fucked was all that mattered. Pure sex and slut space. It was all in the world that mattered to both of us. I don't know how many orgasms I had yesterday afternoon. Twenty? Thirty?" I was periodically biting her nipple and pinching the other one, which sent zaps to her clit, where her finger moved harder and faster. "The last time I sat on him and rode him cowgirl. I'm not sure if he even came, but I certainly did." And her flying finger made her cum again.

When she caught her breath and settled down, she said, "And that's the story. The superman and his slut were totally spent. I could barely walk. I took a shower and while drying my hair he asked about getting together again. I told him I would let him know. And I also gave him lavish praise on his abilities and performance. Straight from the heart, honestly."

She opened her thighs and guided me on top of her. "Now I want to feel you in me."

I pushed my cock into her. The erotic excitement of her story filled me with happiness for her, that by the luck of the draw Larry Felts had rewarded her beyond all expectations. For the slut capacity in my wife was an awesome womanly mystery that I had gazed upon with a still reverence. I had seen it before, her slut surrender to the power of cock turning her into a mindless mass of wrenching sexual pleasures, when another man joined me in taking her, taking turns, till we all were spent and exhausted. I made love to my wife that night with my cock inside her and my lips kissing hers, with reverence.

*****

Jill didn't have to do her one and done talk with Larry on the phone. She never spoke with him again, and he apparently got the message that the horny housewife got what she wanted that afternoon in the Comfort Inn and had gone back to her real life. He no doubt proved himself in his conquest, pumped his pride, and knew he taken a fantastic piece of ass, for a woman of fifty. Larry Felts just disappeared.

Days, weeks, months passed. Our life went on as usual. We did't revisit her debauche at the motel, but there was a lingering effect lurking in the wings, sometime making a playful appearance. She began slutty games with me. Controlled, refined, exquisitely crafted slutty games, all within our normal exchanges of affection and sex, but bubbling with salacious, sexual, tantalizing allure. Certain eye contact. Arched brow. Her full cushioned lips making her kiss a slow fucking of my mouth. Spontaneous innuendos of sexual content snatched from the most innocent of conversations. Some new blouses and skirts a little more revealing of her breasts and ass. She always sucked me with a demeanor of devotion, but after Larry she went further, with sounds and slurp, a slut gone into cock worship. And sometimes when I fucked her she conveyed to me by unspoken signals that she was my vessel of pleasure, and all she wanted was for me to use her and fill her. 

The beauty and sheer delight in all that was her skill in carrying it off. Jill could have been a superb actress on stage or in film. Her sense of timing was perfect. She knew exactly what to leave unsaid. Her body language conveyed what there were no words for. And her natural, innate playfulness was so artistically interwoven in her slutty games that I sometimes gasped at the effect. One night we went out for dinner and she wore a blouse of some shiny material that showed more tit than anything else she had in the closet. I expressed my slightly shocked delight. She pretended she had no idea what I was talking about. The waiter couldn't keep his eyes off her tits. Every man in the restaurant took long looks. She maintained, constantly, an air of oblivious unawareness, as though she was wearing a sweat shirt. Except for the occasional smile and eye expression she gave me. Just little hints of naughty daring, and enjoying it, in exposing her tits in public. She was a triumph of artistic sluttiness. 

It crossed my mind that her slutty games were a form of practice, honing her resources and skills to seduce her next man the next year. But that didn't hold up. She didn't need practice for that. It was something more. And while Larry Felts had opened wide the door to her inner slut room, he was only the latest on the list of men that had done so, with me having a prominent and immovable place at the top of that list. It was more like artistic sluttiness was a new toy for her, like a woman's first vibrator, to be used when she felt like it, for personal and private needs. Except, her slutty games were created exclusively for me, for my benefit, for my tease and enjoyment. In conjunction with some new, or awakened, erotic currents of her own. I absolutely loved it. My darling wife and marriage partner of twenty three years, faultless mother of our children who were now out on their own, playing with me with artistic sluttiness.

I had no real idea just what and how much of her day with Larry she still carried within her. Sometimes she had a soft drift away look, and I wondered if she was remembering his tireless cock in her. But she could have been thinking of something else entirely. Any of a thousand thoughts that flit in and out of our heads every day. I could not exclude the bedrock fact that she had attained a higher level of consciousness, of personal realization, her dominion over the magnificent house and surrounding gardens we lived in, the nourishing love she shared with me every hour of every day, always and forever. That could account for all the ever increasing beauty that daily fell on her like summer air of June, giving to her ripened maturity of fifty years the birth of rose blooms opening their petals. But I could not exclude the fact of my gift to her to enjoy Larry Felts, and future men of her choice, from the limitless expansion of her beauty and grace, either.

One night I fucked her and hit a groove I don't find that often. Unexpected reserves of energy, the promise to last a long time, the stars aligned, my wife, my woman, my lover, and I had a sudden and vivid fantasy of Larry taking her. "I'm going to fuck you the way Larry did in the Comfort Inn."

"Oh yes. Do. Please do. Just like he did me."

Easy steady rhythm, pauses to kiss her, far more than Larry did, I was sure. Her ankles over my shoulders. Her forehead on the sheet and her glorious ass high for me to take her from behind. My cock big and hard and tireless. A fantasy slide show of Larry fucking her flitting now and then across my mind. I fucked her a very long time. We spoke no words. Her pussy, her body, her heart and soul totally open to me and my thrusting cock. Her orgasms were a roll of events, like crests at high tide rising and curling and crashing on a beach, one after the other. For a long time. I took her face to face for the final rush, her calves hugging my back, my thrusting at full gallop, my guttural masculine sounds and her high feminine ones fleeing our throats and splashing the bedroom night. Her orgasm convulsed her. Mine turned me inside out, shooting my soul and a great quantity of semen into her. We were fused together as one, and a good ten minutes passed before our fusion dissolved and we separated.

"That was wonderful," Jill purred. "That was marvelous. That was stupendous. That was goooooood. So very, very good." She sighed, and stretched, and did her internal well fucked hum, soft sounds and quivers and ripples playing last music on her body. "Did you fantasize me with him?"

"Quite a bit. Did you?"

"For a while. But he dissolved and it was all you. Just you. The most perfect lover any woman could ever have.

I believed that, I believed her. I too could be a superman. I was very happy. And I also had perfect, peaceful understanding that I too dissolved when she fucked Larry. And Roger. And for a time it was all them, they were all in the world that mattered. They too, in their hour, were perfect lovers that brought my wife to that peak of meaning of being a woman. And that was the meaning of my gift to her, and the meaning of my giving it. 

"Next year, another man. Who will he be?"

"Who indeed?" She laughed, and stretched and purred some more. "So many out there to choose from. And you have given me any one I want."

"Roger again, if you want him."

"Don't thank that didn't occur to me. He was very good, but I've had him. One and done. Went shopping again, and Larry turned up. He was more than mind blowing, but one and done. You were right. Any sort of on going solo affairs with the same man would not work. But this way, once a year, the man of my choice once only... It couldn't get better than that. No risk of sticky emotional mess. The sweet excitement of flirtation, pursuit, courtship, or swift seduction as the case may be. The value of this gift you have given me is so enormous I can't fully wrap my mind around it."

*****

A new year rolled around. A new lover for my wife. It was like a fat dividend check she got in the mail yearly from ownership of a big bloc of blue chip stock. My gift. And a pattern of attitude seemed to have formed around the event. Jill never made direct reference to Roger or Larry. Sort of like she was indifferent to the history of them. Their main value being inspiration to continue playful, artistic sluttish games with me. Games of erotic suggestion. Her sexuality a bottomless well of experience and possibility. So many desirable men out there, and her new contract right to have anyone of them she wanted, when her green light to do so flashed on. But she carefully refrained from overdoing fantasy projections. A large part of her artistic erotic game playing with me. Dropping teasing hints when I least expected them. Keeping a keen edge on my awareness that she was quite content in biding her time, because of the lavish promise waiting to reward her patience. Her timing was masterful.

After two months or so, with no game playing hints at all, she dropped a biggie. We were at a company picnic in June. Guests of a competitor company, oddly enough. Beer kegs and barbecue, horse shoes, softball. Lovely girls and women with tanned legs, short shorts, pony tails falling from the back gaps of billed caps. Good looking males with tanned hairy legs in shorts, flat stomachs under T-shirts. We sat in canvas sling chairs, feasting on eye candy.

"That one," Jill said.

"One what?"

"With the sandy blond hair. Navy blue T-shirt. Gray satin shorts. Putting hits on that cluster of girls. I want him."

Her saying "I want him" put a tingle in my cock head before I located him in my field of vision. "He's bit young, isn't he?"

"He is adult enough for me. Oh my. Look at those firm buns under those satin shorts. I would love to caress and squeeze them. He might be that perfect cock size. For me to suck and deep throat. What do you think?"

Jesus! The tingle had rioted to a full boner in my shorts. "You are kidding, aren't you?"

"Am I? My new lover time is rapidly approaching. Any man I want. And he is absolutely gorgeous." She licked her lips, and sprawled lower in her chair. "I must plan a way to circulate and meet him. Lay the ground work for an affair. You will excuse me for a while, I'm sure."

But she didn't circulate, not toward the absolutely gorgeous young man, at any rate. She was teasing, playing her sluttish game with me, and I fell for it. Stayed fallen, and that night we put the young man in a fantasy creation of her sucking his ideal size cock, the shape and smell and coloration of it so irresistibly beautiful, her hands squeezing those firm round buns as the shiny blue-red head went into her throat, his orgasm spurting so much cum in her mouth she couldn't swallow it all.

*****

She curtailed her games when her calender year of freedom flipped over. "Serious roving eye time," she put it, and said no more. It was mid-summer when she made her choice. And that too was part of the developing pattern - that sudden out of the blue information for me to receive and absorb.

His name was Charles Moffit. She met him at the book store Cafe. He noticed the novel she had bought, and praised her literary taste. They had coffee and scones and discussed good books and good writers. He was an English Lit. professor at the university. Jill was impressed by his verbal fluency. Not that he used big words, but the exact right words in fresh and telling arrangements. He said the coffee shop was his second home. She said she visited there most every Wednesday afternoon. I will look for you next Wednesday, he said. The flirtation and exploration was under way.

I ask Jill to take snap shots of him with her cell phone so I could see what he looked like. She took them, with him unaware, and we viewed them together on the computer. He was tall and lanky, with a beak nose and two arrows of receding hair line high on his forehead. "What about him turns you on?"

"Hard to describe," Jill said. "But there is definite chemistry working. It is like he has read so many books he knows every thing in the world, and is a little bored with it. He is the opposite of Roger and Larry. He has beautiful hands, long fingers, that always seem to know what they are doing. He is married, but not happily married, I gather."

I gave Charlie's particulars to the background research company. Their report on him was benign. Jill indulged her brand new habit of going to the bookstore coffee shop every Wednesday afternoon. There were no excursions to the Botanical Gardens. Their courtship, such as it was, produced little for Jill to bring home and zap me with erotic voltage. I wondered if she was hiding something, in her acquired right to privacy? But no, that wasn't my Jill. I wondered more and more just what the hell did she see in this guy?

The big event. Another motel room no better or worse than the Comfort Inn. Jill went there with an excitement much greater than mine. There was something about this Charles Moffit that was too illusive for me to get a grip on. He was six feet four, and all those lengths of arms and legs had built in Jill an eager curiosity to find out what he would be like in bed. Come to think of it, they hadn't even kissed yet. My waiting for her to return was not like waiting when she was with Roger and Larry. I was equally curious to find out just what the tall, lanky professor would be like in bed. I really couldn't imagine. My wife would have to tell me. Waiting for her report gave me that erotic excitement my imagination couldn't produce. That, and the shivering reality that another man was fucking my wife at that very moment. My gift to her. I stroked my rigid cock and came.

Jill came home, very early. She did not have the look of a woman well fucked. Her look was so strange it was like trying to solve a problem in algebra. It sounded strange to my ears when I asked, "How did it go?"

"Oh God. You won't believe." She plopped in her chair and said, "I need a drink. A stiff one."

We had the mixing for Bloody Mary's, except for the celery stick. I doubled the vodka. I took readings of her face and body, searching for some clue to how tall, lanky Charlie had performed on her. I had no clue, and a heavy weight of uneasiness bore down. She was a coarse mix of emotions, like different colored yarns wound in a ball. Part puzzlement. Part chagrin. Part putting on a brave face. Part deeply embarrassed. And more that a little pissed off. She gulped a drink and looked at me and said: "It was terrible."

I felt a ball of ice in my gut. "Did he hurt you? I will kill that son of a bitch...!"

She held her palm up like a cop stopping traffic. "No, no, no. Nothing like that." Then she starting laughing. Shaking with laughter. What the hell?

She got serious. "Have I lost it? Those trusted instincts? That ability to look into a man and know all I need to know? After all the men I fucked in my single days, the men you have shared me with..." She slowly shook her hear in helpless wonder.

"Get to it. What happened?"

She laughed again. She got to it, on an oblique route so female, so Jill. "He had a little skinny dick. I wondered if the condom would stay on him."




Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 05



"So much for the lore of a man with long fingers having a big long cock."

"Aint that the truth. I learned that before I graduated high school. Fat ones, skinny ones. Long and short ones. Those bent up or down or to the side. There's no way of knowing until he drops his pants. I remember one guy, way back when, had a bend in the middle, right up, almost a right angle. Strangest looking thing I ever..."

"Back to the nutty professor," I demanded.

"He put it in me. I had no idea just where his mind was. He came in less than a minute. It was the quietest man coming I've ever experienced. I've heard hiccups sound more passion than his orgasm. He went straight to the bathroom to clean himself, with the door closed. Oh well, you win some you lose some, I thought. I was fully dressed when he came out. He dressed as quickly as he could. Then it got really bad."

Women. Who trains them to relate in that circuitous style? Does it pass down from DNA? 

"Really bad. Get on with it, damn it!"

"He crumbled, collapsed in remorse. He fell to his knees and demanded I kneel with him to pray to God to forgive us of our sin... Right. That stupefied look on your face. Imagine how I must have looked when he said that to me!" She started laughing again. "I told him, most earnestly, that I had committed a horrible error, but would settle my remorse in my own way. Any more Bloody Mary?"

I replenished our glasses from the pitcher. My wife was still settling her remorse.

"An Evangelical freak. Good God. If he had pulled a knife, tied me up, fucked my ass, that would have been frightening, and maybe terribly exciting. But wanting me to kneel with him to pray for forgiveness..." She shuddered. "Who would ever imagine a tenured English Lit. professor at the university to be an Evangelical freak? Would you have?"

"No," I said. "I wouldn't have." And I made a mental note to go straight to the background research company and jack them up on what was vital information. Their service didn't come cheap, and I felt short changed.

"Well, it is obvious that your solo escapades demand a slow, meticulous approach and very thorough understanding before you..."

"Obviously," she said, with a slight slur by the doubled vodka. She looked at me, with droopy eye lids, a little slutty, and said with honest need, "Now I need a real man to fuck me. Hard. Take me to bed."

*****

The Evangelical freak professor had given my wife's self-esteem a painful blow. The opposite of what her freedom of choice in solo affairs was intended to provide her. Roger and Larry had restored her confidence of youth and potential so much it was like gilding the lily. Charlie Moffit was such a drastic reversal that Jill was genuinely alarmed by loss far greater than youth - losing her mind. The morning after her debacle she wandered about, her eyes often squinting at mysteries in every corner.

"How could I not see more of what Charles was all about?"

"You just moved too fast."

"I moved fast a lot of times before, and was on target every time." She smiled and cocked her head. "Well, maybe not every time. There were some duds in the old days. But this. Could it be early onset dementia?"

I laughed. "How many fingers on your right hand? What day of the week is today? When is my birthday?"

She regained her composure and humor. But still she was slightly unsettled by what had taken place. We practiced no religion. We had no belief in any desert deity from the Middle East. Nor in any icon housed in a cave in the Orient. Evangelical freaks were in a category of faddish behavior as far removed from our interest as those who surrender half their body skin to hideous tattoos.

Charlie Moffit must have prayed to a disdainful God. A week later he started calling Jill. She ignored the calls. One day, out of curiosity, she answered. He wanted to see her again, with some half baked idea in his head that God would tolerate them having more sex. She countered with her conviction that God wanted her to inform his wife and the three of them join together in prayer sessions. Charlie disappeared, for ever.



Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 06



The Evangelical freak professor had given my wife's self-esteem a painful blow. The opposite of what her freedom of choice in solo affairs was intended to provide her. Roger and Larry had restored her confidence of youth and potential so much it was like gilding the lily. Charlie Moffit was such a drastic reversal that Jill was genuinely alarmed by loss far greater than youth - losing her mind. The morning after her debacle she wandered about, her eyes often squinting at mysteries in every corner.

"How could I not see more of what Charles was all about?"

"You just moved too fast."

"I moved fast a lot of times before, and was on target every time." She smiled and cocked her head. "Well, maybe not every time. There were some duds in the old days. But this. Could it be early onset dementia?"

I laughed. "How many fingers on your right hand? What day of the week is today? When is my birthday?"

She regained her composure and humor. But still she was slightly unsettled by what had taken place. We practiced no religion. We had no belief in any desert deity from the Middle East. Nor in any icon housed in a cave in the Orient. Evangelical freaks were in a category of faddish behavior as far removed from our interest as those who surrender half their body skin to hideous tattoos.

Charlie Moffit must have prayed to a disdainful God. A week later he started calling Jill. She ignored the calls. One day, out of curiosity, she answered. He wanted to see her again, with some half baked idea in his head that God would tolerate them having more sex. She countered with her conviction that God wanted her to inform his wife and the three of them join together in prayer sessions. Charlie disappeared, for ever.

The days passed. Jill regained the full bloom of her habitual good humor. But she ceased her slutty games with me. Her erotic communication with me became very subtle and deep with meaning. One night we made love and she said, "You are going to put your big hard cock into me. That is what it means to be a woman. A man's cock entering her." Her words were electrifying. More so the next day when I remembered and thought about them.

"A man's cock entering her" did not fly over my head. The generalization. The universality. The implication that the "meaning" for her was not exclusive to my cock; that it included Roger and Larry Felts, our threesome partners, all of her men before me entering her with their hard cocks. Endorsing the meaning of her being a woman. It was truth. It was definitive.

It defined our combined motive of my sharing her with other men. The shattering, devastating excitement of the "idea" of it was a prerequisite for me, but the first reality proved much stronger and meaningful than any fantasy. Her aura of radiant beauty when I was to the side to watch another man fuck her. Another man fuck my WIFE. But the concept, and the reality, expanded. My wife was a woman as well as my wife, an entity and a mystery apart from my social claim. I saw that at once, but it took a few experiences of progressive understanding to fully realize the meaning of it. And Jill herself was the key to my understanding and realization. She kept in balance her extension of wife to universal woman with honoring and loving me with unfaltering purpose and devotion. That was the key.

I am no dummy. I knew from the beginning she was very ski fully and patiently manipulating my mind to face and accept that blast of discovery of that perverse excitement that sprang up in me. "Many men are like that. They just have that unique internal wiring for it. Similar to the way people are wired to be Gay." But I also knew from the beginning that my "Achilles Heel" held a valuable benefit for her. At first it was her joy in feeding my erotic flame with stories, true and invented. And her joy in feeding my flame made clear that in matters of sex Jill had no sense of guilt or shame at all. Then her joy developed another truth - the enormous thrill of her still having other men while mated for life with me. If only in fantasy. She could have her cake and eat it too.

It was inevitable, maybe ordained by alignment of the stars and internal wiring in both of us, that fantasy led to reality of my bringing a carefully selected man to our bed, and my wife fucking him with no reservations, with positive joy, doing what we both had consciously chosen to do, as I watched. She had her cake and ate it too. It was a piercing, beautiful truth to behold. In time that truth crystallized, and last night, years later, Jill put it into words - "That is what it means to be a woman. A man putting his cock into her." That was the meaning for both of us when I shared her with other men. And in that sharing my wife and I were facilitators and enablers for each other, each giving the other unique individual fulfillment attained only in that way. It was truly a symbiotic experience. And in that was another marvelous mutual benefit.

The symbiosis supporting her fucking other men required and self generated perpetual demonstration of love and devotion and respect. Never did she let slip a word or action that was demeaning of me. Never did I accuse her of greedy self interest. We kept in balance another man's cock entering her, with the sacrosanct meaning of us as husband and wife. We carefully skirted any temptation to engage in common power struggle. She put me on a pedestal to honor and revere after the first time I fucked her. That honor and respect only grew over the years, like the fabled spreading elm tree. My honor and respect of her was set very quickly after meeting and knowing her, and took monumental proportion the first time I watched another man fuck her. The awesome mystery of my wife as universal woman. Seeing her.

"Do you see me?" That was her mantra when we began it all. The discovery of what lay hidden in me. Her need to bring that out into the open and explore the potential for both of us. With no guilt and no shame and no fear. Her guiding me, and herself, into that socially forbidden realm, with pure honesty of feeling, when she told of experiences with previous lovers, when we created fantasies of another man in our bed to have his way with her. "Do you see me? Who I am? What I am? The real me inside of me?"

I saw and knew when the first real man lay naked on her, his cock in her, having that Jill inside of Jill. She held nothing back. She wanted me to see. Her thighs opened wide and her calves clasping his back. Her hands hanging on to his shoulders. Her pelvic hunches meeting and loving his thrusts. The electric currents of bodily pleasure his moving cock generated in her. Her eyes suddenly opening wide and staring into mine, into my heart, into my soul. Her hand reaching out to grip mine. She spoke to me without words. Do you see me? Do you see I have surrendered to the thrill, excitement, intense pleasure of another man fucking me?

I saw. It took me several days to fully understand what I had seen. Intense private thinking. First was the force of perspective from being aside and watching. All the times I had fucked her I had a limited view point, and much of the time my eyes were closed. When our friend joined us to make our fantasies real, I saw my wife, my love, in full perspective of all the details of copulation, sexual intercourse, man and woman fucking. She lay naked on her back on the bed. Legs cocked, knees high. Her arms lifted and her fingers made come to me wiggles to our guest, her smile bright with honest expectancy. His condom sheathed cock high and hard and quivering with masculine imperative in its approach to her. Her putting her hands behind her knees and pulling them back to her breasts and spreading wide to receive him. Wanting to receive him. Experiencing the fulsome thrill of his hard cock enter and take command of the potential space ever waiting for a man to shape and define. That is what I saw with shattering clarity. A man fucking a woman. My wife. My love. All those things I do not clearly see when I fuck her. Sounds I might or might not be aware of when I fuck her were so clear they could have come from the ultimate development of surround sound speaker systems. The smack of skin on skin. The squishy pop sounds of his cock thrusting in her copious flow of lubricating fluid. The scatter of totally involuntary vocal sounds scrambling from deep inside both of them and out through clenched teeth and dilated nostrils. Do you see me?

Seeing, reviewing, analyzing, in intense private thought, I reached understanding. All the erotic electricity of my sharing her with another man was the warp and woof of our combined creation of our private tapestry. But seeing it really happen, I saw the meaning in her Do you see me? The reach of her exposure. Her vulnerability in that reach of her exposure. The risk she must take for me to see her, and then choose to love her still. But I really didn't make a choice. Watching her fully engage with that first man, the full reach of her exposure and vulnerability, all the base sounds and sights of fucking that defy poetic camouflage, the timeless act of sexual union, and the openly exposed orgasmic pleasures she experienced - all distilled into a single all encompassing emotion. A respect for my wife that had over tones of reverence. It wasn't a choice I made. There was really nothing else to consider. I saw her. I saw it. And seeing it made it impossible to see Jill only as an object in a sexual tableau. She was transcendent. And respect for her was the only word that fit. Respect was the carbon molecule of life in my love for her, which grew steadily every day thereafter. Respect that held awe, adoration, devotion, and a love so deep and broad it was sometimes an ache needing even larger room. That respect and love was never spelled out in formal declarations. It was demonstrated in countless thousands of ways in the indissoluble bonds of our marriage. And her respect and love for me was returned in equal measure, every day.

***** 

Another year, another opportunity, another man.

His name was Steve Larsen. She picked him up in a bar. Well, not exactly a bar. One of those places with blond oak wood work, glass with frosted designs, potted ferns, that served chi-chi food and alcohol. She didn't exactly pick him up either. The place was over crowded, and he simply, politely, asked if he could share her table for four which she occupied alone.

"There was an instant spark, Jack," she said, almost like a stranger man giving off an instant spark was some thing rare and unknown. Or comprehensively effective in burning away any lingering after image of the gruesome Charlie Moffit.

Her narrative of sharing her table and getting acquainted with Steve was segmented observations and reactions. "Damned good looking." His manners were polished. He was a flawless package of masculinity. His poise and confidence filled the entire room. His eye contact was riveting, but glances did settle on the exposed cleavage in her blouse. The four carat diamond on her finger was neither here nor there. "He is quite the smoothie." He seemed well educated, and had an interest in astronomy. He told a story of cosmic doings he had read in Scientific American, and Jill was fascinated. When the meal was finished, he gave her his card and said, "If you would like to hear more about our expanding universe, please call me." A smoothie, initiating a pick up.

Jill took the card out of her purse and studied it with heightened interest dashing about inside her. "Let me see that." She gave the card to me and I studied it with my own interest, committing the details to memory. I returned the card to her.

"Are you going to call him to learn more about your expanding universe?"

She delighted in the pun, and gave me a smile of devilish complicity. "I expect I will," she said.

She did call him. Their courtship began. Phone talk at first, then let's have lunch sometime, and then man and woman dating. All the rewards of her feeling beautiful and desirable returned to her in increased abundance. She kept me fully informed, though I knew there were details she failed to mention, because of the sheer number of them. 

I gave Steve Larsen's card details to the confidential research company, with specific instructions to look into his religious affiliations. That delayed the report. Crimes, finances, sexual deviance, a piece of cake. Private religious practice was a murky area snoopers were unaccustomed to. Anyway, Jill did her own carefully directed research, and was convinced Steve was not an Evangelical freak. When the report came, there were no alarm bells. His net worth didn't match mine, but he was no pauper. He had been married and divorced twice, and paid heavily for each divorce. He had three grown children out in the world. I could find nothing threatening in him. He went about seducing my wife, he thought, and my wife shared with me all the details, and I was a fixed part in her ever increasing excitement. Jill was in no hurry. He was patient. 

She took sneaky pictures of him with her cell phone, and we, with our heads close, studied them on the computer screen. Our breathing would suddenly get tight. It was clear to me what she saw in him. That clarity didn't have homosexual undercurrents. He simply was a damn fine looking man. The type any woman would find attractive. His salt and pepper hair was neatly groomed. Laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and lips. His bony facial structure had chiseled definition. Obvious strength in his broad shoulders, arms, torso; very much a masculine man. Clear to me. A much fuller clarity to Jill, who's breathing got tight as she gazed at Steve on the computer monitor, her head close to mine. 

It happened. "First kiss," Jill announced proudly.

"Where?" I almost shouted.

"On the lips."

"You know what I meant. You tantalizing witch."

It happened in her old haunt, the Botanical Gardens. "He is good. Very, very, very good. I soaked my panties."

"Oh to be a praying mantis on the rhododendrons," I said "Watching. Listening."

There were more kisses, in the Botanical Gardens and elsewhere out of public view. Roaming hands, his cupping the volume and weight of her breasts, exploring the voluptuous dimensions of her ass; hers exploring his face and jaw line, his chest, the muscle in his ass curve, the promise his cock held in his pants. She did not comment on his size. I didn't think it appropriate to ask. She did say, "He was incredibly hard. Like it was made of steel or concrete or something."

"Tell me. How do you think he views you? What over all opinion...you know..."

"Over all he sees me as a married woman besotted with his good looks, charm, and masculine attributes which he has aplenty. And something more too. He is a smoothie, but this Steve Larsen is also an evolved man. Quite sophisticated. I don't doubt he has fucked other married women. If he has any curiosity about you he doesn't show it. He knows what he is doing. He knows what I am doing." She paused. "And, speaking of his view of me..." She looked at me with pure Jill sensual, sultry, sexuality, ran her hands lightly over her breasts, on down to the swell of her ass. "I'm not exactly a Wal-Mart greeter myself." She sashayed out of the room, her dancing ass cheeks mocking me in proclamation - YOU NEED TO ASK? DO I HAVE TO DRAW YOU PICTURES?

Mental pictures came pouring in. The common place of her commentary outweighed the erotic-sexual specific. His liking and tolerance of hot chili peppers at a Thai restaurant, for example. She reported that detail to me. Getting to know all about him. She rattled on with her courtship commentary every night. With that restored delight and happiness and fizzing thrill of taking a new man for herself, and with diligent regard for my inclusion in the process. Roger and Larry were outstandingly good, but after the Charlie Moffit fiasco Jill reassessed just how fantastic was my gift of her going solo once a year. She took her time. She employed all her resources of intuition, intelligence, and sexual experience to satisfy herself that rude surprises were unlikely. She romanced Steve, and savored every moment of it. She thrilled to my cock swelling to "mythological proportions" when she reported spicy details. She was inspired and inventive and fluent in fantasy scenarios of what Steve would do to her, what she would do for him. The heat and energy of my gift, her going solo, was gathering forces for a major electrical storm. And I felt a pang of being left out.

"Oh to be a fly on the bedroom wall when he really takes you."

She smiled with genuine caring and understanding. "I wish you could be there. I would love for you to see me with him. See it all. Fly on the bedroom wall."

At that instant I had a "eureka" instant, the pop of an idea, a solution. "I can't be a fly, but I could be an ear."

She gave me a blank look.

"Hear it all instead of see it all."

"Like...what? I call you? A three person version of phone sex?"

"Better than that. A sound recording of it all."

"Aaaaaaah. I see. Bug the room."

"You take the bug with you. In your purse."

"So very spy movie," she said with a little giggle more nervous than amused.

"There are all sorts of gadgets for that on the market. So I'm told. It could be done."

"I don't know about that. The idea sounds a little creepy."

"When you do it you are going to tell me all about it anyway. A recording will be sort of like a tele-prompter to help you remember the lines. When you narrate all the juicy details. And watch my cock get big and hard."

"Oh my. A recording of every word and sound. I can see how that would benefit you. And that is still a full half of why I will do it. The sizzling excitement you get from it. The other half is all for me." She smiled knowingly. "A different man, different cock, different personality, giving my sexual pleasures a new level of intensity. Your gift to me. Oh my. Oh my indeed." She put her hand on her pussy and clutched. It was a masculine gesture. It was much like a man clutching his cock and balls in his pants and making an exuberant offering to an audience of women, with a smirking grin on his face. "If you're going to bug my purse, you had better hurry. Steve and I are getting very close to hopping in bed."

"You are totally in charge. You can make him wait."

"Still. You'd better hurry."

The next day I asked for the purse she would carry when she went out to fuck Steve. That put her in a mild tizzy. "God. I don't know. I don't even know what dress!" Well, she had better make some quick decisions. Time was running short, I reminded her. That unbalanced her even more. I followed her to her closet. "This one probably." It was soft white leather. I took it from her to begin my mission. "Just a minute! Where are you going with that?" I knew exactly where I was going, but I couldn't tell her. Radio Shack? Electronic Express? "Like hell you will. Not with my Louis Vuitton on your arm." She snatched the purse back to her possession. "Just buy the spy ware and I will put it in myself."

"Well, I was thinking of time and expediency."

"Radio Shack? Really?"

I laughed. "Not really. There are security services out there, very high tech, very private and discrete, ready to do whatever a business tycoon like me needs. I will explore the market. They might have to punch holes in the leather for microphones. What do I know? I've never bugged my wife's purse before."

"Well, for damn sure you won't be punching holes in this purse," she said defiantly, chin raised, ready to fight.

I was flabbergasted. Women. Is there any tangent too far off for their minds to take? This was all about her once a year opportunity to fuck a man of her choice, just the two of them, with the added bonus of recording all the sounds of their sex for my special benefit. She was turning it into a spat over the pristine value of her designer purse. Hell, I could have bought her a dozen Louis Vuitton purses. I threw in the towel.




Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 06



I went straight to a Target store and bought a white leather purse. It looked snazzy enough to me. From my office I called the security company to set up a meeting. He said he could be at my office at three. I said no, this morning, right now. I will come to your office. He knew where the butter for his bread came from.

"Here's what I need. Some sort of recording device to hide in this purse, one that will pick up sounds... oh, ten or fifteen feet."

The jobber smiled. It wasn't his business to know or ask why I wanted this. He had done many background researches for me. This was up close and personal. His mind was a whirl of connecting dots. Wife, mistress, secretary? "Not a problem. There are several devices that will do it."

"You have them on hand?"

"Sure."

"Pick the best. When can you have it ready?"

"Sometime late afternoon."

The device was a disc no larger than a Ritz cracker. It fit in a casing smaller than a Graham cracker. Powered by a cadmium battery, it could record for a week, if need be. Two mikes had been fixed below the grommets where the purse straps were anchored, and were so tiny as to be almost unseen. "It's basically cell phone technology," my snooper nerd said. "Just press this corner to activate it. Double press to deactivate." He demonstrated, and slipped the wafer in the purse. He then launched into a mass of technical details and practical instructions, while once pacing about his office. "Let's see," he said.

He took the disc out of the purse and placed it in a larger gadget and plugged that in his computer port. "All the recording is compressed data. This translates that data to sounds you hear. Just follow instructions on your monitor." The voices were so clear, even when he spoke from the far side of his office, my hair stood on end. 

Jill was in the den, sipping a drink, browsing a magazine, when I strode in with a white leather purse dangling from my arm. "What the hell is that?" she said, in perfect imitation of "Mama" on a Carol Burnett rerun we saw one time. Jill stole the line and used it sometimes for hilarious effect. But I was no "Eunice."

"Bond," I said. "James Bond." I kissed her and murmured darkly. "My Mata Hari."

Only then did she make the connection with a bugged purse. Our discussion that morning seemed to have blown off into the wind. She eyed it sitting on the coffee table. "I wouldn't be caught dead in public with that cheap thing."

"Cheap?! The technology cost me eight hundred bucks! Cheap my ass."

She studied the purse with an interest apart from fashion value. "How does it work?"

"It's working right now."

"So I just plop it on the night table or anywhere and it picks up every sound."

"That's it. Totally hands free. You forget all about it and go on about your business."

"My business will be hot sex with Steve Larsen."

"Yes. I know. That is precisely why we want to record it all. For you to bring home and share with me."

"That would be fair. You share me with him when I go out. I share what we did with you on sound track when I come back."

"Check out the sound quality."

She followed me into the study. I turned the computer on, assembled the components, and plugged the converter into the port. Sounds that made no sense at all popped from the speakers. Then they started to make sense. Closing car door. Shoes walking. Even a dog bark somewhere in the neighborhood. "What the hell is that?" Jill's perfect imitation of "Mama" on the Carol Burnett show. "My business will be hot sex with Steve Larsen." Every word we spoke was repeated for us in sharp clarity.

"Oh my," Jill fluttered. "I might have performance anxiety, knowing every sound will be this clear."

"If he's as good as we think he will be, you will blank out all else, including me, and dive in and surrender to the moment, moments, hours, your intense pleasures in solo sex with another man."

"For sure I will. But I never blank you out. Well, not entirely. You were certainly with me when another man had me in our threesomes. When Roger and Larry had me alone, you were with me, in some mystical way, at unexpected times. You are my husband. You have permanent place inside my head and body. But going solo. The thrill intensity is very high. I really, really want Steve to fuck me. When he does, you will probably come to my mind very little, even if I want you there more."

"I know that," I said. "That is why..." I poked the purse with my index finger.

*****

I had driven my wife to the most expensive hotel in the city to be with her new lover. For one afternoon of fucking, never to be repeated. I was in the limbo of waiting for them to finish. This was the fourth time I had to wait. The first two men had been a blast of erotic anticipation and sexual fulfillment for her. The third man was a pathetic joke. But all three times of waiting set my imagination on fire, creating vivid images of my wife in flashing activity and positions, doing for her lovers what she had done for me for twenty three years, them doing anything thing they wanted to her. Those hours of waiting lacerated me with the most cutting and piercing erotic excitement I had ever known. Because she had gone out alone to do it, and I was left to wait, alone. 

Waiting for Steve Larsen to exhaust himself in her was a bit different from the other waiting. The novelty of her going solo hadn't become old hat, for damn sure. But we both were touched by the process of acclamation, I suppose. Her choosing her fourth man for extra-marital sex, and sharing with me all the steps in her seduction of him, had the erotic sizzle that will probably never diminish. But all that was contained in a matrix we understood and seldom spoke of. A married couple love deeper and more comprehensive than any typical married couple. A deeper and more absolute trust. A married couple intimacy all the more combining by our removal of conventional boundaries. That intimacy was being raised to new heights by the device in her purse recording the sounds of sex my wife and her new lover would make. I fantasized that most of all. I chose not to masturbate. I wanted to give my wife a full load when she returned.

Jill called me at seven. Summer twilight. 

"Where are you?"

"In the elevator, going down."

"On my way."

"There's a coffee shop on the side street of the hotel. Meet me there."

I saw her before she saw me. She sat alone drinking something from a cup. She had a radiant glow more than a well fucked look. She was deep in thought. Very pleasing, absorbing thoughts, apparently. She was utterly beautiful. I surprised her. "Jack, my love." She grabbed the purse and ushered me out the door, quickly, a bit furtively.

When she was seat belt secure and we were on our way, she said, "I didn't know how long he would stay up there. Might be a bit awkward if he spotted his lover's husband picking her up."

"Good thinking." We didn't speak for a while. She sat relaxed on the leather seat. Very relaxed. Her legs splayed, the pastel dusted silk nestled in the valley. The seat belt held up her left breast like a prize.

"I venture to guess he was satisfying."

"Oh yes. He sure was. Very satisfying." She clinched her legs and scooted her ass about in tight restriction, a little whinny-moan escaping from her nose. "It was nice, Jack. Very, very nice. He was better than my best fantasy of him."

"How so?"

"In too many ways to get into now. It's all on record. You will hear it all."

I drove home with speed and risky maneuvering like I was headed to the emergency room.

Jill was calm. Hiding an expectancy as great as mine, but exercising the control inherent in her afternoon of solo fucking with Steve Larsen in the first place. She wasn't hungry. "Steve had room service send up a fruit and cheese platter. We nibbled at leisure. A big red plum was particularly succulent."

God! If the disc held suggestions hotter than her slutty woman delivery of the big red succulent plum, I would be fried, burnt to a crisp by erotic overload.

"I will just slip into something more comfortable," she said, with a sluttish wink. 

I did the computer set up. She came in wearing a peach colored silk kimono tied with a sash, and nothing underneath. I had a "daddy's chair" in the room, one of those grossly over sized recliners suitable for a randy woman to sit on a randy man's lap. Close enough to see the monitor. The mouse was wireless and worked on the chair arm.

She settled on my lap, her great round ass claiming my thighs with weight and much heat. She held my face in her hands and kissed me. Our first kiss after picking her up at the coffee shop. I was so caught up in hearing the recording I had over looked that. My wife knew the priorities. She kissed her husband. With love. With sexual messaging. I hugged her to me with a surge of strength that made her wince. I buried my face in her breast valley and licked the silken skin. I inhaled.

"You didn't shower."

"Not since you saw me at noon. I wanted to bring the smell of him home to you. For the record," she said, with meaning as pregnant as her smile.

I moaned. I had no control whatever over that moan. Larsen's scent grew stronger by her deliberate intent in bringing it home to me. If there is any thing more descriptive of wife and husband intimacy than that, I can't imagine what it would be. I inhaled deep draughts of his lingering smell. Cologne. Perfume. Sweat, his and hers. Maybe even arm pits, his and hers. The rich odor of distilled sex that wafted up from her crotch was all hers, I assumed, I hoped. Condoms had isolated his cum, but his cock had churned her pussy to a saucy meaty stew that still simmered like a pot on a stove, giving off rich spicy aromas. I breathed in the evidence of their togetherness. My cock got so big and hard in my pants she started like I had goosed her.

"Wow! Maybe you should unbind yourself before we start the show."

I stripped naked. She resettled on my lap. I hit the play button. Sounds of conversation as we drove to the hotel. "Anyway to fast forward?"

"Don't think so. The instruction sheets didn't say anything about it."

All that we spoke from the time I turned the recorder on and handed the purse to her was loud and clear. The drive to the hotel. Our good byes. Car door slam. Her heels tapping the concrete.

"And off you go," I said. "What are you feeling at this point."

"Excitement that can't be described. That I am doing it. Going to be with my new lover. He is waiting for me. I will fuck a new man. That was mostly my feelings. The excitement was so great I could hardly breathe."

A cacophony of voices in the lobby. Shuffle sounds in the elevator, floor stops pinging a bell. "I wondered if anyone in the elevator could look at me and guess. That I was a married woman going to the eighth floor to fuck a man not my husband. Service him like a prostitute."

I looked my wife in the eye. "You whore." Her mouth grinned. Her eyes laughed. She pursed her lips and blew me a kiss. The speakers sounded the metal ring on the door making a clack-clack-clack.

S: Jill.

J: Steve

Two people moving in a room. The squish of her purse on a surface.

S: At last, at last.

Faint sounds of rustling silk. I knew he had taken her in his arms to declare his possession of her, to kiss her lips. I knew how Jill loved to kiss. But there was no swelling symphony of kissing music. Breathing broken into fragments of sighs, little wet sounds of active mouths and tongues. Audible but still illusive in the speakers. Sitting on my lap, Jill was staring round eyed at some spot in space. Her fingers were lightly teasing her nipples. She was reliving the exact moment the computer speakers described, in a time warp, like it was all happening now, because her physical experience of it was only hours old. 

S: We are together, and we are now all in the world.

J: I came here to make love with you. To do anything we like, as much as we can.

S: Then I must not disappoint you.  

They took their clothes off. In a matter of fact way, presumably. Zip sounds. Belt buckle clink. Hangers rattling in the rack. No feverish rush, from the sound of it. No talking either. Their eyes no doubt on each other as the undressing revealed flesh. I had a vivid vision of Jill removing her bra. Reaching behind to undo the hooks, shrugging her shoulders forward, the bra slipping away. So ordinary, yet one of the most tender, vulnerable, expressive of female gestures. Freedom. Nakedness. Steve Larsen seeing.

S: You are a stunning vision, Jill. Beautiful. Feminine. Womanly. And oh so sexy and desirable.

There was a smack sound from the speakers, two naked bodies meeting in a feverish rush. Kissing mouths, slurpy. Moans escaping from noses. Sounds of movement. The barely audible sound of yielding mattress. A phase of unidentifiable sounds. That phase stretched. I strained to hear.

"I'm taking his cock in my mouth."

"On the bed?"

"He is sitting on the edge. I am kneeling on the carpet, between his legs."

My wife the cock sucker. The best there is. Much more than a repertoire of acquired skills from repetitive practice on many men. She truly loves giving a cock pleasure with her mouth. It makes her a Goddess of love and sexual desire. I know. I know so very well. I knew what pleasures Steve felt. I could see his belly tighten and imagined his cock head swell in her mouth. My cock swelled even harder and larger under the weight of her bottom.

S: Oh God in heaven Jilly you are good. Sooooo good. The best ever.

I flinched. Jilly. My pet name for her. The sounds of her sucking him made my blood hot, my mind even hotter. His theft of my pet name gave a chill. But the chill was momentary. The sucking sounds were loud and clear. Wet and slurpy and smacky, staccato pops of release, the glump sound of a gag overcome and conquered. Steve sucked in air, hissing like a tea kettle. I looked at Jill. She was staring at me with that wide eyed far off into inner space gaze. A bit astonished to hear herself sucking Steve's cock.

"Yes Jack. He is that ideal size we have talked about. A perfect cylinder, perfectly proportioned. Utterly beautiful man cock. An intoxicating aroma of masculinity in his crotch. The taste of man. That dreamy state of taking him. The head went into my throat and I gagged once or twice, but mostly no gag at all."

S: Jilly oh baby I'm going to cum I can't hold it back!

He did cum, and his orgasm ripped ragged man sounds out of his mouth. Sounds of a man being tortured with ecstasy. Deliverance. Jill's wide eyes got even wider. Listening to his helpless vocals in the speakers, she might have realized for the first time the complete range in her power over a man when she sucked him off.

"I don't remember him being so horse and guttural and loud when it happened. And I was there."

I hit the pause button. "You don't remember?"

"This is so strange to listen to. I really don't remember him yelling like that. Well, I sort of do. But nothing like I heard just now. Keep in mind, his cock was in my mouth. All my awareness was on his cum spurting into my mouth. Gobs of it. Me swallowing and sucking it all out of him. My mind didn't much care what else was going on."

"The taste?"

"Quite good. That mineral taste. No overriding or unpleasant flavor. The taste of man. The taste of sex."

My cock was so hard under the weight of her ass I thought it would burst. I didn't know how much more of this intimacy I could take. Her candid descriptions and crafted suggestions of her sex with other men had always inflamed me with almost unbearable excitement. Those descriptions and suggestions, in few choice words, on top of the recorded sounds of the very act, was like gasoline poured on flames. I hit the play button.

Bed and mattress sounds. Human sigh and grunt sounds. Turning and touching.

S: Jill, you are good. Damned good. No other woman has ever been close...can't compare...the way you did that to me. You are the absolute very best."

J: I'm very happy I pleased you. I loved your cock in my mouth.

S: That's what I mean. You did it like you love doing it. Few women really love sucking cock. You are fantastic!.........Your husband Jack is a lucky man.

J: In fact he is. He knows it too. I'm a lucky woman. Today I have you.

Relative silence. I didn't ask what is going on. I knew from experience. Orgasm recovery for Steve. Power digestion for Jill. Sweet lassitude.

S: Jilly, you have the most sexy magnificent ass God ever put on a woman. 

J: Thank you. Other men have said as much.

S: Other men?

J: My wild single days.

S: And your married days?

J: My husband loves my sexy ass, dearly. Do you want to hear more?

S: Not really. It doesn't matter. Now is our time......What's the genetic account of your beautiful skin color?

J: Mostly Italian. The furthest back I can trace is an Italian immigrant to Argentina. He and his progeny mated with native American men and women. My great grandfather moved to the U.S. My great grandmother might have been Jewish, no one knows for certain. My mother was very much Italian-American. And that accounts for my skin tone....And my magnificent ass.

So. That was the sort of conversation she had with her solo lovers. I approved of his interest. Her skin coloration had an enchanting, entrancing effect on me for twenty three years. Each June she sunbathed nude about three days, and that was it. Her skin took on a light sheen of blended cinnamon and mahogany, and she took stringent precautions against getting any darker. Sun hats with wide floppy brims, what ever necessary. Jill didn't have racial prejudice. She had a very strong skin color prejudice. She wanted white. White men, white children, to be as white as she herself could be. The silly cliché of a white woman lusting for a go with a black man had no more chance in her fantasies than the idea of her fucking a donkey. 

Sounds of wet licking. A sudden squeeze of dread. Was he licking her ass? That was my exclusive territory. The first time I did that was like Eros himself had dropped his little bow and arrow and with all his strength had pushed my face into her ass. The shinning brown globes, the dark valley, the heat and musk. My surrender to desire. The thrill and pleasure for her. Her anus melting from a tight twist to soft surrender to my tongue. My exclusive place on the dark side of desire.

However, other than once a year, one and done, we had not discussed a single restriction. That never occurred to us. The man of her choice, my gift to her, was free to do whatever he wanted with my wife, so long as she wanted it too. He could tongue her ass hole, he could fuck her ass if she wanted him to. Restrictions had never occurred to us. The truth of that was hitting home with speaker sounds of mattress movement and wet on wet.

J: Oh yes, yes, yes. So sweet. So lovely

Jill's eyes were closed. One hand in her crotch, one hand teasing a nipple. 

"Oh Jack, his mouth is good, so very good. His tongue goes in deep for nectar. It licks my clit. He eats me. He makes me feel so very good." She was speaking present tense, in a quavering voice, reliving her pleasures of early afternoon.

"Feel it all baby, his mouth on your pussy."

Her frenzied hand gave her orgasm. I could take no more. I hit the pause button. I lifted her off my lap, bent her over the chair arm, and sank my cock into her. Through the parted curtain of pubic hair and labial framing, into her scalding heat and slick reception. Into a separate universe in a separate cosmos. We were a super nova of exploding sex and loving intimacy.

Jill staggered to the bathroom. She staggered back in, her eyes a bit out of focus. There was no tension anywhere in her. He fifty two year old body virtually reeked of a smoldering, palpable, well fucked woman look. That look of placid absorption combined with residual energy buzz. Inner satisfaction, realization, triumph. Fed to her by her new lover, and only hours later by me.




Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 06



"You want to take a recess?" I said.

"Oh no. We can't stop now. I want to hear him fucking me." 

"Did it get noisy?"

"I have no idea. I just know he was a wonderful, marvelous man. I opened up to feel his beautiful cock do beautiful things inside me. Let's listen."

She sat on the carpet. I followed her lead and we leaned back against the recliner, cuddled like sweethearts. She radiated heat of erotic and sexual stimulation that began when I drove her to the hotel that afternoon, heat that reached several boiling points since then, and could boil again with any increase of the flame. I hit the play button.

Wet, suck sounds. Jill sounding her gasps, soft little moans and sighs and ooooohs. Returning to earth.

"We missed your orgasm. Did you scream? You often do."

"I have no memory if I did or not. Is there a rewind?"

"Surely there is. I have to figure out how," I said squinting at the monitor.

"Oh never mind. We can play it again any time."

"You want to hear him fuck you."

"So do you. As much as I want to hear."

"We're in this together."

We both were required to wait. Muffled sounds of two bodies on a bed. Movement. Sheets wrinkling. A squeak of box springs. Two bodies stretching out side by side. Deep breathing.

S: Jill, you are utterly delicious. Sweet honey from the sexiest woman I have had in many years. Maybe ever.

J: Your mouth was extraordinarily good to me. You gave me a very powerful orgasm. A huge star burst cumming.

What an extraordinary and powerful experience! Cuddled with my wife, sitting on the carpet, listening to a recording of her having sex with another man in a hotel room. Listening to him praise her cock sucking skills. Listening to her tell him how his mouth on her pussy made her cum. Emotional surges and piercing on many levels, from many different directions.

S: This might be poor timing, but I need to ask...You and Jack...All is smooth and stable on the home front?

J: Jack and I? We are fine. No black clouds or troubled waters there.

S: I'm happy to hear that. You are even more desirable than my fantasies could manage. And I lust for your body. But...I'm not eager to face a husband pointing a pistol at me. That is why I asked.

J: You don't have to worry about that at all. Oh no. He won't be coming after you with a pistol. In fact, he doesn't even have one. In fact, if it were such that you two met, I think you would hit it off and become friends. You have a lot in common. You are safe with me, my lover. Trust me on that.

"I forgot all about that," Jill said. "That brief discussion of you."

"I'm going to buy a pistol."

She wrapped her hand around my cock. "With this heavy artillery, why would you need a pistol?"

We listened to the recording. Steve making love to my wife. Sounds of his kissing her. Her fragile, exquisite tones of pleasure.

"He's sucking my nipple, his finger is massaging my clit. I clearly remember that."

Kissing her lips, sucking her nipple, fingering her clit, taking his time to fill her with lovely pleasures and desire. A sudden creak of box springs. A sudden loud sound like a burst of static.

"What is that?"

"I don't know!... Yes I do. That's me getting condoms out of the purse."

J: Allow me

S: God what a turn on, watching you roll that rubber on me.

J: We both want this big, hard, man thing inside me.

My cock made a spontaneous leap to "mythological proportions." Jill held it and looked at me with that wide eyed awe, wonder, depthless delight and knowledge I have seen in her face many times before.

Getting into position. I imagined rather than heard his knees pressing the mattress.

"Are your knees pulled back?"

"As far back as I can pull them, and spread as wide as I can.... Ah dear God, Jack. He fills me and takes me. I am a woman..." She closed her eyes and her body rippled from inner spasms. My cock got so big and throbbing hard from the words she spoke I thought it might burst. "Hit the stop button," she ordered.

She pushed me to lie back on the carpet, then she arranged herself over me and guided my cock to her and sank down to capture me in her wet heat and gripping surround. Her kimono was opened and her breasts hung free, her belly folded, as she squirmed on the fullness of my cock pressing her inner limits. He head was thrown back and her eyes closed, tendons visible in her neck. She had entered her very own slut space. "Turn it back on," she said.

I was in an erotic seizure, listening to Steve Larsen fuck my wife. Their bodies were joined, just as I was then joined to her. Their sexual energies were united. Their desires and needs unleashed to race in tandem. I have seen it. Jill opened to other men who filled her and took her. I listened to her describe it when she had Roger and Larry. But listening to the recording, with her on top and filled with my cock as she listened to Steve fuck her only a few hours earlier, was a sharing containing an impact unlike anything we had shared before. 

"Oh dear God, Jack. His is in me. You are in me. It's like both your cocks are in me at the same time. I am a woman!" She swooped down and kissed me. "I opened myself completely for him, for his cock to fill me and possess me. Listen to him fuck me." 

We listened to Steve on her, moving in her. The universal sounds of sexual coupling. The broken, ragged breathing and panting. The slap of skin on skin, body to body. Groins grinding together. The sometimes audible wet smucky sound of his cock thrusting in and out. His grunts and snorts. Her cries of pleasure sounding like notes from a variety of musical instruments. They fucked a long while, as the entire world revolved only for the two of them. 

J: Oh Steve yes, yes! Fuck me! Do it to me, do me, do me!

"Is that me!?"

"Unless a stunt girl came in to play the scene, it's you."

"I don't remember saying anything like that."

"That bugged purse caught you en flagrante."

"This is quite...amazing." And she meant it. Her eyes round and a bit stunned. "What else did I say or do?"

"We shall find out."

They fucked. The musical instruments of her passion and pleasures gained volume and force. A vibrant, resonant chord drawn from a cello. A high, keen edged ripple of a clarinet. She was reaching for her orgasm.

Utter silence. As rocking as a slap to the face. We stared at each other in bug eyed ignorance.

"What happened?"

"Don't ask me. Did you knock the purse off the table or something?"

"You serious? He was on top of me. Had me pinned to the bed with his mighty cock. I was about to cum. No way could I move away from that."

"Well, something happened."

The sudden silence from the speakers had the effect of a bucket of ice water dumped on us. Jill got off of me and my mighty erection softened. "Let me see if I can figure this out," I said.

I couldn't figure it out. I spent an hour trying. Read the instruction sheet twice, and a third time. Clicked the cursor on everything on the monitor. I did find the rewind function. Went back to their fucking gallop, where utter silence fell like a lead weight. "It's not the computer," I deduced. Jill wandered out, in frustration. I thought, and tried everything I could think of. I began to seethe with anger. Jill wandered back in. "Any luck?"

"It has to be the device itself. Just up and quit. You know what I paid for this damn thing?"

"Take it back. Demand a refund."

"Yeah, right. The guy listens to my wife fuck another man. Confirms a faulty gizmo. Cheerfully replaces it with a new one."

"Poor baby. We both are impaled on the horns of a dilemma, as they say."

We went to bed. I was mad as hell, cursing and muttering. Jill was soft and benevolent, a woman well fucked by her lover and her husband.

"You will have to tell me what else I missed."

"If I can," she said. "This has been an amazing experience. I clearly heard my voice in the speakers, but if I hadn't heard I wouldn't remember at all shouting out those words. I wonder how that happens and why it happens? Sometimes being aware, sometimes not."

"Same with a man, I suppose. We bellow like bulls when we cum. So we are told. We might or might not hear ourselves."

"Not quite the same. A man has one shot. A woman can ride a crest over and over. Our total surrender can go on and on. We can lose all awareness of who we are, where we are, what words come out of our mouths. I do that with you, don't I?"

"Often. It varies. It depends on so many variables. Your most endearing response is laughter. Sometimes your pleasure is so intense you sound peals of spontaneous, helpless laughter."

"Do I? That has to be the ultimate meaning of 'The Joy of Sex.'"

"Well, the Joy of sex is what we have always sought. And we found it always, I think. You found it with most of our threesome men. No doubt with Larry Felts. Can you remember shouting at him from slut space?"

She laughed deeply. "Not at all. He is the perfect example of what I'm talking about. Surrender to animal sex inflicting amnesia."

"I take you there, but any man could take you there, if he is the right man, at the right time. I recognized that when we were young and first in love."

"Yes you did. And I knew then we were soul mates, and I wanted you forever."

"So tell me the rest of your affair this afternoon."

"He took me there. To total surrender. He was the right man at the right time. He was a perfect host as well as a perfect lover. It was really a lazy sort of afternoon. We talked of I don't know what. He mentioned you again, I think, but I can't clearly remember. Nothing disrespectful. I would remember that. We kissed a lot. Caressed and fondled a lot. I sucked him off once more. I had to. His cock that ideal size and shape and beauty. Going deep in my mouth and throat. He ordered the fruit and cheese platter. We talked. He is really a very interesting man. Well educated. Well traveled. He asked me quite a few questions. Nothing too personal. Just wanting to know who I was. He fucked me again. For a long time. He took me to total surrender. But nothing wild. Orgasms in rolling waves, on and on... I called you and you came for me...Oh Jack my love. So big and hard you are. Put it in me. Fuck your wife who loves you and only you." 

*****

For two days I vented. Hating and silently cursing modern technology. "Information Technology" they call it. Our acquired dependency on the damned stuff. Televisions, cell phones, lap tops, dozens of other computer chip gadgets that make up our primary confirmation we are alive and functioning. And from that I only asked for, and paid for, a minor sample of IT to record my wife fucking another man. And it went glitch, like they all do sooner or later. I only heard a part of what happened. I had to imagine the rest.

On the second day I came home and Jill was out. I called her on my cell, the IT gadget I couldn't live without.

"Sorry, Jack. I should have called you. I had some errands to run. I'll be back shortly."

She came back more Longley than shortly. I was about to get antsy. When I saw her I had a complete revolution of mood swing. Man did she look good! Over the past year or so she had revamped her wardrobe, and with unerring verve and aesthetic sensitivity had adapted young woman sexy fashion to perfectly match her fifty two years. She wore a long batik skirt in earth tones that kind of wrapped her like a sarong. It revealed the lines of her hips and legs. It made a strong suggestion it could quickly unwrap. Her blouse was cream color soft and clinging material, puffed short sleeves and a scalloped neck line of daring reveal. Inviting. She wore Senorita type gold hoop ear rings. She was a knock out! Sexy and beautiful.

"I've been with Steve," she said.

I had another instant three hundred sixty degree mood shift.

"Whoa..."

"Hang on, hang on. We had a long talk."

"You sang him his swan song of one and done."

"Sort of..."

"Jill..."

"Fix us some drinks. You will find this interesting."

God. "Interesting," she said. How enormous understatement can sometimes be. How beguiling my wife can sometimes be! I couldn't get a clear reading of just what mood her demeanor was conveying as I poured us Merlot to drink. It was something like one time I will never forget, when she marched into the den and said to me, "I have a plan." I don't recall exactly what the plan was about, but her unexpected body language and eye expression gave those four words importance and accomplishment that left a delighted imprint on my brain. I had a strong feeling that Jill "had a plan."

"Okay," she said. "Here's the deal. He called me yesterday."

"You failed to mention that yesterday."

"I did. For a reason. I've been thinking of us listening to the recording."

"So have I! And the damned thing cutting out right in the middle."

"It was so strange, hearing myself. So strangely exciting. But hearing and thinking about it, I remembered things that really got me to thinking. Your fleeting place in our conversations. You know, we seemed to have lost sight of the possibility of me finding a man for a threesome when I go solo. The more I thought about listening to the record, the more I thought that Steve might be suitable for us."

"Any specific recall?"

"That's just it. Nothing specific. All intuitive sense. He is an evolved and sophisticated man. That kind of hovered over us in all our courtship and certainly when we got together for sex. The more I remembered from the record, the more I felt sure he could ease into a threesome with us, without knowing that at all, if you follow what I'm saying."

"I'm trying my best. Your not exactly following a straight line."

She laughed. Guilty and happy. "Well, I called him today. Asked to meet and talk."

"Where?"

"His house, as it turned out."

She fucked him again. I had no doubt at all.

"He wants to meet you," she said. "Talk it over."

Her lips had a wide smile. Her eyes a gleam. She was chuffed with triumph. A woman with a plan.

"Uh... I see." I said, feeling hollow in my solar plexus, floored. "Just how did you two arrive at that?"

She sipped her drink and eyed me with that telling gleam, lids relaxed, in charge.

"With bold and daring finesse on my part. And a little white lying."

Teasing me. Toying with me. Reverting to a moment of slutty game playing.

"First, of course, was a long bout of passionate kissing. That was out of our control. But I collected myself and said 'There is something we need to talk about, Steve.' He certainly didn't panic. He is a smoothie, like I told you. I told him that you knew, that I had confessed to you."

"Bold and daring. And he said...?"

"That is the interesting part. He said it crossed his mind that you and I might have a special arrangement. Partly because I was so unruffled in falling into a sexual fling with him, and because he was aware that married couples our ages sometimes agreed outside affairs were permissible. That likelihood got a boost when you called me and I took the call in front of him and spoke so nonchalantly to you. He's a smoothie for sure. That inspired me to conceal the truth in a lie. I told him we did have an understanding, but not quite what he was thinking. I told him you had shared me with another man in a threesome two or three times over the course of our marriage.

"That surprised him. I could see gears in his head spinning at full speed. He wanted to know what our afternoon in the hotel was all about, really?

I told him it was all about me, responding to him, becoming infatuated, getting hot as hell for his body. Technically the truth, for we had sort of forgot about me looking for a threesome man. And that our afternoon had proven him to be a wonderful lover that thrilled me and pleased me most fully. Then he wanted to know exactly what your reaction was when I confessed to you.

"I said you were shocked, at first. But after a long talk you remembered watching other men take me on the same bed, and your shock that I had fucked him took a different course. That my being with him brought back that same shattering excitement you knew when you watched other men fuck me on the same bed. A whopper of a lie, of course. But he seemed to buy it. He was intrigued for sure. He wanted to know just were we all stood now. I told him I wanted you with me if I fucked him again. That's just the way it was.

"He didn't know what to say. He admitted that was way outside his sexual experience, which he thought was quite broad. He couldn't understand how you could go along with it. I told him it was a very singular meeting of minds and capacities that led us to our first other man, but it was a deeply thrilling and rewarding experience for both of us. We cherished the memories of our threesomes, and had no regrets at all. I assured him we hadn't set him up. The idea was all mine. His fucking me that afternoon was so perfectly wonderful I could not live with myself if I didn't tell you. Hope you would understand. Hope with me that Steve might become a new partner for us."

"It all sounds like a masterful presentation," I said. "You think it was convincing?"

"Oh I think it was. Some delayed reaction time might be called for. He will think about it. A lot. I feel sure. I sweetened the pot."

"You fucked him again."

"Yes I did, Jack. I sucked his cock again, but not to orgasm. I opened my legs for him to fuck me. I broke our rule. With deliberate and calculated risk. He wanted me one more time all for himself. He enjoyed me very, very much. But I thought of you while he fucked me. As much as I thought of him. When I left my last words to him were, 'This is our last private sex. If we do this again, my husband must be with us.' His last words to me were, 'I want to meet your husband. Talk it over.'"



Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 07



For two days I vented. Hating and silently cursing modern technology. "Information Technology" they call it. Our acquired dependency on the damned stuff. Televisions, cell phones, lap tops, dozens of other computer chip gadgets that make up our primary confirmation we are alive and functioning. And from that I only asked for, and paid for, a minor sample of IT to record my wife fucking another man. And it went glitch, like they all do sooner or later. I only heard a part of what happened. I had to imagine the rest.

On the second day I came home and Jill was out. I called her on my cell, the IT gadget I couldn't live without.

"Sorry, Jack. I should have called you. I had some errands to run. I'll be back shortly."

She came back more longly than shortly. I was about to get antsy. When I saw her I had a complete revolution of mood swing. Man did she look good! Over the past year or so she had revamped her wardrobe, and with unerring verve and aesthetic sensitivity had adapted young woman sexy fashion to perfectly match her fifty two years. She wore a long batik skirt in earth tones that kind of wrapped her like a sarong. It revealed the lines of her hips and legs. It made a strong suggestion it could quickly unwrap. Her blouse was cream color soft and clinging material, puffed short sleeves and a scalloped neck line of daring reveal. Inviting. She wore Senorita type gold hoop ear rings. She was a knock out! Sexy and beautiful.

"I've been with Steve," she said.

I had another instant three hundred sixty degree mood shift.

"Whoa..."

"Hang on, hang on. We had a long talk."

"You sang him his swan song of one and done."

"Sort of..."

"Jill..."

"Fix us some drinks. You will find this interesting."

God. "Interesting," she said. How enormous understatement can sometimes be. How beguiling my wife can sometimes be! I couldn't get a clear reading of just what mood her demeanor was conveying as I poured us Merlot to drink. It was something like one time I will never forget, when she marched into the den and said to me, "I have a plan." I don't recall exactly what the plan was about, but her unexpected body language and eye expression gave those four words importance and accomplishment that left a delighted imprint on my brain. I had a strong feeling that Jill "had a plan."

"Okay," she said. "Here's the deal. He called me yesterday."

"You failed to mention that yesterday."

"I did. For a reason. I've been thinking of us listening to the recording."

"So have I! And the damned thing cutting out right in the middle."

"It was so strange, hearing myself. So strangely exciting. But hearing and thinking about it, I remembered things that really got me to thinking. Your fleeting place in our conversations. You know, we seemed to have lost sight of the possibility of me finding a man for a threesome when I go solo. The more I thought about listening to the record, the more I thought that Steve might be suitable for us."

"Any specific recall?"

"That's just it. Nothing specific. All intuitive sense. He is an evolved and sophisticated man. That kind of hovered over us in all our courtship and certainly when we got together for sex. The more I remembered from the record, the more I felt sure he could ease into a threesome with us, without knowing that at all, if you follow what I'm saying."

"I'm trying my best. Your not exactly following a straight line."

She laughed. Guilty and happy. "Well, I called him today. Asked to meet and talk."

"Where?"

"His house, as it turned out."

She fucked him again. I had no doubt at all.

"He wants to meet you," she said. "Talk it over."

Her lips had a wide smile. Her eyes a gleam. She was chuffed with triumph. A woman with a plan.

"Uh... I see." I said, feeling hollow in my solar plexis, floored. "Just how did you two arrive at that?"

She sipped her drink and eyed me with that telling gleam, lids relaxed, in charge.

"With bold and daring finesse on my part. And a little white lying."

Teasing me. Toying with me. Reverting to a moment of slutty game playing.

"First, of course, was a long bout of passionate kissing. That was out of our control. But I collected myself and said 'There is something we need to talk about, Steve.' He certainly didn't panic. He is a smoothie, like I told you. I told him that you knew, that I had confessed to you."

"Bold and daring. And he said...?"

"That is the interesting part. He said it crossed his mind that you and I might have a special arrangement. Partly because I was so unruffled in falling into a sexual fling with him, and because he was aware that married couples our ages sometimes agreed outside affairs were permissible. That likelihood got a boost when you called me and I took the call in front of him and spoke so nonchalantly to you. He's a smoothie for sure. That inspired me to conceal the truth in a lie. I told him we did have an understanding, but not quite what he was thinking. I told him you had shared me with another man in a threesome two or three times over the course of our marriage.

"That surprised him. I could see gears in his head spinning at full speed. He wanted to know what our afternoon in the hotel was all about, really? I told him it was all about me, responding to him, becoming infatuated, getting hot as hell for his body. Technically the truth, for we had sort of forgot about me looking for a threesome man. And that our afternoon had proven him to be a wonderful lover that thrilled me and pleased me most fully. Then he wanted to know exactly what your reaction was when I confessed to you.

"I said you were shocked, at first. But after a long talk you remembered watching other men take me on the same bed, and your shock that I had fucked him took a different course. That my being with him brought back that same shattering excitement you knew when you watched other men fuck me on the same bed. A whopper of a lie, of course. But he seemed to buy it. He was intrigued for sure. He wanted to know just were we all stood now. I told him I wanted you with me if I fucked him again. That's just the way it was.

"He didn't know what to say. He admitted that was way outside his sexual experience, which he thought was quite broad. He couldn't understand how you could go along with it. I told him it was a very singular meeting of minds and capacities that led us to our first other man, but it was a deeply thrilling and rewarding experience for both of us. We cherished the memories of our threesomes, and had no regrets at all. I assured him we hadn't set him up. The idea was all mine. His fucking me that afternoon was so perfectly wonderful I could not live with myself if I didn't tell you. Hope you would understand. Hope with me that Steve might become a new partner for us."

"It all sounds like a masterful presentation," I said. "You think it was convincing?"

"Oh I think it was. Some delayed reaction time might be called for. He will think about it. A lot. I feel sure. I sweetened the pot."

"You fucked him again."

"Yes I did, Jack. I sucked his cock again, but not to orgasm. I opened my legs for him to fuck me. I broke our rule. With deliberate and calculated risk. He wanted me one more time all for himself. He enjoyed me very, very much. But I thought of you while he fucked me. As much as I thought of him. When I left my last words to him were, 'This is our last private sex. If we do this again, my husband must be with us.' His last words to me were, 'I want to meet your husband. Talk it over.'" 

*****

I had to think it over before talking it over with Steve. Review my talking over invitations to previous men to enjoy my wife with me present. My exposure, my requirement to explain how a husband and wife could mutually desire such sexual excitement so far outside the norm, while at the same time clearly establishing I was Jill's husband by every standard of social and cultural construct. That no man could ever displace me or replace me in Jill's life and heart. And by eye contact alone, conveying the certainty that any man who was foolish enough to follow a sadistic urge toward Jill, or me, risked severe bodily injury. That had always worked for us before. This time, Jill had already begun the process of my sharing her with another man. It only remained for me to make him agree I must be included in any more my wife chose to give him. Even so, the prospect of "talking it over" with Steve set my nerves on edge. 

"Okay. Let's get our details straight. You told him we had two or three threesomes over the course of our marriage?"

"I think that's what I said. Two or three. I know I didn't give any definite number."

"We'll leave it at two or three. Close enough to the actual four."

"Five," she corrected. I gave her a lost look. She ticked off five names on the fingers of her left hand.

"Damn. I forgot all about Jerry."

"Jerry was a sweet guy. He just couldn't let it all go and enjoy me with you there. The others could, and did. Something you couldn't forget."

"Did you give any indications, at any time, of your other solo affairs?"

"Definitely not!"

"We must bury those. As for your cheating on me, for the first time ever, I really don't know. I'll just have to play that by ear. His irresistible attraction for you should do it. We'll have to see. Our threesomes before were always successful because open honesty was demanded. In this case, a little preliminary subterfuge is called for. Don't you agree?"

"Completely."

"Call him. Let's get the ball rolling."

She grabbed her cell with such eagerness she fumbled the buttons and giggled and had to punch them again.

"Steve? Jill. Is this a good time to talk?... I'm sorry... This evening then... Around ninish."

"He is bunsiness swamped right now," she said to me. "Oh Jack, Jack, Jack! He will join us. I just know he will. I can feel it in my bones, and in my pussy. And my God I want it. It's been so very long since my luxury of two men at the same time. You, my one and only love. And Steve...a beautiful man and a superb lover. I am the luckiest woman in the world."

"You are the sexiest woman in the world, without question. But... Let's not count our chickens before they hatch.

Around ninish. "Hello Steve?... How well I know. I'm married to a business man... Yes... In fact, he wants to say hello."

She handed her phone to me.

"Hey Steve... Yes, she told me all... I certainly understand your caution, but I bear you no ill will or threat. You have to take my word on that... That is why we need a long private talk. Mature, civilized, man to man talk.... Are you free this Saturday?... I have a boat at the River Marina, slip nine. What say we meet there, around two? We can talk, private and undisturbed... Of course you will be. I will be nervous too. We will just have to overcome our nerves... Around two this Saturday... Stop worrying about that. It was a shock, sure. When I first heard. But I adjusted. Old and very exciting real experience was revived. My wife was totally honest in describing the range and force of your attraction for her. She was equally frank in her praise of your abilities. I accepted what she did with no anger or trauma. I believe she told you why... That is why we need to meet and talk." *****

My boat is unlike any other on the river that splits our city. It is a one off fiber glass hull, designed by a New York naval architect, built in Florida. It is based on the lines of Chinese cargo Junks pulled or poled on the Yangtese River for hundreds of years. It is fifty five feet long and sixteen feet wide. It was designed for maximum comfort in camping out on the river for as long as I wanted. It had the speed to skirt dangers of commercial barge traffic, but otherwise speed didn't matter. There were two steering stations, one near the bow, and the main one as super structure toward the stern, with full visibility in all directions.

I sat in the high rear station, watching the dock. My insides a squirming flutter of nerves. Unlike most all other forms of human intercourse, a husband offering his wife to another man for his sexual enjoyment has no common guide lines. It is extremely high risk, like walking down a dark alley in the seedy side of town. All senses and extra-sensory mechanics are on high alert. Knowing you are walking down that dark alley, taking the risk, by conscious choice. But at the same time fully confident you will make short work of any form of attack coming from the shadows.

Steve Larsen appeared in full sunlight, walking on the dock boards, checking out the sketchy directions I had given. I came down, off, out on the narrow wood side walk.

"You must be Steve."

"I am. And you must be Jack."

"Welcome aboard LADY JILL." That was the identifier emblazoned in gilt paint on the stern. My welcome bore a double entendre he caught at once, and he seemed to visibly relax on flexible curiosity, even though he was very much walking down a dark alley on the seedy side of town. But he had confidence of his own, in his physical prowess to defend himself if it came to a crunch. That is the sort of autonomic nervous reaction two men can feel at any first meeting. That has a singular elevation when a man is meeting for the first time the husband of a woman he has fucked. Twice. Instant sizing up takes on a new meaning.

Steve was thicker than I expected. His chest, shoulders, back. Evidence of exercising with heavy weights that slacked off some time back. He didn't have a gut, but his belly was not as flat as mine. Over all, his physique was self explanatory of Jill's attraction to him. His face was handsome. The man recorded in the bugged purse that thrilled and satisfied my wife did not disappoint in the flesh. I had no clue what ideas he was forming about me.

As soon as we were aboard, I said, "First off, I clear the air. I am not a time bomb that might go off. Jill told me everything. We had a long talk about it. I am okay with what happened. Now I ask you to let your guard down and be as relaxed as you can. Let's start with a tour. I do take shameless pride in this boat."

He did relax, but as I conducted the tour in the narrow space he kept me at a safe distance. I explained the history of Chinese river junks, the design, the fabrication. That aroused his technical interest. He praised the wood work of mahogany and teak. He relaxed even more. I had brought a plastic pitcher of Margarita's from home, and we sat in the galley to drink and he asked about my business. The typical cock measuring of two successful men meeting and sizing each other up. He had no personal interests in boats, but he did own a plane and a liscense to fly it. A bit of one-upmanship I took in stride.

"I clearly see why you take great pride in LADY JILL," Steve said, smiling a smile with layers of complimentary suggestion.

"A pride much greater than great. She is my joy and delight, my love my life, and the most gracious lady there is."

"Then, may I propose a toast to the beautiful, gracious lady Jill?" He lifted his glass and touched it to mine for a ritual clink. A sophisticated smoothie, just as Jill had described him. His eyes were locked to mine in the toast, putting some questions to rest, bringing other, larger questions to the table.

"And to a special guest and hopefully a friend, invited to cruise on the lady Jill and partake of all her amenities." I said.

A second glass clink toast. And something clicked inside him. Memories of all Jill's amenities, perhaps. A sudden conviction I was disarmed. A sudden surge of sexual stimulation from a potential he didn't really understand but was eager to explore.

"She said something about two or three special guests over the years."

"Four," I lied, removing one from the count because he didn't count, really. "The last guest was nine years ago. We actually had to count back to be certain when. Our threesomes with another man were certainly not a 'life style.' They occurred years apart, and were a rich luxury for her. And tremendously exciting for me."

"This is something outside my experience, and I am far from being a prude."

"You also cannot imagine how a husband could willingly share his wife with another man."

"That is true. I know I couldn't."

"I couldn't have imagined it either, before Jill and I faced that option. There might not be a convincing explanation. I did learn, from limited research of the literature, that many men have the fantasy of watching another man fuck his wife. That is far more common that rare. Those that carry the fantasy to reality, well, who the hell knows?" I took a big swig of Margarita. "To condense a long story, Jill and I reached that plane of total love and honesty and intimacy and trust and openly revealed our sexual histories to each other. Her history was much broader than mine. She had more than a few men before we met. She was, and still is, greatly endowed with a natural, healthy sexuality, and embraces the joy of sexual pleasure with no shame or guilt whatever. When she told me told me a story of one of her past lovers, my reaction was a blind side smack of erotic enflamation that gave me the biggest hard on I ever had. I was split in two with traumatic war fare. My army of manly possession and jealousy was overrun by a more powerful army of erotic excitement that was invincible. I had never experienced such a turn on. And there was no way I could hide it. The biggest hard on I ever had. I pressed for fine details. It was clear to Jill that jealous rage had no place, and my excitement fed her's in equal measure. We discovered something in both of us that was an equal exchange. In short, our hottest fantasy sharing became her with another man with me there. Watching, participating. It was inevitable we would do it for real. We finally did. It was mind blowing good for both of us. The man I chose worked out perfectly, and Jill knew a few hours of luxury more satisfying than fantasy could create."

Steve watched me, entranced. "You know," he said, "I did skate on the edge of that once. My second wife had a bit too much to drink at a country club dance one night, and allowed a flirtation to get out of hand. A married man who was a friend of ours got a boner in the first dance with her. He monopolized her most of the night. Which was no big deal, as I danced with anyone I liked and circulated on my own. They went outside for air and such, and kissed, and he copped some intimate feels. She was badly skaken and told me all when we got home. Shaken in more than one way. She was highly aroused by her naughtiness, and shamed by it. I was furious, but at the same time felt a blast of kinky thrill by what happened. Anyway, I consoled her and let it all pass by. But I cannot deny the kinky thrill of hearing her confess. Nor can I deny that feeling that thrill wasn't confusing and troublesome."

"I know that troubling confusion only too well. It took a long time for me fully accept myself in that regard. And Jill was the key. She accepted that part of me with no reservations, just as I came to accept her part with no reservations, and all the erotic excitement of sharing her with another man became a resource to be indulged on very special occasions, for consensual, liberated enjoyment. As Jill put it: 'Jack, we are husband and wife, joined and united for ever. We control our own lives. We are not obligated to obey a rule book written by someone else. We can do anything we both chose to do in complete agreement.' That's our story. That is why we are now having this discussion."

"What were, are, I should say, the ground rules?"

"The focus is all on her. We join in pleasing her, exciting her, catering to her desires and needs, treating her like a Goddess, with unwavering respect for her personal worth, and feeling privileged to receive all the sexual rewards she will happily give to both of us. Be assured, she won't hold anything back. She will fuck you with the same joy she did at the hotel and at your house."




Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 07



"While you watch."

"Yes. And have her too in my turn."

"I must say up front I have no gay inclinations. Just in case."

"Nor do I. She will be the center of our circle, the object of our desires. But you should consider that very close proximity will surround us. Jill loves having me and the other man sucking both her breasts at the same time. Our heads will be close together. I will be naked with a raging erection. You will have to adjust to that, if such a thing makes you feel squeamish."

"I dare say I can manage that. I've already fucked your wife, Jack. Twice. She is a fabulous treasure. When I fuck her again I will lose all awareness you are even there."

"That is what Jill and I both want you to do. Nature following its course. Jill will be so caught up in the pleasure you give her she will forget I'm there too. For moments, times that none of us can predict. But never completely. And that brings up another ground rule. If you join with us, Jill will be your very willing sex partner for the hours you are with us. She will concentrate on you more than on me, since she has me every night anyway. As guest of honor you will go first, and have her again as much as you want, and she wants, of course. But for all that you gain no entitlements outside our play time. I am still her husband and she is my wife. You will not supplant me in any way. Jill will always love me, honor and revere me more than any other man. That is a concrete certainty. You should clearly understand that."

"I do. I think. I'm still grasping at the concept of you sharing Jill with me. The three of us naked on the same bed. Remembering how fantastically good she was when I had her all alone. But I believe I do understand my place in... what we are discussing. That too looks right and perfectly natural."

"And that brings up another ground rule. Discretion. Absolute secrecy. No one but the men involved has any inkling of our very private fun. We expect you to do the same. We have children to protect, as do you. Friends, collegues, they cannot know. Even this discussion we are having must never leave this boat, if you chose to not join us."

"You have my promise on that," Steve said. "And, well, I choose to join you and Jill. I have no idea exactly how it will pan out, but the idea has a red hot excitement of a type I've never experienced before."

"Welcome aboard LADY JILL," I said. We shook hands to seal the deal. "I propose you come to our house for dinner. No sex. Just a perfectly normal social occasion. Hosted by a perfectly normal couple. The opening up of normal friendship. Because that will be the parameters of any sexual intimacy that follows. Mutual trust must be established. That is the only way I can give my darling wife to you in that ultra special event."

*****

Jill spent a week preparing for Steve to join us in that first dinner party to inaugurate our chosen adventure with him. She was the one who called him to set the date. She could play slutty games with refined artistry. She could also oversee arrangements to bring another man to our bed with exquisite artistry. I listened to her speak to Steve on the phone and was amazed at her consumate skill in maintaining proper social ediquete while at the same time flitting about like a butterfly over unspoken reference to his having fucked her twice, and our negotiations on the boat. By voice tone and inflection, carefully chosen words as perfectly fitting as lines in a poem, the ever present bubble of delight pulsating and rupturing into laughter, she was a seductress without parallel, while inviting an acquaintence to dinner. Only a woman can do that.

She changed her mind a dozen times before settling on a menu of filet mignon. She went to her hair dresser for a trim and shape. She spent an entire day at the boutiques to select the perfect dress. It was a light, diaphanous silk, a tangerine color to set off her Italian-Latina skin tone. The skirt was simple and knee length, a caressing flow over her thighs and ass. The top was a sleeveless criss cross that behaved in sync with her movements, sometimes bending out to expose expansive views of her unsupported breasts, the cinnamon sheen of skin, the liquidity of line and curve ever shifting in fresh allure to a man's entranced gaze. The evening of the dinner she opened her jewelery boxes, five of them, and spent almost an hour evaluating combinations. A woman thing. A woman with eyes fixed on a new lover man, on all the promise he held for her, on my love for her that made it all possible.

The door chime chimed. I followed Jill several paces behind. She opened the door to Steve, took his hand to lead him in, closed the door, and wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. It was a body kiss and a lip kiss. An open sexual declaration. She broke the kiss with perfect timing, and said, "Welcome Steve. We welcome you."

He was overwhelmed, and had no immediate Mr. Smoothie reply to offer. I closed in and shook his hand, two gents greeting. We all were a bit starry eyed and grinning like idiots. He finally said, "It is an honor and a privilege to be here."

We moved into the living room and Steve looked about. "This house is very impressive from the outside," he said. "Inside even more so."

"Would you like a tour?" Jill said.

"I would," Steve said.

For much of the tour, Jill, where space allowed, put her arms loosely around mine and Steve's waists. The conductor. Mistress of the manor. Resplendant with female pride and possession, a house faced with fieldstone and ivy, five bed rooms, three baths, and two sexy men embraced by each of her arms. Often she held only Steve's waist, after her hand had touched various parts of his body to maintain tour directions. Touch. Light and casual, but vibrant with resonance of the connection they had previously made. I said little. It was her tour, her domain, her welcome of Steve Larsen into our very private lives of enjoying the extravagance of a man making love to her with me on the same bed. 

We came to the master bed room. "And here is where Jack and I put the old four poster to rocking," Jill said.

"And no doubt the old four poster served its purpose very well," Steve said.

"It has sturdy construction," I said.

"Jack is a man of sturdy construction," Jill said.

"And my wife gives her all and has energy to spare," I said.

"And our guest of honor is a man of splendid energy too," Jill said. "I know this."

She kissed Steve again. Longer than the first greeting kiss. One of her hands squeezing the muscles on his back, the other in his hair at the back of his head. His hands held her tight, then roamed up and down her body, and found the globes of her ass and caressed and kneaded them and pulled them and her groin hard against his suddenly rigid cock.

Again, Jill broke the kiss, and stepped back. She panted for breath, the lids of her closed eyes fluttered, in that weightless, helpless state, like sitting in the front seat of roller coaster car and plunging down the almost verticle slope and her insides sucked out by the dip and instant hurtle back up again. Steve stared straight into my eyes. Last questions asked, and answered, by my genuine smile of accord. He knew the liberties I gave him, and he was liberated. From that point on, his share of my wife for sexual pleasures would be governed by his sense of style. The license was granted. He had kissed my wife's lips, gripped her magnificent ass, revealed a cock in his pants hard with desire for her, and had my blessings.

Steve did have personal style. He was an evolved and sophisticated man. When we returned to the living room he praised the tasteful beauty of our living space, and said, "And you, lady Jill, are a glowing, ravishing beauty of singular perfection. I love that dress."

Jill blushed and flushed with glowing, ravishing beauty. "Thank you my sweet lover," she said.

And there it was, the gift unwrapped, spread out upon the table for all to see. A man, his wife, and another man threesome. The other man, her "sweet lover," having already fucked the wife twice in private. All cards on the table. That was how it worked. But no getting naked and in bed that night. It was all a process of Steve acclimating, growing more and more comfortable with his role, my fixed presence and inclusion, and complete acceptence of him as a lover for Jill, the extraordinary novelty of the idea easing into a flow of reality.

The dinner proceeded with seamless ease. I was in charge of the steaks, char broiled to medium rare in a restaurant broiler modified to home scale, with the gas flames at the top of a fire brick lined box, with a cast iron grill that went as near the flames as I wanted on a lever controlled spring. Steve had never seen such a thing and was greatly impressed. Jill wore an apron and saw to the salad, asparagus al dente, and crusty bread in the oven. Steve just hung out with us, so at ease he could have been a friend of years standing. Admirable style. Jill occasionally lurched into him in the confines, her breast pressing his arm, his hand giving her lingering touches to ease out of way. Pardon me smiles exchanged. Sexual electricity crackling with almost the sound of steak juice making noises under the gas jets.

Red wine. Red meat. Asparagus half crisp half soft. French bread lubricated with garlic butter. We ate. We talked. We laughed. We drank. Conversation flowed like a released stream of water feeling its way on open ground. He had fucked Jill twice already. He had kissed her twice with me standing near. But I was still the open ground to him, on which the flow of sexual release must make a course. The husband of the woman he now desired with intense ardor, how would the release and free flow define him, shape him, expose weakness and resistance? I knew exactly what was going on in his head. I purposely remained a cipher, something he would have to solve on his own as we chatted lightly about any trending events of the times that crossed our minds. I was giving him my wife for his pleasure, but I was still very much my own man, a strong, supremely confident man. He would have to resolve that in his mind. How such a thing could really be. And gradually he began to. Relaxing more and more. Grateful for the invitation, and finding his place in our triad a comfortable and exhilarating fit. He conveyed this with style and wit I genuinely admired, without resorting to any sexual reference or innuendo at all. 

After dinner drinks. Steve and I settled on each end of the sofa. Jill served him a glass of Drambuie, leaning in lower than necessary, the tangerine criss-cross opening to reveal all but the nipples of her breasts. She served me, giving me the same view, plus an impish smile, then sat in the space between us to sip from her tiny glass of Drambuie.

Our inconsequential conversation continued. Steve, with polished subtlety, made me, the host the husband, the focus of attention. He solicited my views on politics, sports, fads and fashions and listened with rapt attention. He offered his opinions. And that serendipity of social intercourse arrived. Three people finding themselves on the same page, sharing many likes and dislikes, mind sets, views, in the slosh of cultural aftifice dumped on all of us every day. Jill interjected comments, frequently placing her hand on Steve's leg, gently tightening her fingers, a sly punctuation. But mostly she listened to Steve and I talk. Smiling. Absorbing the double dose of masculinity radiating to her from both sides. Two men all for her. Beautiful, energetic, virile men. Her two lovers.

Steve slapped his belly and complimented Jill again on the fine dinner. He noted I was in great shape, for all the years of fine feeding my beautiful wife provided. Jill assured him he had a body that most men would envy, and certainly all women would greatly admire. "Women, alas," she said, "can't keep up. We have to accept our middle-age matron fate."

I took her in my arms and kissed her. "You are our Venus, our Aphrodite, we will adore your beauty and serve your female splendor. That is your matronly fate."

"Our," "We." Steve heard the words and understood. There were no more questions. I was no longer a cipher. Nor was he. Nor was Jill.

"If only there were words to say how much I love you," Jill said. She kissed me with that love that has no words. Steve looked on us. His eyes filled with understanding, with awe of the Venus in the flesh and tangerine dress kissing her husband with pure love.

"Still," Jill said, "a middle-age Aphodite needs a bit of pampering. I could use foot massage now, if you will be so kind."

She twisted to lie on her back and placed her feet in my lap, her head in Steve's lap. The hem of her skirt above her knees. I lifted her left foot and made love to it with my hands. With strokes and thumb pressures. Senseous fondling and massage. Jill closed her eyes and made her purring sounds, her body settling on the sofa, and the male crotches, in a melting process. Steve traced a line that barely touched her brow, her cheek, with his finger tip. His fingers caressed her hair line. She opened her eyes and they smiled at each other, exchanging private messages for me to see. Steve then resumed his conversation with me.

What either of us said didn't really matter to anything. It was social formality. It was also a form of male bonding at the foot and head of an erotically lush, beautiful, woman. A bonding of mutual purpose, of united desires, of non-competitive styles. And all for Jill.

I massaged her right foot. When I lifted it, Jill's thighs made a little kiss of parting. I gazed at her legs, the slight cinnamon skin tone glimmering in the table lamp light, contrasting with the tangerine silk. The stunning beauty of her legs. The beauty I had known for twenty three years, that never diminished. My beautiful wife. Fifty two years old, and there was only a mere suggestion of cellulite on her inner thighs. And that was an adornment, like lace on sexy panties. I was suddenly clutched by immense pride in the genetic fortune of her preservation, the pure female erotic sculpture of the still firm curve that swept down and under her thighs, the silk smooth softness waiting there, and I wanted Steve to see and admire. I slid my hands up her right calf, above her knee, and the dress hem moved up to expose her silk bound pussy bulge to me, but not to Steve.

He watched my hands slide back down to her foot to massage and fondle it. He looked down on Jill lying exposed, the beauty of her thighs, the beauty of her, in wonton gratification of having two men make love to her. He put his hands on her breasts and gently hefted and caressed them. It was a tender gesture. In part, an automatic response, like caressing a family pet that jumps on the seat and nestles in for affection. But that part quickly became a sexual act under his command. Her breasts escaped the criss-cross of silk. His fingers explored, in circles, in light fluttery stimulations, with timely pinch and pull on her nipples. With her eyes closed she lifted her hands to hover over his, barely touching his, giving an exquisite signal of acquiescence to his touch, the sensations and pleasure she felt. 

Steve looked at me and saw my pleasure in Jill feeling pleasure from his controlling hands. We smiled together in complete understanding.

"So lovely," Jill said, her eyes closed, "so very sweet and lovely."

She began to squirm and twist and undalate. And sigh and moan, quietly. Receiving and responding. Sexual release working its magic in her. She suddenly siezed Steve's hands under her's and pressed them hard to her breasts. She opened her eyes and stared into his. Her expression a mix of emotions. Delight, desire, connection, rightness, and a touch of pleading. She raised up and put her feet on the floor and stood.

"Sorry guys, but I must make a pit stop."

We watched her walk off, barefoot, with one stumble that made her giggle.

"You are the luckiest man on earth, Jack." Steve said. "Jill is an absolute treasure."

"I am. She is. And now happy fortune smiles on you. You apparently take my presense in stride. You have shown a sensibility and controlled style that makes you ideal in joining with me to give Jill her luxury. And she is the center, the focus. We will serve her. Our Venus. The next time you join us, the sharing of Jill will reach completeness and conclusion."

"Next time," he said wistfully. "I'm not sure I can bear the waiting." He shifted to relieve pressure, and looked down at his pants tented by his rigid cock.

"Wow," I murmured politely. "Now I see why Jill sings your praises, boasts of your performance at the hotel."

He flushed with the flattery. He could not help himself. Remembering his performance, no doubt, and also, I suspected, feeling a swell of confidence that his naked exhibition to Jill and I, next time, would solicit more boasts and songs of praise. Jill returned. Steve and I stood, well mannered gentlemen.

"Jilly," Steve said, "thank you for the delicious dinner..." He paused. "And the most exciting couple friendship I have ever experienced. May it continue and grow."

"Oh it will, it will." She made a skip and hugged him tightly, pressing her crotch to his still tented trousers. She didn't kiss him. She circled her arm around his waist and walked him to the front door. There she said, "You ready to join with us?"

"Yes, I am, I will, gladly."

He held her face in his hands and kissed her, tenderly, but with his full share of possession of her. I thought Jill might faint. He shook my hand, in a firm clasp of masculine solidarity. He walked to his car and waved good night, with a happy smile on his face.

Jill hugged me with a fervor and exploding excitement that seemed to exceed any past occurance of erotic potential. She did a little foot stomping dance. She shouted, "Oh yes!" She hopped and skipped and clapped her hands.

"Jack, Jack, Jack! Steve is going to be a perfect threesome man!"

"I think he will be, too. He seems to fully understand what it's all about."

"Do you think, maybe, we went a bit far? Like teasing him?"

"I don't think so. He left a very happy man. I told him no sex tonight. Meaning no fucking. It was good for him to know I always mean exactly what I say."

"What's that expression on your face? You are thinking something."

"I was thinking it has been nine years since I saw another man's fingers play with your nipples."

She reached down to feel my cock, which became instantly hard as I spoke.

"And still the same effect, after nine years," she said.

"Now. Not as I watched. Then, I was caught up in the return of the visual reality, another man's fingers exciting your nipples, you receiving the pleasure, loving it. A long time since I have seen it all."

"Not any more. You will see it all again. All the visuals up close and personal. How soon should I make the date?"

"I leave that entirely up to you. Our Venus. Our Aphrodite."



Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 08



Part 8 A perfect triangle

Jill made the date for seven days later. That mystical number, seven. A week to build anticipation. She spoke to Steve on the phone every day. Most conversations I heard, in the evening. They varied. Sometimes they would simply shoot the breeze. Sometimes she was a woman talking to her lover, which, in point of fact, was the case. His fucking her at the hotel and at his house had established that. The faulty recording had established that. That was clearly established at our inaugural dinner. When Steve joined us again, and we all were stripped bare, he would be her lover taking her. That was what banished any pretense from our threesomes. She would give her all to him in limited time for my unspeakable thrill, and she would be totally free to enjoy her own unspeakable thrills with another man. Her lover. 

The date was set at eight o'clock. "Casual dress," Jill instructed. She made no special preparations. Marsha and her crew had done comprehensive house cleaning. Jill picked up a party tray of dip and assorted dainties at the grocery. I gave her pubic hair a neat trim. As a team we put clean starched sheets on the king size bed. That was all the preparation required. 

I answered the door chime. "Hi Jack." "Great to see you, Steve." Masculine hand shake.

Jill appeared in the same kimono she wore when we listened to the secret recording of Steve having her. She was obviously naked under the silk. She walked to Steve and kissed him, her lover for the night. "You are here," she said, which said it all. "I forgot to ask, you do swim, don't you?"

"I do."

"Good. We are going skinny dipping."

And once again she put her arms around her lovers and led us to the bed room. She maneuvered Steve to sit on the edge of the mattress. She knelt to remove his sandals and socks and place them neatly aside. She playfully slapped his hands working his belt. "Let me do that." She opened the zipper and pulled his Bermuda shorts off and put them with the socks and sandals. He stood and removed his polo shirt while Jill pulled his navy blue jockey shorts down and off his feet. His cock sprang up to a thirty degree stance.

It was just as she said, a beautiful, perfectly proportioned cock. I could form such thought with no niggling question of a buried queer capacity struggling to come out. I had twenty three years to come to terms with that, and so much more, of who and what I was. Watching five other men fuck my wife, a couple on repeated occasions, offered many flashes of detached views and evaluations, conclusions that the male body was just as attractive, even beautiful, as a female body. When it was, needless to say. 

Steve was medium hairy. His body was a projection of male strength and power - thick muscled torso and sloping shoulders, sturdy legs, a belly shaped like a thin vertical slice of a barrel, ass cheeks round and solid with muscle, and a beautiful cock quivering with desire at thirty degrees. A very handsome hunk of man, a splendid gift to Jill. Still on her knees, she took his cock in her fingers and pressed the side of her face to the length, inhaling the aroma of masculinity wafting from his groin. She didn't take it in her mouth. She was saying hello to her lover, in an intimate and precious way. She untied her kimono and draped it over a chair.

We walked naked to the pool. Steve gave me the glance over, and did a slight double take. I wasn't hard, but there was no mistaking what was there. He cupped Jill's ass cheek with his hand, reasserting his place, his privilege. He surveyed the surroundings.

"Privacy assured," I said. A seven foot high stuccoed block wall enclosed my back lawn. Strategic stretches of towering bamboo hid the wall.

He looked up. "There's always Google up there, giving any browser a bird's eye view. Pictures so clear you make out numbers on car tags."

"Oooooh," Jill said. "If any one is browsing now, let's give them a hell of a show." And she jumped into the water with a shriek and an exuberant, comical splash.

Steve and I followed her. Skinny dipping. Jill and I did that often, but this was the first time for a man to be with us. I was glad she thought of the idea. Skinny dipping. The cleansing wash away of inhibition. Naughty nudity frolicking in buoyant water, which brought to mind "I might not be perfect but I am me. I am free." And further still, "I am perfect! To hell with what anyone else might think."

Steve and Jill played as carefree as children. Pretending to be predatory monsters stalking, parrying, positioning to capture. Shouts of shivering fright, bursts of laughter, submerging and surfacing in a tangle of sexual desire that grew ever stronger and more binding. I more or less treaded water, near by.

Jill broke away and swam to me. She reached for my cock to hold it, and it grew to mythological proportions. "Don't think I've forgotten you," she whispered."

"Oh you have, and you will, and that's fine." I whispered back. 

She returned to her lover, with aggressive purpose. She pushed and propelled him to the shallow end. She patted the ledge. "Up here," she said. He did an athletic hoist and spin and settled his ass on the ledge. Water streamed down, leaving little channels in his body hair. Jill had well judged the water depth, and her lean over was comfortable when she lowered her mouth to his steel hard cock. Steve stared down on her, transfixed.

I moved in close. I stared down on her, transfixed. Nine years since I had watched her suck another man's cock. She truly loved doing it. She learned that early. Until her mother agreed to her going on the pill, that was her form of birth control in high school. Her introduction to real sex. To maleness. To raging hormones in teen-age boys and cocks perpetually hard and begging for relief. She sucked them off. And she learned to love it. The smell and taste and texture. The defined insistence filling her mouth. The boys shattering from the pleasures her mouth gave them. Her self-awareness of genuine reward in cum suddenly spurting into her mouth, and her need to swallow it. She was a skilled and dedicated cock sucker before her fifteenth birthday. Not all females can honestly say that.

I watched my wife suck Steve Larsen, and felt honest pride in her and happiness for her. She sucks me with love and devotion and a measure of worship. But my size compromises the mechanics of her fully letting go experience. Her lips sliding all the way down, taking me in her throat. Steve was the ideal size. That was already tested and proven. She had told me so. I stared down on her, her wet hair plastered to her skull, in complete experience of sucking a perfectly fitting cock, sucking off her lover.

I crouched to put my hand between her legs from behind and clutch her pussy. Her lubrication was sopping and thick, almost viscous. I inserted two fingers in to stroke her spot tucked behind the bony ridge, my thumb massaged her clit. She breathed sounds out her nose, deep and boundless sounds from the depths of womanhood. My head was down to a level of optimal vision. I saw more that I fully see when she sucks my cock. The way her cushiony lips fold under sliding down the cylinder of man flesh, fluff back full on retreat. Her nostrils dilating in timed breathing to expand her reception of the head inching deeper. The sudden, determined plunge down to the root, her nose in his pubic hair. Her chest heaving with gag reflex, a brief annoyance, and the slow traverse back up and off, a gasp for air, loving adoration of her tongue on the crowning glory, the cock head, and back in her mouth again. She was in her groove.

I look at Steve who looked back at me with dazed glassy eyes.

"She's good, isn't she?"

"Oh God yes!" Was his strangled reply.

"Suck his cock Jill, suck all the cum out of his balls."

Jill needed no encouragement. She was in her groove. She was in that state of greedy need to drink the cum due her. Steve came apart, hissing and gurgling. Her clasped her head in his hands and made short rapid hunches and his orgasm emptied into her mouth. She swallowed it all, in triumph and fulfillment. She straightened to gaze at the cock she held, panting. Last cum oozed out the slit and she bent her opened mouth down to suck it up. Steve jerked, highly sensitized. He lay back on the concrete, his feet in the water, and panted.

Jill looked at me, expecting and getting my look of approval. Approval of her direct initiative, her masterful performance. "You are fantastic." I said, and took her in my arms.

"I know how to take care of my lovers," she said. "How shall I take care of you?" 

"We have all night."

"We do. My jaw is a bit tired right now."

We walked up the steps and out of the pool, arm in arm. Steve roused himself, sat up, then stood. He said, "Thank you Jilly. You are the very best. The best ever."

"My pleasure," she said sincerely, beaming at him.

Jill had stashed towels on a chair that afternoon. They were full of solar heat. We dried ourselves, Jill briskly rubbing her hair. Night had softly fallen. Accent lights in the garden had turned on. Wrapped in towels, wrapped in arms, Jill conducted the three of us in marching order back to the house and the master bedroom, where the lighting was gentle and subdued, but illuminating of all to happen. We had no shame to cloak in darkness.

"I need some water, Jack. Please."

I went to the kitchen and returned with a full six pack of chilled bottled water. Jill and Steve were naked on the bed. She was lying half on top of him, kissing his lips, taking care of her lover. She turned her head and smiled at me, a smile of glowing beauty, open and innocent of any doubt, any guile or manipulation. She took big swigs of water, washing away any lingering mineral aftertastes of Steve's cum, and returned the bottle to me. She rolled onto her back, flung her arms back, her breasts settling in outer gravity, her leg lengths relaxed and slightly parted, and gazed at the ceiling and sighed that deep sigh of a very happy woman.

I got on the bed next to her, on her right side. Steve was close on her left. She kissed me. She turned her head and kissed Steve. Then she kissed me again. It was like she had invented a game, kissing us alternately, a game continued from her carefree play in the pool. But it was game that grew rich and ripe with sexual merging. Our mouths demanding. Our spit mingling.

Steve and I were simultaneous in moving our hands to our allotted breast, fondling and teasing. Jill moaned, and writhed. She put her hands to our heads and urged us down. We each took a nipple in our mouths and made love to my wife, our heads close together. She tenderly embraced that luxurious duality to her breasts, and sank into her warm sea of currents of sweetest pleasures curling, surging, rippling across her chest and through out her body. She arched for firmer pressure, she moaned and sighed and purred, singing her body electric and the meaning of being a woman.

"Yes, yes yes yes. So sweet. Do this to me all night."

We made love to her, Steve and I, serving our Venus, our Aphrodite, our shared Jill. We loved the womanly magic of her breasts given to our mouths and lips and tongues. We served her. The sounds of suck and wetness and breathing only inches apart. Our knuckles sometimes bumping as our hands held our gifts.

It was certainly, positively, not planned. We raised our heads at the same time and Steve made a sudden dart and kissed my lips. There was no shock. It was so spontaneous it outraced shock. And it was only a peck. Steve burst out laughing, and I did too. Jill looked on in wide eyed wonder, and laughed with us. His sudden kiss was like a boyish prank, a residual of the frolicking fun begun back in the pool. An impulse shaped by Jill sucking his cock, and his sucking her breast inches from my sucking mouth. It might have been an impulsive crazy way of saying thank you to me. His eyes sparkled with merriment and freedom, and nothing more. He gave Jill a real kiss, hot and sexual and demanding.

I moved down to position between her legs, to feast on the engorged lips of her pussy cradled in the sweeping curve of her inner thighs. To communicate with the eternal mystery of womanhood. She was dripping wet. She was hot. She was wanton. I served her and I loved her, my wife, my darling. Her orgasm came quickly. A force that entered and swelled bigger and bigger, higher and higher, exploding her. I moved back up on my knees, my face smeared with her juices.

"Are you ready for him to take you?"

"Oh God yes. I want Steve to fuck me."

I took a condom from the bed table and ripped the foil.

"Let me," Jill said.

She rolled the condom down his beautiful hard cock, as fussy as a mother bundling a child to go out in the rain. She lay back and put her hands behind her knees and created for me the most searing and exciting of all the visuals of sharing her. She pulled her knees back and spread them wide. Her body in a bow. Her buttocks curled in cushions of support. Her anus winking. Her labia lips gaped open. Her mouth quivering in anticipation. Her eyes staring between her spread legs to watch another man's cock approach to enter her and state the meaning of her being a woman. That enlarged and encompassing perspective, off to one side, is what I don't have when I fuck her.

I was seized by an impulse as sudden and wild as Steve's spontaneous kiss.

"Allow me," I said.

I took his throbbing cock in my fingers and led it to Jill. He went with the lead. Jill's eyes were wide with wonder. I moved the head up and down her pussy lips, then let it go. He sank all he had into her. Her moan was deep and rumbling, from her belly, up her chest, out her parted lips. Steve's cock filled her. She felt rapture. Every component of her body said so. Her lover was in her.

I sat back on my heels to the side, and for the sixth planned event watched another man fuck my wife. It had been so long it was almost like watching for the first time. Old familiarity took on fresh realizations. Steve was different from all the others. Or, Jill and I were different from the blasting excitement of threesomes in our younger days. She had never called the other men her "lovers." Or if she did it was only in passing, a little indulgent joke. But after turning fifty two, fucking Steve in private, and securing him in our triad, the "my lover" tag took on meaningful importance to her.

I watched her lover fuck her. That was why Steve was different. They were oblivious of my presence. They were joined, coupled, united in sexual release and the race to completion. A mature man fucking a mature woman. And they were beautiful together. He was male strength and power and thrusting sexual imperative as old as time. She was female reception and sexual capacity as old as time. His ass rose and dipped, spread and clinched as he pounded her. She hooked her heels to him to pull him tighter. His moving cock made squish sounds. They got noisy. Snorting breaths. High pitched barks from Jill as the grip of her building orgasm squeezed harder. And the mighty tide of orgasm lifted them both and flung them into the chasm of bliss.

The sounds, the visuals, the revelation of Jill as universals woman, her separate entity. That was why I needed and loved to watch. The truth. I loved Jill with all my heart and soul.

They rested. They breathed. In gentle sweaty aftermath. Steve was done in. Jill's hands made sliding caresses on his slick back, a depthless satisfaction murmuring from her nose and lips. "My lover," she hummed. "My wonderful lover."

They were beautiful, my wife and her lover, resting after the exertions of fucking, basking in the equally shared pleasure of coming together at almost the same time. I knew her inner pussy was squeezing his spent cock repeatedly, saying thank you, please don't go just yet, just as she always did with me. She looked into my eyes with a message that had no simile or metaphor. Utter serenity. Utter peace. Utter love for me.

Steve raised himself from her, with little pops of sweat separation. With a little suck sound of his cock head exiting her last grip. The nipple sack at the end of the condom dangled full.

"There's a waste can in the bathroom," I said.

"Thanks," he said, and walked to the bathroom on wobbly legs.

"Now you," Jill said. "Come to me. Come in me."

She pulled her knees back again and opened wide, for me, and I entered her. She was hot inside. She was hot outside, and sticky with mixed sweat, painted with odors of sex with Steve. And she was open and eager, wanting more.

"My husband," she breathed. "My love, my life."

That said everything. I kissed my wife. I fucked her. I loved her. I possessed her. Her husband, her love, her life. That was our everything. Steve had primed her, fully and gloriously. I took her higher. I made no effort to hold back. Nor did she want me to. I possessed her with unleashed power and she screamed out my name. "Jaaaaaaaaack! Oh Jaaaaack!"

"Jillllllllll!"

My wife caressed my sweaty back as I lay heavily on her, breathing hard. Her pussy squeezed my still hard cock, praising it, wanting it to stay. I had no idea when Steve returned to the bed. He was leaning on a stiff arm and a cocked leg on the edge of mattress, a foot on the floor, when I pulled out of Jill. He stared at the girth and length of my cock shinning with cum. His stare didn't reveal what he thought.

Jill lay in a puddle of relaxation and deepest contentment, an open book of a fully ripe middle-age woman who had been marvelously fucked by her two lovers. She reached out her hand to Steve, and their fingers interlocked. Her smile for him glowed with confirmation. He had joined us, and he was better than good. Much, much better. Her lover.

I went to the bathroom to clean, and shortly Jill joined me. She sat on the commode to pee. Then she sat on the bidet, one of the very few bathrooms in our city to have one, I suspect. She cleaned her pussy. She called out: "Steve, come shower with us."

Our shower was king size too, and three was not a crowd. We soaped and cleaned our bodies to refresh. We didn't talk. Steve and Jill tended to each other. With soap and wash cloth. With an intimacy as functional as physical. He washed her neck and breasts and belly and pussy. He crouched to scrub her legs. She turned and he washed her back and ass, over and under. With compelled respect and adoration of our Venus. She washed his chest and stomach and cock and balls, reverently, attending to her lover. Our new threesome partner had joined us, and he was better than good, much much better.

We dried off. Jill vigorously toweled her hair to dampness. We walked to the kitchen, naked to the house lights, naked to each other in our enclosed world. I uncorked a bottle of celebratory Champaign. We nibbled from the party tray. Our conversation was light and hyperbolic, skipping about hither and yon. I could see that Steve wanted to talk about what had taken place the past two hours, but didn't quite know how to open up. I sensed his watching me fuck my wife had a powerful impact. An erotic impact, and also a defining one. He was Jill's chosen lover, but she belonged to me.

It is notable how orgasms can have a reciprocal effect. They can cleanse, drain and exhaust, but they can also invigorate. We nibbled from the tray, we chatted about nothing, we sipped sparkling wine, and erotic energy returned, carried on memories from recent time, and reborn only hours ago. Their time in the Botanical Gardens, in the hotel, his house, together on our bed with me two feet away. I recalled the recording. Watching him fuck her in real time. Him watching me fuck her. The erotic energy returned to three naked lovers standing in the kitchen light.

Steve communicated what he didn't know how to say with liberated liberties unsullied by entitlements. Our guest and Jill's lover. He put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her close. She melded against him. He kissed her cheek, more than once, on impulse, somewhat chaste, appreciative, somewhat possessive. "Jill, you are the most ravishingly beautiful and exciting woman I have ever known."




Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 08



Steve's words just came tumbling out. Pure and sincere. Jill almost collapsed in his arms. I thought my chest would burst with pride. Jill, my fifty two year old wife, my Goddess of love and sexual desire, with a body that defied her age, was the most ravishingly beautiful woman on earth.

Jill kissed him. We nibbled. We drank. His hand held her breast, his fingers fondled the nipple. Her hand fondled his cock, and it rose full mast.

"I want you to fuck me again. Please say yes."

"Oh yes. I will, gladly." And he held her tight and kissed her, his hard cock mashed to her stomach.

We returned to the bed. Their first fuck of the night was pretty much reenacted. Except a little slower, longer stroke sweeter. My wife and her lover, forgetting I was there. I did not guide his cock into her. I sat on the sidelines and observed. They were wrapped in each other, wrapped in a blanket of sexual pleasure. For a long while. Then he reached for her ankles and put them over his shoulders, folding her back and lifting her bottom. He fucked her almost upright, his legs wide apart, all the muscles in his back powering his ass to move it back and forth in primal rhythm of carnal dance, faster and faster, harder and harder, his cock going deep. She came first, wailing and buckling. He soon followed, with spastic thrashing and a tattered, strangled, man shout of conquest and surrender.

Steve left the bed to clean up. I looked down on my wife, the most ravishingly beautiful and exciting woman on earth. Her eyes were closed. She was floating on the after tones of the symphony of sex, those currents and eddies of feeling after the crescendo of orgasm, that plucked grace notes in her pussy, her intestinal organs, her lungs, her heart. Universal woman. I lay beside her and kissed her with love and held her tenderly.

"I'm spent, my love." She said. 

"I know you are." I said. "Tonight is all for you, and I am very happy for you."

Steve returned.

"Sleep with us." Jill said.

I got up and turned off all lights, and returned to my place on the bed. We lay naked on top of the sheets, Jill in the middle, in ideal air conditioned comfort. Steve fell into deep breathing, and very quickly a snore of increasingly raucous bluster. Jill giggled quiet delight, and said, "He is a man, make no mistake."

"He certainly fucked you like one."

"Don't I know it. He is good, Jack. So very, very good. We have found a keeper." And with that, Jill succumbed to her own gentle snore.

I lay awake for awhile, sifting through the newness. No man had ever slept with us before. Not all night, at least. And after nine years, watching Steve fuck Jill was much like having a threesome for the first time. All the other men faded away. Something new was with us. A broader reality. And not only her resourceful lover, our keeper, snoring away on the other side of her.

It was near dawn. I was jostled awake. Bodies in motion. Jill and Steve were making love in the whisper of light coming through the sheer window curtains. Kissing, caressing, stroking. She rose to straddle him, a fifty two year old tendon making a pop sound. She sat on his hard cock, sinking down, filling herself, taking him. She fucked him, on top, controlling like a man. Up and down, taking him. She leaned forward. Her large round female ass rolled in a set free rhythm of bobbing and dipping and thrusting. She fucked her lover. She took them both to the top and over the edge to plunge as one.

I watched in awe.

She did not prolong orgasm aftermath sharing. She got off of him, in a bit of awkward struggle, and flopped on her back and reached to pull me on her. She said, in feral demand, "You. You, you, you. Do me."

I pushed my feral erection into her. Into the liquid heat deep inside her. And then I knew why Steve hadn't gone to the bathroom. My bare cock head was in the pool of sperm he had left in her. It seemed my brain gave up and left all processing to my cock head. The thought and feel of another man's sperm painting me. My cock doing all the thinking. Never before. The first time ever. I fucked my wife in a frenzy. A wild savage. She screamed out my name.

When Jill and I came to, we heard Steve in the shower, singing that golden oldie, "You're just to good to be true," badly off key. Jill and I laughed. Free and happy.

Our goodbye in early morning was free and happy. Steve fully dressed, Jill and I in robes. At the door he said, "You are the best, Jill. The very best." To me he said, "I like this sharing, Jack. I like it a hell've lot."



Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 09



After Jill had kissed her lover good bye, we showered, had a hearty breakfast, and took coffee on the porch. 

"Well!" She declared.

"All is well. Very well."

"I don't know where to begin."

"Watching you with him was like having a threesome for the first time. It's been so long."

"It was so much better than the others it might as well be the first."

"I had the same thought last night. It's like we have arrived at that age and stage to completely appreciate what it is all about."

She winced. "Don't remind me of age. I am going to be a sore girl for awhile."

"Too much cock? Too deep?"

"Never too much cock for me. Never too deep. No, my old gal flexibility was put to the test."

"I heard a leg wire pop when you straddled him last night."

She laughed. "I recall I didn't dismount like a gymnast either."

"It's yoga time for you. Pull and stretch. Get loose, limber and lithe....You were radiantly beautiful, Jill. Sucking his cock, opening wide for him to fuck you."

She glowed with memory, and my praise. "You gave him to me. You gave me to him. It was perfect."

We watched the birds outside the screen. Goldfinch occupied the pegs on the feeder. The titmice hid in the leaves of nearby shrubs, waiting their turn. In two minutes the titmice came out and scattered the goldfinch in a yellow flurry up to their trees. How did they know? It was like clock work. Two minutes tops, and another genus came from hiding and scattered the titmice, taking their turn at the feeder.

"Steve likes you. That is plain." Jill said.

"No as much as he likes you."

"Well, he is my lover, after all. He did give you kiss," she said with a mischievous smile.

"What did you think of that?"

"What did you?"

"Nothing much. Just a spasm of sudden play, it seemed."

"That's what I thought. Just a way of saying thank you. I got a hell of a rush seeing you put your fingers around his cock and lead it to me."

"A spasm of sudden play on my part. Just as spontaneous as his kiss."

"Are you going to do that every time?"

"I have no idea."

"I hope you do."

"Why?"

"I was so...symbolic. You holding his hard cock and leading it to me. Like saying, 'I am giving my wife to you, take her.' No wonder he likes you." She laughed.

We watched the various groups of birds taking their turns at the hanging feeder, with clock work timing. How did they arrive at that cooperation in sharing?

"Every time, you asked. You are looking at a stretch of times."

"For sure I am. This is my Shangrila. An on-going affair with my lover with you beside me."

"Tell me, honestly, was it as good for you with me there as it was when you were alone with him?"

"Better with you there. I did nothing alone with him that you didn't see last night. I really can't imagine doing or saying anything alone with him that your presense would... hinder. No, the three of us together, that is the ultimate. You putting your hand on his cock and leading it to me, that is the ultimate." She shivered. "I just felt that same rush again!"

"You know, a couple of years back, when we were seriously talking about a hunt for a new man, I idly wondered if there was anything left in it that would be new for me. Three things, as it turned out. For the first time in my life a man's lips kissing mine. For the first time in my life I held another man's cock, albeit very briefly. For the first time in my life I had sloppy seconds."

Jill blushed. "Uggh, Jack. 'Sloppy seconds' sounds so dirty. I suppose I should apologise. I just got into it and forgot all about the condom. I don't think there's any reason to worry. About his clean bill of health I mean. Do you?"

"I don't think he's a risk," I said, with the confidence of having seen his medical records, which I couldn't tell her. "And since we are being so intimately honest, I got a strange rush of my own, feeling his sperm left in you." 

"I knew you did! Or I thought you might have. They way you fucked me. And the sperm he left in me sounds so right. Not sloppy seconds," she admonished. She smiled, dreamily. "Let's do away with condoms from now on. I want to feel his sperm shoot into me every time he fucks me. That is a very special sensation for a woman. It is like a man is putting his signature on his creation. You both put your signatures in me. My lovers fill me to overflowing with their cum. Oh Jack!" She bounced and clapped her hands. "Let's do it!"

*****

Something new was with us. Steve Larsen, an evolved, sophisticated, worldly smoothie was the perfect threesome partner. But he was something more. He was Jill's lover. That concept made real infused our triad with substance that flushed her entire being into bloom and blossom. I analyzed the new reality in silent contemplation, and embraced it. She had fucked the other five partners with no reservations, and some of them brought her to orgasm, but they were never her lovers. Steve was. Because Jill wanted him to be, and was free to make him so. That was the culmination of my giving her the gift of going solo with Roger and Larry and Steve, and that gift had brought us back to the right place, sharing her with a bono fide lover on the same bed. She blossomed and bloomed. She was a beautiful aura in every prosaic day. She had a husband who was her love and life, and she had a lover.

*****

Our other threesomes had been widely spaced, due to logisticl circumstances, and also conscious deliberation. Too often would take the keen edge off the cutting excitement. At her age of fifty two and mine of forty nine, our children out on their own, and Jill the proud possessor of her very own lover, we had sex with Steve anytime the three of us wanted to. But there was no regular schedule. He, and we, lived our separate lives. Jill was usually the catalyst, needing her lover again. He fucked her on our bed, on LADY JILL when we went on an over night river cruise. One time she backed her ass to him and ground away, and he lifted her skirt and bent her over the kitchen table and fucked her from behind, standing. A powerful fuck. For me to see. She sucked him off anytime her deep personal need compelled her to do so. There was no schedule, no formal choreography. Jill and her lover, and I, let sexual impulse hold sway and have its way.

I did hold his cock and lead it to her, sometimes, when sexual impulse took pause and made it appropriate. It became something of a ritual, which Steve initiated the second time he joined us. In position on his knees, he put his hands on his hips, his bare cock jutting forward, and said, "Do the honors."

I was never certain what that meant to him. He might have liked the feel of my hand on his cock. But I strongly suspected his primary feeling was exactly the same as Jill had described, my symbolic giving him to her. Confirming he was her lover and privileged to fuck her. Jill experienced an emotional, erotic siesure each time I did so. 

Condom free, Steve and I filled Jill with cum. And our cocks relished plunging into the respective signature pools, to do respective obliteration.

*****

Steve was a perfect partner, and lover for Jill. No restriction encumbered his sexual pleasure with her, nor his expressions of a deep, deep affection containing a measure of love for her. But he never crossed forbidden lines. He never presented even a hint of challenged to me. And Jill held a trump we never discussed, which governed all. She screamed out my name when I fucked her and took her to the heights of orgasm. She had never screamed the name of any other man, and she never did with Steve. She knew complete pleasure and bliss with him, and his fucking lifted her to powerful orgasms, but she never screamed out his name in her surrender to him. She could not. There was, and would always be, a place in her where Steve or any other man could not go. I was permanently in that place. Steve knew it. And he knew it by countless other signals that Jill gave off in "down time," so to speak, of normal, non-erotic togetherness. 

*****

One evening Steve called to ask if he could drop by. He was in a chipper mood. He seated himself and launched into a conversation about swimming pools, and his sudden keen interest in having one to set off his patio. I gave all the pros and cons I knew. He suddenly paused and glanced about.

"Where's Jill?"

"In the kitchen, last I knew," I said.

He got up and walked to the kitchen. I followed. Jill was at the sink, scrubbing the tarnished copper bottom of a sauce pan. She wore a T-shirt, cotton jogging pants, and sneakers. Her hair was tied with a ribbon to make a rear bush more than a pony tail. Steve cupped his hand to her ass cheek, and said, "Hello Jill."

She turned her head with a glowing smile and said, "Hello my lover."

He kissed her. Then he said, "Any of that Belgium beer left?"

"In the fridge. Help yourself."

He did just that. He knew the drawer that held the opener. He drank a swig, and wandered back to the living room, and jumped right back into the conversation about swimming pools. He didn't stay long. He essentially got what he came for, a gab with me and to say hello to Jill. When he was ready, I called out to Jill to say he was leaving. She came into the room and we sidled to the front door. Steve hugged her to him and kissed her, tenderly. "I'll call you," Jill said.

And the relaxed, casual behavior of that evening was as much in the center of our threesome as any naked, juicy, fucking and sucking. That meant everything to Jill. There was no conflict of any kind between her husband and her lover. She adopted the British expression "chums" to describe it. Steve and I were chums. Better still, so was she. While the unleashed power of sex took us all to shared other worlds, when they, or we, came back to earth and settled down, apart or entwined, we all three were chums. But Jill still clung to that singular luxury of having a lover. She cherished the impulse, and rightness, of saying to Steve or refering to him as "My lover." 

And how did that make me feel? I thought about it often, with no defensive mind set. The truth is I liked it. She didn't over do the "my lover" phrase. It just sort of popped out from time to time, in a fitting moment or context. And in point of fact that was exactly what he was. When he kissed her, put his hands on her body to fondle and caress, positioned himself between her opened legs to fuck her, he was her lover making love to her. That was very, very good, because that elevated Jill to a higher plane of consciousness and communion, and invited her to be his lover in their time of sexual freedom. That refined our motive of gift exchange two decades earlier, of my desire to watch, and her desire for sex with other men for her own pleasure fulfillment, and to fulfill my unique need. Watching my wife with her lover gave an element of purity to our intensely private gift exchange that was never quite the same with the other partners. With Steve, there was a higher attainment of our combined motives of my sharing her. As she had said about my holding his cock to bring it to her wanting pussy, giving him to her and her to him, "that is the ultimate!"

*****

Jill and I were not into porn, written or filmed. Oh, we watched some video back in courtship and early marriage days, but we both found it mostly boring. Our fantasy sharing, and later real threesomes, had a sizzling excitement that made porn as dumb as television commercials. Never the less, drawing on that limited knowledge, I asked her if she would like to try some new things.

"Such as."

"Oh, maybe you suck his cock while I fuck you doggie style."

"Hummm." She allowed. "That might be very thrilling." She thought about it. "Or it might be overload. Distracting. When you fuck me from behind you take me out of this world, to the heavens, to play among the stars. My ass high, my head down, my hands gripping the wrinkles in the sheet, the power of your thrusting cock the only thing in the world that matters at that time... When you do that, it's all you. No other man even exists... Still, it's something to think about. I will certainly do it if that is something you want to happen."

"Not really. I'm just tossing out some ideas, musings."

"Taking my lover's cock in my mouth is a very special indulgence for me. Just him and me. Let's keep it that way for now."

"Of course."

I also tossed out the idea of anal sex. We rarely did anal intercourse. When we did she asked for it, and it had almost that ceremonial speciality of my peeing on her. Now that I think of it while writing this, her wanting my cock in her ass was a kind of substitute for her lying in the shower and my pissing on her. But both activities were equally special and equally rare. My size was an obstacle. The only way she could tolerate entry was by sitting on my cock. That way she had total control of progress of stretching and zaps of pain, taking all she could bear, knowing when to ease off, until my large cock head popped into her. Maintaining that total control of start and stop until her ass was settled on me and the entire length was buried in her. In that way she found accomadation and expansion, and then pleasure. After a while she would rise and position herself and I would re-enter her with little or no difficulty, and fuck her ass. Her excitement and pleasures were so intense she would lose her mind and react like someone having an epilectic fit. But that was a rare and very special event with us. My tonguing her ass was also a very special event, but that happened much more frequently.

"I don't know, Jack." Jill said. "My ass is your exclusive place, and you are my exclusive pleasure there. Though my lover could probably do very nice things there as well. I will give that some thought."

"I was thinking of both of us at the same time."

She was startled. "You in my pussy, him in my ass?"

"Yes."

"Oh my..." She grew round eyed in wonder. "Can such a thing really be done?"

"Popular belief seems to think so."

"I can't imagine it. Draw me a verbal picture."

"Well, I lie on my back with my feet on the floor. You sit on me, then bend down on me. Your lover stands behind and puts his cock in your ass."

"His legs would have to straddle your legs."

"I hadn't got the far, but yeah, you're right."

"Even so, there's precious little space down there. My ass hole is only an inch or so from my pussy. You really think it could be done?"

"I'm as much a virgin at that as you are. Hell, I don't know! Just another idea to toss out."

"Maybe we need to get some porn films for instruction." She laughed. "Now that you have brought it up, I will give that option a lot of thought."

"It might be all pain and no fun."

"He is smaller than you. I'm sure I could manage. I have the picture now. His balls would do a lot of smacking against your balls. Wouldn't that be painful?"

"Hadn't thought of that. That would be a risk, I suppose. What I do imagine is you being filled and stretched to the limits with two cocks buried in you. Can you imagine it?"

Her eye lids half covered the pupils, her lips smiled the shape of her fantasy of two cocks filling her and stretching her to the limits, and she said, "I'm not sure I can imagine it. That kind of thing has to happen before you can ever know... Maybe, Jack. Just maybe. I will give it a lot of thought."

She did give that a lot of thought, delightful, slutty, shivery thought, but she never acted on it. All in all, her love making with her lover was what the lingo calls "vanilla." Except...

One evening Steve visited, and he was out of sorts. Nothing dramatic had happened. Just one of those days commonly called getting out of bed on the wrong side. He didn't come for sex; just thought a visit with his "chums" would cheer him up. Toward the end of his visit, vivacious Jill had him laughing. Then she walked to where he sat on the end of the sofa, and knelt between his knees. She unzipped his fly, pulled his cock out, and took it in her mouth. She sucked him and his spirits soared from gloomy depths to heights of bliss and she swallowed his cum. I sat ten feet away and watched, entranced and awed. If that is vanilla, then let's hear three cheers for "vanilla."

That same evening, in bed said, "I sucked him off."

"I saw."

"I know. Your seeing meant as much to me as my doing. Did you love me as you watched?"

"I loved you with every cell in my body. With all that I am."

"Perfect." She said. "Simply perfect." She hugged me to her and we lay in peace. Later she said, in a fragile tone, "You know, Jack, this might just be our last hurrah."

*****

Jill was prescient. The first wrinkle in our perfect triangle was the question of our children meeting the neat new friends of their respective parents. Our son Jack Junior and daughter Lauren returned to their home base from time to time, for stays of various lengths. We wanted Steve to meet them. Steve wanted his children to meet us. But would that be wise? Jill had serious doubts that she would not let slip some hint, totally unaware, that Steve was more than a Country Club acquaintence. Much more. And Lauren, mother's daughter and all woman herself, would pick up on it. Her doubts infected Steve, and he saw the same risks in introducing his children to us. Our delimma was much like Jill's impulse to confide her radient happiness to her closest women friends, that she had a lover. But that was strictly forbidden. It was equally forbidden that our children have any inkling that their parents had what my wife and I, and her lover, had. What we had was complete freedom of sexual delights, a husband sharing his wife with her lover, where no one was reduced to an object, where no suggestions of exploitation or humiliation ever occurred. That made our triad a sacrosanct thing, a secret that had to be quarded at all costs.

The next and bigger wrinkle was Steve started dating again. I had Jill every day and night. He had a lot of free time to fill. And, he confessed with disarming candor, the sexual treasure of my wife so openly shared with him had greatly expanded his libido. His two divorces had cost him dearly, and he had a sour outlook on ever marrying again. But the sweet, sweet pleasure, and the power of release he experienced in fucking Jill made him look on the potential of ultimate satisfaction in a woman all his own with a refreshed point of view.

I was very curious to see how that development would sit with Jill's curse of jealousy. She handled it with surprising aplomb. She was not stupid, to say the very least. But it wasn't easy for her. She asked many detailed questions when discussion of the women he dated came up. She often took a big sister role in offering advice, when Steve was in a muddle about a woman he was seeing. The fact of his fucking those women, or not, was carefully left out of discussion.

Once Steve came for big sister advice while I was at work. She told me about it that night. The new woman in his life, Anne, was a cut above the rest, and my wife's lover had "THAT" look on his face. They had an open talk about her. Jill eventually cuddled with him on the sofa to tie up loose ends of the new importance Anne had for him. That cuddle led to kissing. The kissing to fondling. She led him to our bed. She sucked his cock, and fucked him with a raw urgency.

"That's not a problem, is it?" She asked.

"No. No problem at all." I said. The bed was as they left it when Steve left. Cum stains were visible on the sheets. "Tell me all about this Anne."

There wasn't all that much she could tell. "My God I'm dying to meet her! I really need to take the measure of my competition."

"I bet your lover is home right now thinking of the same thing. After the fuck you gave him this afternoon. Wondering if any woman could measure up to you."




Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 09



"Oh Jack, my love, my husband. No other man could possibly be as sweet and tender as you."

*****

Jill never met her "competition." Her Shangrila was coming to an end. Anne became increasingly ensconced in Steve's life, and his gradual seperation from our triad increased. He was in a turmoil of how to explain it. He wondered if the two of us could meet on THE LADY JILL to have a private talk.

We met and talked in the galley, where we had negotiated the reason and rules of the invitation for his sharing my wife in sexual pleasures. His train of thought was a bit surprising.

"I'm in love, Jack. Head over heels in love with Anne. I'm going to marry her."

"My congratulations. I wish you all happiness."

"I want you to know how much you and Jill influence my state of mind."

That was a loaded statement, considering the cum stains he left on the sheets a few days earlier.

"The love you two share... I have never been exposed to anything like it before."

I thought of directions he might be heading, but had no real trusts in any of those thoughts. I took a plunge.

"Are you thinking... you and Anne... might consider something similar?"

"Far from it. No, I don't have that internal make up you have. I could not share Anne the way you have shared Jill with me. That is just a simple fact. What I'm trying to get at is... This is very complicated. I treasure Jill. I always have. I love her to some kind of degree. Nothing close to the love you two share. But a love and depthless respect for her none the less."

"I understand."

"And that love and respect grew from the gift of sexual pleasure you both gave to me. But there was something above and beyond the highly unconventional wife sharing. The strength of love you two had to make the sharing not only possible but a pure and joyous thing. Does this make any sense to you at all?"

"Yes, it does."

"So the love you and Jill have, separated from the sexual indulgence, is the kind of ideal I grasp and want for myself, with Anne. While I still have relative youth and time. That is what I mean by saying the influence of knowing you and Jill has a positive and guiding influence on me."

"Steve, my best chum, I want you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Meet privately with Jill, and tell her exactly what you have just told me."

*****

I didn't tell Jill about my chat with Steve on the boat. Two days later he called and asked her to visit him. She was tremendously excited, but her high intelligence and intuition kicked in gear.

"I wonder what he wants? Do you know?"

I shrugged, putting myself equally in the dark.

She made no elaborate preparations to visit her lover. When she left I said, "I don't think I will wait up tonight. Take as long as you like." I had in mind the possibility of Steve giving her a monumental, farewell fuck. "Stay all night if you want." 

She gave me a searching look, her intelligence and intuition sniffing a mystery in the air, something she couldn't quite get a handle on.

I was still up when Jill returned three hours later. I looked at her with love and tender compassion.

"You forgot to tell me about meeting him on the boat." She said.

"I wanted you to hear it from the horses' mouth." I said.

"Well, our wonderful threesome is over."

"We had almost a year of it, but nothing lasts forever. Except our love."

"Yes. The Rockies may crumble, but our love is here to stay. Steve said so. About the love you and I have, apart from any sexual adventures, being a model of what he wants to build with Anne."

Tears bubbled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She snuffled and blew her nose, and had a little deprecatory laugh. "A female thing, Jack." She said as though her gush of tears needed explanation. "What he said had a powerful emotional impact on me. Like a poetic truth. You and I discussed that very thing many times, in many ways and words, but to hear my lover - oops! Ex-lover - say the same thing in his words, well..." She blew her nose again. And looked at me like I was a newly minted, precious thing.

*****

I gave my wife time and space to adjust to the loss of her lover, the man who had contributed erotic excitement and sexual pleasures to our marriage bed that can't really be fully described. She was an extraordinary woman in so many ways, but she was still a woman, with some common female hubris. Jealousy, needless to say. I became a therapist's couch, saying little, allowing her to work it all out. "I bet Anne is beautiful. I hope she is, for Steve's sake." ..... "Anne is eight years younger than me." ..... "I can't help missing him. You can understand that, can't you?" ..... "Well, as you said, nothing lasts forever. We did have a good run though, didn't we."

*****

Steve contacted me for a pow wow before his wedding. He would be delighted for Jill and I to attend. But... We both knew exactly what the BUT meant. His putting out the feeler to me was an exquisite courtesy to Jill, and demonstrated respect of her. I talked it over with Jill, and she said no. "It's like keeping our children ignorant. His new bride gains nothing by knowing we even exist. And it wouldn't exactly be a thrill for me to see her take her place as his lover til death do us part. No. When I went to his house that last time and he told me, I kissed him good bye. I knew it then and I know it now. It was really good bye. I have let him go."

"You are a wonderful woman, Jill, my loving wife." She embraced me with love. Her lips spoke love against mine. "Our agreement is still in place. Should you want to take advantage of it again."

"So it is. Should I want to. Should you want me to. Should our mutual needs for another man to take us both to that special place ever rekindle and grow hot. Until that happens, it if ever does, I only want you. My lover, my stud, my soul mate, my best friend, my kindred spirit, the center of my life, my husband."

The End