Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 07

"While you watch."

"Yes. And have her too in my turn."

"I must say up front I have no gay inclinations. Just in case."

"Nor do I. She will be the center of our circle, the object of our desires. But you should consider that very close proximity will surround us. Jill loves having me and the other man sucking both her breasts at the same time. Our heads will be close together. I will be naked with a raging erection. You will have to adjust to that, if such a thing makes you feel squeamish."

"I dare say I can manage that. I've already fucked your wife, Jack. Twice. She is a fabulous treasure. When I fuck her again I will lose all awareness you are even there."

"That is what Jill and I both want you to do. Nature following its course. Jill will be so caught up in the pleasure you give her she will forget I'm there too. For moments, times that none of us can predict. But never completely. And that brings up another ground rule. If you join with us, Jill will be your very willing sex partner for the hours you are with us. She will concentrate on you more than on me, since she has me every night anyway. As guest of honor you will go first, and have her again as much as you want, and she wants, of course. But for all that you gain no entitlements outside our play time. I am still her husband and she is my wife. You will not supplant me in any way. Jill will always love me, honor and revere me more than any other man. That is a concrete certainty. You should clearly understand that."

"I do. I think. I'm still grasping at the concept of you sharing Jill with me. The three of us naked on the same bed. Remembering how fantastically good she was when I had her all alone. But I believe I do understand my place in... what we are discussing. That too looks right and perfectly natural."

"And that brings up another ground rule. Discretion. Absolute secrecy. No one but the men involved has any inkling of our very private fun. We expect you to do the same. We have children to protect, as do you. Friends, collegues, they cannot know. Even this discussion we are having must never leave this boat, if you chose to not join us."

"You have my promise on that," Steve said. "And, well, I choose to join you and Jill. I have no idea exactly how it will pan out, but the idea has a red hot excitement of a type I've never experienced before."

"Welcome aboard LADY JILL," I said. We shook hands to seal the deal. "I propose you come to our house for dinner. No sex. Just a perfectly normal social occasion. Hosted by a perfectly normal couple. The opening up of normal friendship. Because that will be the parameters of any sexual intimacy that follows. Mutual trust must be established. That is the only way I can give my darling wife to you in that ultra special event."

*****

Jill spent a week preparing for Steve to join us in that first dinner party to inaugurate our chosen adventure with him. She was the one who called him to set the date. She could play slutty games with refined artistry. She could also oversee arrangements to bring another man to our bed with exquisite artistry. I listened to her speak to Steve on the phone and was amazed at her consumate skill in maintaining proper social ediquete while at the same time flitting about like a butterfly over unspoken reference to his having fucked her twice, and our negotiations on the boat. By voice tone and inflection, carefully chosen words as perfectly fitting as lines in a poem, the ever present bubble of delight pulsating and rupturing into laughter, she was a seductress without parallel, while inviting an acquaintence to dinner. Only a woman can do that.

She changed her mind a dozen times before settling on a menu of filet mignon. She went to her hair dresser for a trim and shape. She spent an entire day at the boutiques to select the perfect dress. It was a light, diaphanous silk, a tangerine color to set off her Italian-Latina skin tone. The skirt was simple and knee length, a caressing flow over her thighs and ass. The top was a sleeveless criss cross that behaved in sync with her movements, sometimes bending out to expose expansive views of her unsupported breasts, the cinnamon sheen of skin, the liquidity of line and curve ever shifting in fresh allure to a man's entranced gaze. The evening of the dinner she opened her jewelery boxes, five of them, and spent almost an hour evaluating combinations. A woman thing. A woman with eyes fixed on a new lover man, on all the promise he held for her, on my love for her that made it all possible.

The door chime chimed. I followed Jill several paces behind. She opened the door to Steve, took his hand to lead him in, closed the door, and wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. It was a body kiss and a lip kiss. An open sexual declaration. She broke the kiss with perfect timing, and said, "Welcome Steve. We welcome you."

He was overwhelmed, and had no immediate Mr. Smoothie reply to offer. I closed in and shook his hand, two gents greeting. We all were a bit starry eyed and grinning like idiots. He finally said, "It is an honor and a privilege to be here."

We moved into the living room and Steve looked about. "This house is very impressive from the outside," he said. "Inside even more so."

"Would you like a tour?" Jill said.

"I would," Steve said.

For much of the tour, Jill, where space allowed, put her arms loosely around mine and Steve's waists. The conductor. Mistress of the manor. Resplendant with female pride and possession, a house faced with fieldstone and ivy, five bed rooms, three baths, and two sexy men embraced by each of her arms. Often she held only Steve's waist, after her hand had touched various parts of his body to maintain tour directions. Touch. Light and casual, but vibrant with resonance of the connection they had previously made. I said little. It was her tour, her domain, her welcome of Steve Larsen into our very private lives of enjoying the extravagance of a man making love to her with me on the same bed.

We came to the master bed room. "And here is where Jack and I put the old four poster to rocking," Jill said.

"And no doubt the old four poster served its purpose very well," Steve said.

"It has sturdy construction," I said.

"Jack is a man of sturdy construction," Jill said.

"And my wife gives her all and has energy to spare," I said.

"And our guest of honor is a man of splendid energy too," Jill said. "I know this."

She kissed Steve again. Longer than the first greeting kiss. One of her hands squeezing the muscles on his back, the other in his hair at the back of his head. His hands held her tight, then roamed up and down her body, and found the globes of her ass and caressed and kneaded them and pulled them and her groin hard against his suddenly rigid cock.

Again, Jill broke the kiss, and stepped back. She panted for breath, the lids of her closed eyes fluttered, in that weightless, helpless state, like sitting in the front seat of roller coaster car and plunging down the almost verticle slope and her insides sucked out by the dip and instant hurtle back up again. Steve stared straight into my eyes. Last questions asked, and answered, by my genuine smile of accord. He knew the liberties I gave him, and he was liberated. From that point on, his share of my wife for sexual pleasures would be governed by his sense of style. The license was granted. He had kissed my wife's lips, gripped her magnificent ass, revealed a cock in his pants hard with desire for her, and had my blessings.

Steve did have personal style. He was an evolved and sophisticated man. When we returned to the living room he praised the tasteful beauty of our living space, and said, "And you, lady Jill, are a glowing, ravishing beauty of singular perfection. I love that dress."

Jill blushed and flushed with glowing, ravishing beauty. "Thank you my sweet lover," she said.

And there it was, the gift unwrapped, spread out upon the table for all to see. A man, his wife, and another man threesome. The other man, her "sweet lover," having already fucked the wife twice in private. All cards on the table. That was how it worked. But no getting naked and in bed that night. It was all a process of Steve acclimating, growing more and more comfortable with his role, my fixed presence and inclusion, and complete acceptence of him as a lover for Jill, the extraordinary novelty of the idea easing into a flow of reality.

The dinner proceeded with seamless ease. I was in charge of the steaks, char broiled to medium rare in a restaurant broiler modified to home scale, with the gas flames at the top of a fire brick lined box, with a cast iron grill that went as near the flames as I wanted on a lever controlled spring. Steve had never seen such a thing and was greatly impressed. Jill wore an apron and saw to the salad, asparagus al dente, and crusty bread in the oven. Steve just hung out with us, so at ease he could have been a friend of years standing. Admirable style. Jill occasionally lurched into him in the confines, her breast pressing his arm, his hand giving her lingering touches to ease out of way. Pardon me smiles exchanged. Sexual electricity crackling with almost the sound of steak juice making noises under the gas jets.

Red wine. Red meat. Asparagus half crisp half soft. French bread lubricated with garlic butter. We ate. We talked. We laughed. We drank. Conversation flowed like a released stream of water feeling its way on open ground. He had fucked Jill twice already. He had kissed her twice with me standing near. But I was still the open ground to him, on which the flow of sexual release must make a course. The husband of the woman he now desired with intense ardor, how would the release and free flow define him, shape him, expose weakness and resistance? I knew exactly what was going on in his head. I purposely remained a cipher, something he would have to solve on his own as we chatted lightly about any trending events of the times that crossed our minds. I was giving him my wife for his pleasure, but I was still very much my own man, a strong, supremely confident man. He would have to resolve that in his mind. How such a thing could really be. And gradually he began to. Relaxing more and more. Grateful for the invitation, and finding his place in our triad a comfortable and exhilarating fit. He conveyed this with style and wit I genuinely admired, without resorting to any sexual reference or innuendo at all.

After dinner drinks. Steve and I settled on each end of the sofa. Jill served him a glass of Drambuie, leaning in lower than necessary, the tangerine criss-cross opening to reveal all but the nipples of her breasts. She served me, giving me the same view, plus an impish smile, then sat in the space between us to sip from her tiny glass of Drambuie.

Our inconsequential conversation continued. Steve, with polished subtlety, made me, the host the husband, the focus of attention. He solicited my views on politics, sports, fads and fashions and listened with rapt attention. He offered his opinions. And that serendipity of social intercourse arrived. Three people finding themselves on the same page, sharing many likes and dislikes, mind sets, views, in the slosh of cultural aftifice dumped on all of us every day. Jill interjected comments, frequently placing her hand on Steve's leg, gently tightening her fingers, a sly punctuation. But mostly she listened to Steve and I talk. Smiling. Absorbing the double dose of masculinity radiating to her from both sides. Two men all for her. Beautiful, energetic, virile men. Her two lovers.

Steve slapped his belly and complimented Jill again on the fine dinner. He noted I was in great shape, for all the years of fine feeding my beautiful wife provided. Jill assured him he had a body that most men would envy, and certainly all women would greatly admire. "Women, alas," she said, "can't keep up. We have to accept our middle-age matron fate."

I took her in my arms and kissed her. "You are our Venus, our Aphrodite, we will adore your beauty and serve your female splendor. That is your matronly fate."

"Our," "We." Steve heard the words and understood. There were no more questions. I was no longer a cipher. Nor was he. Nor was Jill.

"If only there were words to say how much I love you," Jill said. She kissed me with that love that has no words. Steve looked on us. His eyes filled with understanding, with awe of the Venus in the flesh and tangerine dress kissing her husband with pure love.

"Still," Jill said, "a middle-age Aphodite needs a bit of pampering. I could use foot massage now, if you will be so kind."

She twisted to lie on her back and placed her feet in my lap, her head in Steve's lap. The hem of her skirt above her knees. I lifted her left foot and made love to it with my hands. With strokes and thumb pressures. Senseous fondling and massage. Jill closed her eyes and made her purring sounds, her body settling on the sofa, and the male crotches, in a melting process. Steve traced a line that barely touched her brow, her cheek, with his finger tip. His fingers caressed her hair line. She opened her eyes and they smiled at each other, exchanging private messages for me to see. Steve then resumed his conversation with me.

What either of us said didn't really matter to anything. It was social formality. It was also a form of male bonding at the foot and head of an erotically lush, beautiful, woman. A bonding of mutual purpose, of united desires, of non-competitive styles. And all for Jill.

I massaged her right foot. When I lifted it, Jill's thighs made a little kiss of parting. I gazed at her legs, the slight cinnamon skin tone glimmering in the table lamp light, contrasting with the tangerine silk. The stunning beauty of her legs. The beauty I had known for twenty three years, that never diminished. My beautiful wife. Fifty two years old, and there was only a mere suggestion of cellulite on her inner thighs. And that was an adornment, like lace on sexy panties. I was suddenly clutched by immense pride in the genetic fortune of her preservation, the pure female erotic sculpture of the still firm curve that swept down and under her thighs, the silk smooth softness waiting there, and I wanted Steve to see and admire. I slid my hands up her right calf, above her knee, and the dress hem moved up to expose her silk bound pussy bulge to me, but not to Steve.

He watched my hands slide back down to her foot to massage and fondle it. He looked down on Jill lying exposed, the beauty of her thighs, the beauty of her, in wonton gratification of having two men make love to her. He put his hands on her breasts and gently hefted and caressed them. It was a tender gesture. In part, an automatic response, like caressing a family pet that jumps on the seat and nestles in for affection. But that part quickly became a sexual act under his command. Her breasts escaped the criss-cross of silk. His fingers explored, in circles, in light fluttery stimulations, with timely pinch and pull on her nipples. With her eyes closed she lifted her hands to hover over his, barely touching his, giving an exquisite signal of acquiescence to his touch, the sensations and pleasure she felt.

Steve looked at me and saw my pleasure in Jill feeling pleasure from his controlling hands. We smiled together in complete understanding.

"So lovely," Jill said, her eyes closed, "so very sweet and lovely."

She began to squirm and twist and undalate. And sigh and moan, quietly. Receiving and responding. Sexual release working its magic in her. She suddenly siezed Steve's hands under her's and pressed them hard to her breasts. She opened her eyes and stared into his. Her expression a mix of emotions. Delight, desire, connection, rightness, and a touch of pleading. She raised up and put her feet on the floor and stood.

"Sorry guys, but I must make a pit stop."

We watched her walk off, barefoot, with one stumble that made her giggle.

"You are the luckiest man on earth, Jack." Steve said. "Jill is an absolute treasure."

"I am. She is. And now happy fortune smiles on you. You apparently take my presense in stride. You have shown a sensibility and controlled style that makes you ideal in joining with me to give Jill her luxury. And she is the center, the focus. We will serve her. Our Venus. The next time you join us, the sharing of Jill will reach completeness and conclusion."

"Next time," he said wistfully. "I'm not sure I can bear the waiting." He shifted to relieve pressure, and looked down at his pants tented by his rigid cock.

"Wow," I murmured politely. "Now I see why Jill sings your praises, boasts of your performance at the hotel."

He flushed with the flattery. He could not help himself. Remembering his performance, no doubt, and also, I suspected, feeling a swell of confidence that his naked exhibition to Jill and I, next time, would solicit more boasts and songs of praise. Jill returned. Steve and I stood, well mannered gentlemen.

"Jilly," Steve said, "thank you for the delicious dinner..." He paused. "And the most exciting couple friendship I have ever experienced. May it continue and grow."

"Oh it will, it will." She made a skip and hugged him tightly, pressing her crotch to his still tented trousers. She didn't kiss him. She circled her arm around his waist and walked him to the front door. There she said, "You ready to join with us?"

"Yes, I am, I will, gladly."

He held her face in his hands and kissed her, tenderly, but with his full share of possession of her. I thought Jill might faint. He shook my hand, in a firm clasp of masculine solidarity. He walked to his car and waved good night, with a happy smile on his face.

Jill hugged me with a fervor and exploding excitement that seemed to exceed any past occurance of erotic potential. She did a little foot stomping dance. She shouted, "Oh yes!" She hopped and skipped and clapped her hands.

"Jack, Jack, Jack! Steve is going to be a perfect threesome man!"

"I think he will be, too. He seems to fully understand what it's all about."

"Do you think, maybe, we went a bit far? Like teasing him?"

"I don't think so. He left a very happy man. I told him no sex tonight. Meaning no fucking. It was good for him to know I always mean exactly what I say."

"What's that expression on your face? You are thinking something."

"I was thinking it has been nine years since I saw another man's fingers play with your nipples."

She reached down to feel my cock, which became instantly hard as I spoke.

"And still the same effect, after nine years," she said.

"Now. Not as I watched. Then, I was caught up in the return of the visual reality, another man's fingers exciting your nipples, you receiving the pleasure, loving it. A long time since I have seen it all."

"Not any more. You will see it all again. All the visuals up close and personal. How soon should I make the date?"

"I leave that entirely up to you. Our Venus. Our Aphrodite."