For Mutual Benefit

Bernice Giraud was a devious and scheming woman. She would not have been the successful businesswoman that she was if she had not been so. However, what she was planning for today had nothing to do with business, this was far more important than mere commerce.

They had been married for thirty years, and had been lovers for several years before that. Bernice felt that the love that she shared with her husband Yves was still as strong as when they had exchanged their vows all those years ago. But two children, her illness, the hysterectomy and the early onset of the menopause had taken their toll on the physical expression of the love she felt for her husband. She still enjoyed the kissing and the cuddling, even the way he would creep up behind her and fondle her breasts as she stood at the kitchen sink or was engaged in some other household chore. It pleased her greatly that Yves so obviously still found her attractive. This however was counterbalanced by the sadness that she felt that she could no longer open her body to him as freely as she had done when they were both younger.

At the height of her illness sex was uncomfortable, even painful to the point that she would reject even his most innocent expressions of physical affection, fearing that any advance was just another prelude to sex and the pain that that would cause her. That time was now in the past, two operations had robbed her not only of her uterus, but her ovaries as well, such was the severity of her condition. This had left Bernice felling empty, unattractive, no longer the woman that she had once been. The infection that had been eating away at the insides had been conquered, but recovery was long and slow. It had taken years before she could happily welcome her husband again between her thighs.

At the time when his wife needed his love and understanding the most was also the time of Yves greatest sexual frustration. He had slipped from the straight and narrow, and sought to ease his frustrations between the legs of younger, willing, more enthusiastic women. Mostly he had to pay for the services of these young women. In a way the fact that this sex was a commercial transaction helped to ease the guilt that he felt. He still loved his wife very much, he was not seeking the love of another woman but the demands of his libido were hard to ignore and masturbation alone was not enough.

Bernice knew that her husband had strayed, a wife always knows. No word of his transgressions had reached her from friends or gossiping neighbours who loved nothing as much as finding out some juicy bit of scandal about someone that they knew. At least one point in Yves favour was that he was being discrete and not bringing the shame of scandal on his wife. But the nagging doubts about her husband's fidelity persisted; sooner or later she would have to confront him.

It was the little things that gave him away, the smug secret smile that he tried to hide when he came home from one of his secret liaisons, the slight swagger in his step. The most obvious sign was that Yves became more attentive, more obviously concerned with his wife's well-being, less demanding that she should do her wifely duty to satisfy his lust. These were exactly the signs of a guilty husband that Bernice's mother had described to her years ago when her father had played away.

At first she was angry and repulsed by her husband's infidelities then she tried to see his point of view. He was obviously frustrated, often he would press his powerful erection against her back during the night or in the mornings and reach round to fondle her breast, only for her to push him away. The extra time he spent in the shower whilst he masturbated. Oh yes she could clearly hear the familiar sounds he made as he orgasmed, through the thin wall that separated their bedroom from the bathroom. These were almost exactly the same sounds as she had heard her sons making in the bathroom from almost immediately the moment that they had reached puberty. The memory made Bernice smile, how the sounds of her sons' bathroom masturbations had so soon be replaced by their girlfriends delighted squeals and cries frequently emanating from the boy's bedrooms as they enjoyed the pleasures of making vigorous youthful love.

Sex had never been a taboo subject in the Giraud household, in fact both Bernice and Yves had insisted that if Hugo and Serge wanted to have sex with their girlfriends they should bring them home and do so in the comfort of their own beds rather than some other less desirable, sordid place. Bernice had even added condoms to her weekly shopping list and made sure that her boys' bedside draws always contained a good supply. Like father like sons she thought to herself, Yves' libido was just as strong now as it was all those years ago when she had first dragged him to her bed and he had ploughed her youthful furrow. She had loved the length and girth of his penis then, the way it filled her up and made her feel so complete. That same beautiful penis had lost nothing with age but now it brought only pain not pleasure. Their home was often filled with the sounds of their sons' joyous sex but Yves only had his own hands to satisfy his lustful desires. Of course he was frustrated, it was only natural that he would seek satisfaction elsewhere if his own wife could not provide it. Silently Bernice forgave her husband and vowed to become more available to him.

Another night, and again Yves urgent erection pressed against Bernice's bottom, but this time instead of moving away she pushed back against his turgid flesh, allowing her mind to fill with memories of happier times and how, perhaps, they might be regained. Encouraged by his wife's reaction Yves reached round and fondled her breast. He felt her nipple hardening through the fabric of her nightdress as she made a soft moan of pleasure. A sound he had not heard from his wife for far too long. Further emboldened he reached down to lift her hem, but was frustrated when her hand clamped around his wrist to stop him.

"Wait," She said in a quiet almost tearful voice, "before we go on I need to ask you something."

Yves replied with a grunt not certain what was coming next, but fearful of what it might be.

"Tell me that you love me Yves! Tell me that you were only

fucking

other women because I would not let you

fuck

me."

Yves was shocked, he thought he had been so careful for so long but his guilt had now to be confronted.

"I do love you so much my darling" he croaked, tears now welling in his eyes, "I am so sorry that I have hurt you. I..."

"Shush," she cut him off feeling his contrition. "I am sorry too my love, I should never have pushed you away. Just be patient my darling, I want to feel you inside me again but I am still afraid that that will only hurt me again. But I think I know a different way that we can make love if you will let me try?"

Without waiting for a reply Bernice slipped out of bed and divested herself of the long shapeless nightdress that she was wearing. It was a long time since she had been naked with her husband. They used to sleep naked together all the time. They both loved the freedom of nudity even favouring naturist resorts as the locations for their summer holidays. However this had changed when Bernice had became ill, then she had taken to wearing 'passion killer' nightdresses as armour to fend off her husband's unwelcome advances. Her muscles had healed well since the last operation but she still had an ugly red scar just above her pubic mound. She was afraid that Yves would find that disfigurement repulsive and had avoided being naked in his sight for several months. Now she had to be strong and put her fears aside to demonstrate to her husband that she was still his and he hers. From her dressing table she collected a small bottle that she had bought that morning then she returned to the marital bed.

In the few moments that had passed Yves' erection had deflated but this didn't deter Bernice from her mission. She squirted a generous amount of liquid from that bottle on to her hand and began to caress her husband's penis. The liquid was a lubricant, the warming kind, the Sales Assistant in the sex shop had assured Bernice that both she and her husband would find it most beneficial in their sexual play. Indeed Yves' penis quickly grew back to the size and hardness that they had both enjoyed so much in years past. He reached out to return her caress.

"No!" She commanded, redirecting his hand to her chest. "Please don't touch my pussy. Play with my boobs, tease my nipples, you know how much I enjoy that. But tonight is about your pleasure not mine. Let me do this my way."

So the wife took charge once more of servicing her husband's pleasure.

Once she was satisfied with the state of his erection she directed that she wanted them to spoon. His hands must remain on her breasts, or at least above the waist, she would look after what happened below.

They lay nestled together, his slippery penis pressing against the cleft of his wife's naked bottom. He caressed her full breasts and large hard nipples eliciting moans of pleasure from her that were like music to his ears. She pushed back against him, her bottom squirming against his proud member, the warming gel with which she had so liberally coated him amplifying the pleasure sensations radiating from the root of his sex.

After a few minutes Bernice rearranged the way that they lay together. Still spooning but now Yves' penis was between her thighs. Not entering her, but laying along the length of her labia. Her thighs tightly squeezed together holding him in place. With some further adjustment and the aid of one hand his penis stroked against the exposed and swelling tip of her clitoris as they moved.

Taking his cue Yves began to thrust between his wife's legs. The feelings he was receiving were almost, but not quite like fucking. The sensations were familiar, but just slightly different, but no less pleasurable for the difference.

Here again she had made careful preparation for her husband's pleasure. Her pubic hair, which had grown unkempt during the time of her abstinence, she had trimmed back to a neat patch on her pubic mound, the way she had kept in her youth. Also she had shaved smooth the coarse hairs that had grown so readily at the junction of her legs. She wanted her husband to feel only soft flesh against his, that way, she hoped, the enclosure of her thighs would make an acceptable substitute for the passage of her vagina.

The purely carnal pleasures that Yves was enjoying could not quiet mask the true deep joy of love that now filled his heart. Oh yes, he had been with some whores, some so jaded that they merely lay below him making false moans of simulated pleasure while he spent his lust. Others, younger, more enthusiastic in their fucking, barely older than his own sons' girlfriends for whom he had secretly lusted and fantasised about while he masturbated. Still these girls youthful enthusiasm, their noisy orgasms, faked or real, only gave their affection to him by the hour and in exchange for a hundred Euros or so. No money, no fuck. Certainly no love involved in those transactions.

This however transcended all those sordid encounters, what he was experiencing now was possibly the best fuck of his life. Not just for any of the reasons that men usually used to measure the quality of a fuck, although the sensations that he was feeling promised an orgasm that would be measurable on the Richter Scale. No more than that, much more. The woman sacrificing herself on the alter of his lust was his own dear wife. The woman whose love he had betrayed. A less compassionate woman would have ranted and raved and threatened divorce. No, Bernice had offered contrition for her neglect of his needs and given herself for his pleasure. This wasn't anything as crude as fucking this was lovemaking of the highest order.

What she had planned as a purely selfless act Bernice now discovered was transforming into something else. Her memory was so clouded by the pain that the last attempts lovemaking had brought she had almost forgotten how it felt to be sexually aroused. The warming gel with which she had so generously coated her husband's penis had transferred to her crotch. Its lubricating properties mixed with her own, surprisingly copious, secretions were making this the wettest coupling she could remember.

The warmth was working other magic on her body as well. Her body was reacting at a most primitive level as hormones overrode conscious thought. Her clitoris had swollen up to its greatest extent and was fully unsheathed. Her outer and inner labia were engorged, open, ready to accept her man's invading rod. It would be so easy now to let him slip inside, she thought. Let him fill her up with his beautiful cock and pump her full of his hot spunk as he had done so often in the past. Only her fear of pain held her back and judging from the noises he was making, that her man was only seconds away from orgasm.

Her own orgasm came almost as a surprise. So bent she was on giving Yves pleasure the increasing shocks of pleasure that she was receiving from her clitoris had all but been ignored. Then the great wave of ecstasy hit her causing her body to convulse, she cried out, the wail of the she-wolf impaled. Rarely had she been so loud in orgasm, but this one had been a long time waiting. Moments later Yves emitted a bear like roar and shot his hot seed into the hand Bernice had cupped at her crotch. Still they kept at their simulated fucking as if possessed by demons, beyond the extent of Yves pleasure and into the zone of hyper-sensitivity and pain. Violently he pulled away form his wife and curled into the foetal position, cupping his deflating genitals in is hands, he lay there shaking and sobbing.

Bernice felt guilt at causing her husband pain, yet, the guilt was tempered by the sweetness of a small revenge for the pain he had caused in her.

The moment passed, she comforted her husband, and very soon they fell asleep naked in each others arms, something else that they had not done for far too long.

*****

So began the recovery if Yves and Bernice's sex life. The frequency of their lovemaking waxed almost to the to the level it had been before her illness. Eventually Bernice allowed Yves again to fully enter her body. He was as ever an attentive and thoughtful lover seeking to give his wife pleasure before taking his own but to Bernice his penetrations never again brought the joy they once did. So strong was the memory of pain that had been imprinted she could never fully, joyfully open herself for him as she once had. Her orgasms were mere fleeting moments of pleasure not the deep seated lasting ecstasy that she had once enjoyed.

Not so long after their renewed lovemaking had reached its zenith, again it began to wane. Bernice knew that Yves' libido had not diminished, although his body was less able to perform as frequently as his still youthful ego seemed to demand. Where as her desire for sex seemed to diminish by the day. She became the dutiful wife submitting to her husband's lust as infrequently as she felt she could get away with. On the surface he seemed to understand her reduced desire, but his eyes and his actions constantly gave the signal that he wanted more than she was willing to give.

This new challenge had to be met the choppy waters of a new phase of their marriage had to be safely navigated. Their now infrequent lovemaking did still hold some pleasures for the wife but not nearly enough to satisfy the lust of the husband, that much was obvious. The situation had to be managed, Bernice was a manager, a very good manager, she had to apply her business skills to her marriage to ensure a satisfactory solution. Her husband had strayed before she did not want him to stray again. He was her rock, her soul-mate, she loved him too much to let him go without a fight. She had to find a way to satisfy his lust while keeping him by her side.

A plan began to form, possibly a dangerous plan, definitely not the most original plan, yet one not without historical precedent. She would manage, quietly and discreetly, she would manage to the very best of her abilities.

Two thoughts collided:

If you wanted to show someone how much you loved them, you had to be prepared to let them go.

At the heart of good management was delegation, if you can't do something yourself you should find the best person to do it for you.

*****

Today was Yves fiftieth birthday, a landmark day by anyone's reckoning. Over breakfast of fresh coffee and pastries, for which Bernice had especially risen early and gone out to buy from a nearby patisserie, plans were laid out for the day. Well at least some plans, by no means all. First it was birthday cards. For several days Bernice had been checking the post and squirreling away any envelopes or packages that might be in any way related to the forthcoming celebration so that they could be presented with a flourish on the day itself. This particular ritual had become something of a family tradition so Yves left the checking of the post box to his wife in the days preceding his birthday so he would not spoil her joy of her special little ritual.

"Be at my office at a quarter to twelve, I am taking you to lunch today. We shall go to the Chartier, what do you think?" Bernice demanded of her husband as he drained the last of his breakfast coffee.

"Yes, I'd love to, but," he started to reply.

"Oh I think you'll find that your diary is quite empty today. I won't be able to give you your present if you don't show up. You don't want to deny your loving wife her little pleasures do you?"

Yves was intrigued, dark hints had been dropped regarding a special birthday present but nothing that gave the slightest hint of its nature. Everything had been arranged it seemed, even clearing his diary for the day. Breakfast concluded, husband and wife kissed their farewells and departed to their separate places of work.

Although both Yves and Bernice worked for the same business communications company they worked for different departments and in different locations, his role, head of the technical department and hers in the more creative arm of the company. Bernice frequently telephoned or e-mailed Yves' PA to arrange client meetings or check his availability for some social event that she was planning, so no problem then for her to arrange that his schedule be cleared for the day.

I am the victim of a conspiracy of women!

Yves complained to himself as he casually strolled towards the Metro station that morning, little knowing the true nature of the conspiracy of which his wife was the key player. Yves arrived on time at his wife's office but of course there was the inevitable delay while she dealt with a client then got herself ready to leave. Meanwhile he was eager to get to his lunch and find out more about this mysterious present but had to kick his heels in the foyer as she had unusually and specifically requested. Normally he would be buzzed through and allowed to go to her office, but for some reason not today, something to do with my birthday perhaps? He idly speculated to himself. When Bernice did eventually appear he did his best not to display impatience, he knew this would only slow things down further. She could be so frustratingly and perversely stubborn at times.

A short stroll along the Boulevard Montmartre brought them to the restaurant. They were still in good time, lunch service had only just started, the restaurant was filling up fast but the usual queue in the entrance courtyard had not yet formed. They were conducted in by the Maitre d'hôtel and seated at an empty table in what, to Yves, seemed like record time.