First Wife Swap Ch 0

First Wife Sharing

(MM/F)

Prologue (No sex)

About us. I'm forty, and an attorney at a well–regarded mid–town Manhattan firm. Just shy of six feet tall, hard–earned swimmer's build, with neatly–trimmed salt and pepper hair, pale blue eyes that typically look out through a pair of horn–rimmed spectacles, and have been described as handsome on more than one occasion. My wife certainly thinks so.

Janice is four years my junior, an architect at an Upper East start–up that's begun to turn the corner, showing signs of real growth on the horizon. I mention this to illustrate that we are a successful, outwardly respectable couple, still young, childless, and to all appearances fairly conservative.

Back to my wife, then. A natural blonde with high cheekbones and wide–set grey eyes, which I consider to be her best feature. Tall, at five–foot nine, she's just shy of what could be called slender, but in all the right ways. Fit thanks to a mixed regimen of gym and yoga, she carries her C cup breasts and curvy backside with grace and confidence. She favours feminine business wear, the sort that draw subtle attention to her charms without being in any way inappropriate.

We've been married for just over five years now, happy in almost every respect, though we have our disagreements, of course. The sex is, to be blunt, satisfying and frequent enough, though we're not newlyweds any more, having calmed down some as our careers began to take their toll, however mild, on our private time.

Recently, we've been making efforts to re–ignite the spark between us, in fact. From typical solutions like date nights, to more adventurous ventures into porn, or going separately to singles' bars and watching the other drawing attention. All fairly tame, but for a time it seemed to be working, our sex life was better than it had been for far too long. Little did I suspect that a third party had taken an interest in us, nor what my wife's reaction would be.

Thom is, to cut to the chase, my boss, a senior partner at the firm and, as far as I'd known him, a conservative widower with a keen legal mind and a talent for cutting to the heart of even the most complicated business matters. He'd taken me under his wing when I began my career, and his advice had never led me astray. It would be fair to say that I regarded him as something of a mentor.

As it will soon become relevant, he is in his early–mid fifties, in excellent shape for his age with a full head of prematurely grey hair that lends him a certain gravitas, accentuated by his impeccable taste.

He and Janice had met on numerous occasions. Company functions, of course, but also more casually, as we were occasional dining companions. Thom especially enjoyed introducing us to the city's newest fine dining sensations, while we in return would invite him to our brownstone for a home–cooked meal.

How she became the subject of a number of discussions between us eludes me, but eventually I found myself confiding all kinds of personal details with him, while he often provided keen insight into just what it was I was doing wrong. That was always the tone of our conversations, him correcting me on some moment of thoughtlessness or act of stubbornness.

It was during one of our evenings at home with Thom that things took an unexpected, and to me unnerving turn. It was getting late, wine had been drunk by the bottle, and somehow Janice asking him whether he had any prospects on the horizon ended up in a discussion about our sex life. Thom was quite circumspect about it, and I kept my mouth shut, but before long Janice was telling my charming mentor about some of the ways we'd been going about spicing things up. By her flush, which was only partly attributable to the wine, it seemed to me she was even enjoying these revelations.

Worse than that, she was actually flirting with him, however subtly. It shocked me when I picked up on it, all the more when I realized Thom was playing along! Unsure how to put a stop to this, I joined in the conversation as best I could without crossing that line, and before long things seemed quite warm in our living room.

The evening ended without incident, and despite some nagging misgivings as to my wife's behaviour, I was happy to let things go, and blame the wine.

As it happened, Janice and I were drinking a little heavier than usual one night some few weeks later, and it was then that I unwisely brought the subject up. Janice, rather than being defensive, freely admitted she'd been having 'a little fun' and saw nothing wrong with what she termed harmless flirting. My next mistake was to heatedly reply that it hadn't seemed all that harmless to me!

"Oh, Mark, don't be so jealous!" My wife snapped at me, her ire raised by my tone, or my questioning her, or both. "You're my husband, and I love you, but I'm not dead, and Thom is a very attractive man."

Of course I've done my share of looking, being a healthy male. I'd even assumed Janice did the same, likely more subtly than I. But this was the first evidence of it I'd had rubbed in my face, made all the worse for the subject of her appreciation being my boss and mentor.

Well, this didn't go over well with me, and we ended up in a serious row, one of the worst of our marriage. I slept on the couch, and when I awoke she'd already left for the day. Telling myself it would blow over, after all it had been over nothing, or so I presumed.

As chance would have it, Thom invited me to lunch that day and, ensconced in the overstuffed leather and polished hardwood of his private club, asked me pointedly if there was anything wrong between my wife and I. This had me off–guard, in uncomfortable territory, as it brought back memories of the night that caused the whole row, and I had yet to find a way to bring my own unhappiness with his flirting with my wife up.

Over my third martini, at his discerning probing, I finally blurted it out, expecting him to either apologize, or deny it... Anything but what he did say, which was "Mark, your wife is a beautiful, sensual young woman looking for options. Of course I'd enjoy sleeping with her."

Options? Looking? My wife? It was so absurd that I couldn't find a reply, but my expression must have betrayed me because Thom leaned forward, resting his hand on mine, as he spoke in a quiet, measured tone.

"Mark, I naturally wouldn't have initiated anything with Janice, out of respect for you, and our friendship. But take my word for this, if not me, then there will be somebody. All the signs are there, you're just blind to them."

Needless to say, I was more than a little preoccupied, to say nothing of alarmed by this news, and what's worse, attempts at denial left a bitter taste in my mouth. The husband is always the last to know, I suppose. If Janice noticed my engrossment, however, she was content to continue the cold shoulder and left me to stew.

Finally, it became such a distraction that I noticed it interfering with my work, and determined to confront her over the issue. Which I did, that very night, when I noticed she'd finished a bottle by herself and might therefore be open to talking.

I approached the matter delicately, trying to be sure not to sound accusing, or judgmental, and really just hoping she'd blow it off or tell me I was being ridiculous.

Instead, she looked me in the eyes, mid–conversation, and said. "Yes, Marc, I'm attracted to Thom, and would sleep with him if it wouldn't ruin our marriage." The last said with what I thought was a bit too much bite!

Stunned, I made my excuses and withdrew. Unprepared to handle the rest of that particular topic, and hoping my wife hadn't noticed the tent I'd pitched as her words sunk in. Unprepared to handle what that might mean as well.

Needless to say, the whole matter occupied the majority of my attention during the following days. Coming to grips with my wife's desire to stray was arduous enough, but struggling with my reaction to the scenario left me seriously questioning myself. Further, that first, unexpected erection had evolved into a frequent state of mental arousal, coupled with a cuckold's feeling of betrayal.

Eventually, however, I had to come to grips with the uncomfortable reality that I was aroused by the thought of Thom fucking my wife, and a voyeuristic urge to be present for the act.

(End of Prologue.)