He Should Have Asked Me First

“You didn’t come?” she said. Moments later adding, “Did you?”

“No,” I said.

“Because?”

“Because I was enjoying it, and when I come it tends to mean it ends,” I said.

“He’ll ask me,” Leah was still whispering from where her head was resting on my shoulder.

“Why?” I asked.

“He likes to know,” she said.

Likes to, not wants to. I was not the first. Might not be the last. This was a side to Mike I had not known. He liked his wife to fuck with other men, to have them come inside her. He encouraged it, although little encouragement seemed to be required. If that was how it was, then who was I to hold back from a generous friend, or from his wife?

“Okay,” I said.

At breakfast the next morning, Leah did the honours. Coffee, full English, with sausage, bacon, mushrooms, beans and toast, even though the sun was good and the temperature, for England, was so high. Served on the patio, by the pool, bringing back visions of Leah in that see through swimsuit, only the white hem defining its outline on her body, emphasising her next to nakedness, not detracting from it.

The wrap that Leah wore while serving us was black. More Japanese kimono than English dressing gown. Fine, glistening in the sunlight like silk, it skimmed her butt. My guess was that underneath the wrap Mike’s wife was naked. The way her breasts moved unrestrained beneath it certainly suggested that. The way her cleavage showed supported my surmise. So did the occasional sighting of an under-buttock curve, although a thong can bare a butt while covering what is yet more private. So, no firm evidence. Just my belief.

The outdoor rattan table had been set for two. Leah brought out two coffee mugs, one cafetiere, two well laden plates, one rack of toast, butter, salt and pepper, mustard, strawberry jam, the last in case we wanted this on toast when the cooked food had been consumed. Several trips. Smiling each trip. No post coital embarrassment. No coyness about my having fucked her just eight hours before. At ease with us and with herself. But not eating with us, maybe because it turned out that Mike had things to say that were easier to say without her there.

We were mid-way through, having discussed with my onward journey, no need for a taxi to the station, Leah would take me, and my plans for the remaining time I had in England. Then it all came out.

“I wanted to say, ‘Thank you’”, Mike began.

I knew it had to be about what had happened in the night, but not why he would feel the need to thank me. It seemed more appropriate the other way around. A friend lends his wife to you, and you thank him. That would be good manners, just polite. A friend lends his wife to you and thanks you afterwards. That takes some explanation.

“Why?” I asked him.

“And to apologise,” Mike continued, as if he had not heard my question.

Which seemed just as out of place as thanking me had seemed. I had fucked his wife, so if an apology was due, it was from me. He was the innocent party in what had taken place, if anything the victim of what had been an illicit affair. I had enjoyed it. No need for an apology as far as I was concerned. No harm was done to me.

“Because?” I asked.

“Because I should have asked you first,” he said.

The same reversal applied. If anything, you might say that I should have asked Mike first. Except it had not been my intention to fuck his wife, just to get to meet her, get to know her a little, but never, in planning to call in on them, had I thought that I would bed her. She had come to my room, not the other way around. Definitely not the other way around. They slept together. I do not do threesomes. So although in one sense it might have been polite to ask my friend before I slid my cock inside his wife, it had been at her asking, not mine. She had come on to me.

Also, I had never asked before. Not once, in fucking numerus wives in Thailand, had I asked the husband if I could. Fuckable wives fall into two distinct and never to be confused categories. There are those who fuck behind their husband’s back, in which case asking his permission in advance would probably result in the negative, might lead to a violent response, and would in all probability be unhelpful to their relationship. The second category of wanton wives fuck other guys with the husband’s full knowledge and approval, because it turns their husband on, or because it gives them equal licence to fuck around, in which case no need to ask. Permission is granted by default. So I have never asked the husband first. Just fuck her and enjoy.

Besides, the moment that Leah walked through my bedroom door stark naked, and after the poolside display earlier, that afternoon, I knew that Mike would know exactly where she was and why. My best friend is no walk over. No wife would leave his bedroom for another man unless he had approved it. Any unhappiness on his part, and she would surely know. End of everything. Termination of all things marital. Mike had known, approved, wanted it, and now was thanking me, not just thanking, but apologising for not checking with me first, before the bedroom door was opened by his wife.

Just the same, I had never seen my friend as a guy to share his wife. Neither a swinger nor a willing cuckold. So for the moment, I said nothing. He had something more to say. I sensed that. Instead of saying anything, I sipped my coffee, looked him in the eye, and through that look I let him know that I was listening.

“Leah wants to have a child,” he said, “really wants one.”

He paused, then said, “I can’t. After my two were born, Maria and I decided two was enough, and I had the snip to make things simple. Big mistake! I never thought that things would fall apart or that I might find someone like Leah at this stage in my life.”

He paused again. Maria was Mike’s first wife. Nice person. Quite why they grew apart I did not know, although Mike had told me about difficulties in their relationship because she no longer wanted sex as much as she had before the boys. Whether that caused the break up, I did not know, but it was not entirely unexpected.

“It’s not fair to her,” Mike continued, meaning Leah, after a moment getting on top of the emotion behind what he was telling me. “We talked it over, before we married. I agreed that, one way or another, if she really wanted children, it was fine by me.”

Things fell into place. She had stopped me coming before she had my penis safely nudging at her womb. He will want to know if I had come inside her, she had said. No protection. No pulling out. I had thought that maybe she knew her menstrual cycle well enough to know that she was safe. Catholic contraception, rhythm. No risk of pregnancy. Or not much risk. Rhythm is risky in itself. But that was the case. More likely, Leah had known that she was hitting ovulation, that healthy sperm could fertilise an egg released inside her womb, and had wanted semen flooding her where it was most needed.

I did have some sympathy for my friend. If he was firing blanks, what better way to allow his wife to have the child she wanted than to have a friend provide the necessary living, swimming, healthy sperm to kick start the whole process. Better than some agency, using sperm donated by who knows who. Some loser needing a quick buck, jerking off for cash. Better ask a friend. Except he had not asked. He should have asked me first, like he had just said.

“We’ve tried with a couple of other friends,” Mike continued, “but no joy,… then knowing you were coming back from Bangkok for a while, I thought that,…”

“And knowing that I sleep around a bit,” I added, making joke of it to smooth the awkwardness of the conversation.

“That too,” he said, managing to smile.

At first, I did not know what to say. It was already pretty big that, for reasons unknown at the time, my friend’s wife had come to my room and initiated what had been some exquisite sex. Now that Mike had explained just what was going on, that made it even bigger. A total jaw dropper. Not just sex, but impregnation. The potential outcome a child. Technically, biologically, my child. Without my knowing that that was on the cards.

I used the remnants of my breakfast to delay saying anything more to Mike, while working out just what to say, how I felt about what he had just shared with me, and whether to tell him just why he should have asked me first. I sliced a half sausage that was getting lonely on my plate. Used it to wipe up some sauce left from the beans. I chewed slowly. Is mastication similar sounding to masturbation because the slower you do each of them, the more long lasting the enjoyment?

I also thought about what had happened the night before, after Leah had told me that Mike would want to know if I had come. I had turned things round a little. What had started with Leah taking the initiative, had ended with her allowing me to take control. Instead of lying on my back while she rode my cock all the way to orgasm, I had manoeuvred my way from being underneath, to having her kneeling on the sheeted mattress, while I entered her from behind and fucked her doggy, or maybe downward doggy, since mid-way through, her arms had given way, and her head and shoulders had buried themselves in the pillows, head facing sideways, back sloping, butt still high, still fuckable.

Mike had been right. Knowing that I sleep around a bit, he had known for sure that if Leah came to my bed, then I would fuck first, ask questions later. Even when she told me that Mike would want to know that I had come inside her, I had not asked myself why. Or asked her. She was eminently fuckable, and that was all that my delinquent cock needed to know.

Having got Leah into the all fours position, I had knelt behind her, held her by her pelvis and eased my cock slowly into her delicious cunt, taking it slow, not because she was too tight, or not yet wet enough, because her cunt was slick as hell, but because I wanted to savour the moment, to draw it out and make it last, to relish the sensations in my cock head as I slid deeper and yet deeper.

Once all the way inside her, I had held it there, sensing her body trembling, her vaginal muscles twitching, playing around my shaft, my cock head just that bit further inside her, pressing gently at her womb. Then I had begun to fuck.

Easing just as slowly out of her, until just my cock head was inside her, I held her steady for a moment then pushed back inside, fast, her entire body rocking forwards with the force of my torso hitting against her butt. Maybe it was the suddenness, or the intensity, but she gasped audibly at that first, exacting thrust. Easing out again, I thrust back inside her hard again. She gave a grunt this time. I eased out, thrust back, she gave a little cry. I set up a steady rhythm, established a pattern to my fucking, slow easing out of her slick cunt, flange of my cock head visible, wait a moment, hold her by her pelvis, thrust.

Each time, that first inch or so of pushing back inside her, the sensations in my cock head were deliciously magnified. It was not just sliding through a wet and ready vaginal tunnel, but for that initial re-entry, my cock was stretching her entrance wide enough again to accommodate the shaft, and that extra pressure on the nerve-packed head was beautifully exquisite. Ease out, hold, thrust. Out, hold, thrust. Again. And again. And again. And each and every time I slid my cock full depth inside her glorious cunt, she gave out a uncontrolled, involuntary grunt, a moan, a cry, a groan, a gasp.

Fucking her doggy, I was tempted by her perfect butt, twin globes of what would have been pure, white flesh were it not that in the dim moonlight there was that hint of blue. Tempted, not to fuck her other hole, because I am a cunt man, through and through, but tempted to use my palm, the flat of my hand, to punish those perfect buttocks, for making me want to fuck her cunt so much, for allowing it, for this wilful breach of wedding vows, with or without her husband’s knowledge, for playing the cock-loving whore to my cunt-loving darker side.

Except using my palm would have reddened her flesh. It would have meant sending her back to my long time friend, with clear evidence of punishment, of her submission, her acquiescence. She was not mine to forgive or to condemn, to praise or punish. That was for him. So I caressed her butt instead. Then I used my hand to trace her spine, from her lower back all the way to her slender neck, then further, where neck became skull, where it was shaved, where it was fetish smooth as if she did not just shave daily, but had used a razor just before she came to have me fuck her.

Then I reached beneath her, finding her swaying breasts, feeling the stiffness of thick nipple stubs against my palm, cupping them, then taking those stubs between finger and thumb, both stubs, both hands, my fucking of her cunt now momentarily slowed, and instead I punished her with just those two thimbles of vulnerable flesh, squeezing, twisting, and rolling them, both simultaneously, making her gasp and groan in the kind of pain that has no boundaries with pleasure, so that those nipple stubs would be reddened, evidence of the torture she had endured, and that was when her arms gave out, and she collapsed, still moaning, her entire body shuddering.

Her breasts now hard to reach, I held her hips instead and began to thrust again. Not now as hard, but neither were these thrusts slow. I deployed some strong, steady, carefully controlled fucking of her cunt, changing angles, screwing her, using my cock to probe and dip and delve into that cunt, withdrawing right to the last half inch of head before I thrust again, using the tightness of her entrance to stimulate the mushroom flange and frenum, no longer holding back, but bringing myself ever closer to that point of no return.

My flight from Bangkok had been overnight. My last fuck there had been two nights before. In total it had been more than three days since my last ejaculation. Fuck regularly, and the testes assume the you will need yet more semen straight away, in preparation for the next ejaculation. All they know is that they have to provide the life force that will provide for reproduction. They work overtime. Even if, because of long haul travel, fucking again might be delayed. Mine had been working overtime. Three days of sperm production, a full repository of hot, creamy semen awaiting discharge. I sank my cock deep one last time into that exquisite cunt, head deep inside her womb, and released a veritable flood. Given what he had just told me, Mike would have been delighted.

Except he should have asked me first. He should have told me that he wanted Leah inseminated, wanted her to have the child he craved, and was willing to have it fathered by another man. By me. Now that I knew, now that he had told me, I felt only sadness and regret.

“I think that I should take that as a compliment,” I said at last. “I mean, that you would want me,… would let me,… that I might be the father,… it feels like an honour.”

All of which was true, yet false. Falsehood does not always lie in what is said. As frequently it lies in what is left unsaid. I had decided not to tell him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. There was no need for truth. Time would reveal the truth to him. Time would let him down more gradually than I could do. I would say nothing more.

Later, Leah drove me to the station. Sitting beside her in her car, my cock reacted to the memory of her in her non-existent swimsuit, tempting me with her wide areoles and protruding labia, and the memory of the night before, her sliding naked onto my bed, her mouthing my cock, deep throating it, squatting on it, my fucking her from behind, my cock spewing semen into her. While my cock reacted, as of course it would, my head reflected on her desire to have a child that was so strong that she had come to me, a stranger, at least to her if not to Mike, and played the whore. You can pay a whore in cash. Her price had been my semen. More valuable than pound sterling. Not bankable, but more productive, in her mind. You could forgive a woman who desired a child so much that she would do even that.

But I did not tell her either. Sometime in the next few days or weeks, she would menstruate again, and she would know that she would need to try again. With someone else. Not me. Instead I thanked her, for driving me, for her hospitality, for everything, and we exchanged pure, wholesome kisses, on one another’s cheeks.

The fact is that I had had my own marriage, and from that marriage I already had a child. My train would take me further west, to where my now adult daughter and her husband would be meeting me. I would enjoy my last two weeks of leave with them before I returned to glorious, colourful Thailand, to bang more cunt as Her Majesty’s minor representative in beautiful Bangkok.

My wife had slept around. That hurt, and it ended things between us. Then, once our divorce was finalised, I started to make up for time lost while I had been naively faithful. A long and active sex life was my new life’s mission. With no commitment. With especially no risk of impregnating any woman that I slept with. The chance of inadvertent paternity did not excite me. Before my posting to Bangkok, I had visited a specialist in Harley Street and had had the snip.

So while it was good to have spent time catching up with Mike, and good to have met his wife, and an exquisite pleasure fucking her, and while it had been humbling to learn that Mike and she had felt me to be a fit and proper father, biologically, for their child, I was left saddened, that they would be disappointed. It would not happen. Mike should have asked me first.

*

Note: The author has published more than 30 stories here, all of 'loving' wives, although just what they love varies from story to story, and not everything is as it seems. You may wish to explore some of the others by clicking on his name. Enjoy, if it is your thing.