Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 04

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The sharing contract.
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Part 4 of the 9 part series

Updated 09/26/2022
Created 02/17/2013
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diagones
diagones
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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.

diagones
diagones
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