Loving Husband/loving Wife

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.