Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 08

Part 8 A perfect triangle

Jill made the date for seven days later. That mystical number, seven. A week to build anticipation. She spoke to Steve on the phone every day. Most conversations I heard, in the evening. They varied. Sometimes they would simply shoot the breeze. Sometimes she was a woman talking to her lover, which, in point of fact, was the case. His fucking her at the hotel and at his house had established that. The faulty recording had established that. That was clearly established at our inaugural dinner. When Steve joined us again, and we all were stripped bare, he would be her lover taking her. That was what banished any pretense from our threesomes. She would give her all to him in limited time for my unspeakable thrill, and she would be totally free to enjoy her own unspeakable thrills with another man. Her lover.

The date was set at eight o'clock. "Casual dress," Jill instructed. She made no special preparations. Marsha and her crew had done comprehensive house cleaning. Jill picked up a party tray of dip and assorted dainties at the grocery. I gave her pubic hair a neat trim. As a team we put clean starched sheets on the king size bed. That was all the preparation required.

I answered the door chime. "Hi Jack." "Great to see you, Steve." Masculine hand shake.

Jill appeared in the same kimono she wore when we listened to the secret recording of Steve having her. She was obviously naked under the silk. She walked to Steve and kissed him, her lover for the night. "You are here," she said, which said it all. "I forgot to ask, you do swim, don't you?"

"I do."

"Good. We are going skinny dipping."

And once again she put her arms around her lovers and led us to the bed room. She maneuvered Steve to sit on the edge of the mattress. She knelt to remove his sandals and socks and place them neatly aside. She playfully slapped his hands working his belt. "Let me do that." She opened the zipper and pulled his Bermuda shorts off and put them with the socks and sandals. He stood and removed his polo shirt while Jill pulled his navy blue jockey shorts down and off his feet. His cock sprang up to a thirty degree stance.

It was just as she said, a beautiful, perfectly proportioned cock. I could form such thought with no niggling question of a buried queer capacity struggling to come out. I had twenty three years to come to terms with that, and so much more, of who and what I was. Watching five other men fuck my wife, a couple on repeated occasions, offered many flashes of detached views and evaluations, conclusions that the male body was just as attractive, even beautiful, as a female body. When it was, needless to say.

Steve was medium hairy. His body was a projection of male strength and power - thick muscled torso and sloping shoulders, sturdy legs, a belly shaped like a thin vertical slice of a barrel, ass cheeks round and solid with muscle, and a beautiful cock quivering with desire at thirty degrees. A very handsome hunk of man, a splendid gift to Jill. Still on her knees, she took his cock in her fingers and pressed the side of her face to the length, inhaling the aroma of masculinity wafting from his groin. She didn't take it in her mouth. She was saying hello to her lover, in an intimate and precious way. She untied her kimono and draped it over a chair.

We walked naked to the pool. Steve gave me the glance over, and did a slight double take. I wasn't hard, but there was no mistaking what was there. He cupped Jill's ass cheek with his hand, reasserting his place, his privilege. He surveyed the surroundings.

"Privacy assured," I said. A seven foot high stuccoed block wall enclosed my back lawn. Strategic stretches of towering bamboo hid the wall.

He looked up. "There's always Google up there, giving any browser a bird's eye view. Pictures so clear you make out numbers on car tags."

"Oooooh," Jill said. "If any one is browsing now, let's give them a hell of a show." And she jumped into the water with a shriek and an exuberant, comical splash.

Steve and I followed her. Skinny dipping. Jill and I did that often, but this was the first time for a man to be with us. I was glad she thought of the idea. Skinny dipping. The cleansing wash away of inhibition. Naughty nudity frolicking in buoyant water, which brought to mind "I might not be perfect but I am me. I am free." And further still, "I am perfect! To hell with what anyone else might think."

Steve and Jill played as carefree as children. Pretending to be predatory monsters stalking, parrying, positioning to capture. Shouts of shivering fright, bursts of laughter, submerging and surfacing in a tangle of sexual desire that grew ever stronger and more binding. I more or less treaded water, near by.

Jill broke away and swam to me. She reached for my cock to hold it, and it grew to mythological proportions. "Don't think I've forgotten you," she whispered."

"Oh you have, and you will, and that's fine." I whispered back.

She returned to her lover, with aggressive purpose. She pushed and propelled him to the shallow end. She patted the ledge. "Up here," she said. He did an athletic hoist and spin and settled his ass on the ledge. Water streamed down, leaving little channels in his body hair. Jill had well judged the water depth, and her lean over was comfortable when she lowered her mouth to his steel hard cock. Steve stared down on her, transfixed.

I moved in close. I stared down on her, transfixed. Nine years since I had watched her suck another man's cock. She truly loved doing it. She learned that early. Until her mother agreed to her going on the pill, that was her form of birth control in high school. Her introduction to real sex. To maleness. To raging hormones in teen-age boys and cocks perpetually hard and begging for relief. She sucked them off. And she learned to love it. The smell and taste and texture. The defined insistence filling her mouth. The boys shattering from the pleasures her mouth gave them. Her self-awareness of genuine reward in cum suddenly spurting into her mouth, and her need to swallow it. She was a skilled and dedicated cock sucker before her fifteenth birthday. Not all females can honestly say that.

I watched my wife suck Steve Larsen, and felt honest pride in her and happiness for her. She sucks me with love and devotion and a measure of worship. But my size compromises the mechanics of her fully letting go experience. Her lips sliding all the way down, taking me in her throat. Steve was the ideal size. That was already tested and proven. She had told me so. I stared down on her, her wet hair plastered to her skull, in complete experience of sucking a perfectly fitting cock, sucking off her lover.

I crouched to put my hand between her legs from behind and clutch her pussy. Her lubrication was sopping and thick, almost viscous. I inserted two fingers in to stroke her spot tucked behind the bony ridge, my thumb massaged her clit. She breathed sounds out her nose, deep and boundless sounds from the depths of womanhood. My head was down to a level of optimal vision. I saw more that I fully see when she sucks my cock. The way her cushiony lips fold under sliding down the cylinder of man flesh, fluff back full on retreat. Her nostrils dilating in timed breathing to expand her reception of the head inching deeper. The sudden, determined plunge down to the root, her nose in his pubic hair. Her chest heaving with gag reflex, a brief annoyance, and the slow traverse back up and off, a gasp for air, loving adoration of her tongue on the crowning glory, the cock head, and back in her mouth again. She was in her groove.

I look at Steve who looked back at me with dazed glassy eyes.

"She's good, isn't she?"

"Oh God yes!" Was his strangled reply.

"Suck his cock Jill, suck all the cum out of his balls."

Jill needed no encouragement. She was in her groove. She was in that state of greedy need to drink the cum due her. Steve came apart, hissing and gurgling. Her clasped her head in his hands and made short rapid hunches and his orgasm emptied into her mouth. She swallowed it all, in triumph and fulfillment. She straightened to gaze at the cock she held, panting. Last cum oozed out the slit and she bent her opened mouth down to suck it up. Steve jerked, highly sensitized. He lay back on the concrete, his feet in the water, and panted.

Jill looked at me, expecting and getting my look of approval. Approval of her direct initiative, her masterful performance. "You are fantastic." I said, and took her in my arms.

"I know how to take care of my lovers," she said. "How shall I take care of you?"

"We have all night."

"We do. My jaw is a bit tired right now."

We walked up the steps and out of the pool, arm in arm. Steve roused himself, sat up, then stood. He said, "Thank you Jilly. You are the very best. The best ever."

"My pleasure," she said sincerely, beaming at him.

Jill had stashed towels on a chair that afternoon. They were full of solar heat. We dried ourselves, Jill briskly rubbing her hair. Night had softly fallen. Accent lights in the garden had turned on. Wrapped in towels, wrapped in arms, Jill conducted the three of us in marching order back to the house and the master bedroom, where the lighting was gentle and subdued, but illuminating of all to happen. We had no shame to cloak in darkness.

"I need some water, Jack. Please."

I went to the kitchen and returned with a full six pack of chilled bottled water. Jill and Steve were naked on the bed. She was lying half on top of him, kissing his lips, taking care of her lover. She turned her head and smiled at me, a smile of glowing beauty, open and innocent of any doubt, any guile or manipulation. She took big swigs of water, washing away any lingering mineral aftertastes of Steve's cum, and returned the bottle to me. She rolled onto her back, flung her arms back, her breasts settling in outer gravity, her leg lengths relaxed and slightly parted, and gazed at the ceiling and sighed that deep sigh of a very happy woman.

I got on the bed next to her, on her right side. Steve was close on her left. She kissed me. She turned her head and kissed Steve. Then she kissed me again. It was like she had invented a game, kissing us alternately, a game continued from her carefree play in the pool. But it was game that grew rich and ripe with sexual merging. Our mouths demanding. Our spit mingling.

Steve and I were simultaneous in moving our hands to our allotted breast, fondling and teasing. Jill moaned, and writhed. She put her hands to our heads and urged us down. We each took a nipple in our mouths and made love to my wife, our heads close together. She tenderly embraced that luxurious duality to her breasts, and sank into her warm sea of currents of sweetest pleasures curling, surging, rippling across her chest and through out her body. She arched for firmer pressure, she moaned and sighed and purred, singing her body electric and the meaning of being a woman.

"Yes, yes yes yes. So sweet. Do this to me all night."

We made love to her, Steve and I, serving our Venus, our Aphrodite, our shared Jill. We loved the womanly magic of her breasts given to our mouths and lips and tongues. We served her. The sounds of suck and wetness and breathing only inches apart. Our knuckles sometimes bumping as our hands held our gifts.

It was certainly, positively, not planned. We raised our heads at the same time and Steve made a sudden dart and kissed my lips. There was no shock. It was so spontaneous it outraced shock. And it was only a peck. Steve burst out laughing, and I did too. Jill looked on in wide eyed wonder, and laughed with us. His sudden kiss was like a boyish prank, a residual of the frolicking fun begun back in the pool. An impulse shaped by Jill sucking his cock, and his sucking her breast inches from my sucking mouth. It might have been an impulsive crazy way of saying thank you to me. His eyes sparkled with merriment and freedom, and nothing more. He gave Jill a real kiss, hot and sexual and demanding.

I moved down to position between her legs, to feast on the engorged lips of her pussy cradled in the sweeping curve of her inner thighs. To communicate with the eternal mystery of womanhood. She was dripping wet. She was hot. She was wanton. I served her and I loved her, my wife, my darling. Her orgasm came quickly. A force that entered and swelled bigger and bigger, higher and higher, exploding her. I moved back up on my knees, my face smeared with her juices.

"Are you ready for him to take you?"

"Oh God yes. I want Steve to fuck me."

I took a condom from the bed table and ripped the foil.

"Let me," Jill said.

She rolled the condom down his beautiful hard cock, as fussy as a mother bundling a child to go out in the rain. She lay back and put her hands behind her knees and created for me the most searing and exciting of all the visuals of sharing her. She pulled her knees back and spread them wide. Her body in a bow. Her buttocks curled in cushions of support. Her anus winking. Her labia lips gaped open. Her mouth quivering in anticipation. Her eyes staring between her spread legs to watch another man's cock approach to enter her and state the meaning of her being a woman. That enlarged and encompassing perspective, off to one side, is what I don't have when I fuck her.

I was seized by an impulse as sudden and wild as Steve's spontaneous kiss.

"Allow me," I said.

I took his throbbing cock in my fingers and led it to Jill. He went with the lead. Jill's eyes were wide with wonder. I moved the head up and down her pussy lips, then let it go. He sank all he had into her. Her moan was deep and rumbling, from her belly, up her chest, out her parted lips. Steve's cock filled her. She felt rapture. Every component of her body said so. Her lover was in her.

I sat back on my heels to the side, and for the sixth planned event watched another man fuck my wife. It had been so long it was almost like watching for the first time. Old familiarity took on fresh realizations. Steve was different from all the others. Or, Jill and I were different from the blasting excitement of threesomes in our younger days. She had never called the other men her "lovers." Or if she did it was only in passing, a little indulgent joke. But after turning fifty two, fucking Steve in private, and securing him in our triad, the "my lover" tag took on meaningful importance to her.

I watched her lover fuck her. That was why Steve was different. They were oblivious of my presence. They were joined, coupled, united in sexual release and the race to completion. A mature man fucking a mature woman. And they were beautiful together. He was male strength and power and thrusting sexual imperative as old as time. She was female reception and sexual capacity as old as time. His ass rose and dipped, spread and clinched as he pounded her. She hooked her heels to him to pull him tighter. His moving cock made squish sounds. They got noisy. Snorting breaths. High pitched barks from Jill as the grip of her building orgasm squeezed harder. And the mighty tide of orgasm lifted them both and flung them into the chasm of bliss.

The sounds, the visuals, the revelation of Jill as universals woman, her separate entity. That was why I needed and loved to watch. The truth. I loved Jill with all my heart and soul.

They rested. They breathed. In gentle sweaty aftermath. Steve was done in. Jill's hands made sliding caresses on his slick back, a depthless satisfaction murmuring from her nose and lips. "My lover," she hummed. "My wonderful lover."

They were beautiful, my wife and her lover, resting after the exertions of fucking, basking in the equally shared pleasure of coming together at almost the same time. I knew her inner pussy was squeezing his spent cock repeatedly, saying thank you, please don't go just yet, just as she always did with me. She looked into my eyes with a message that had no simile or metaphor. Utter serenity. Utter peace. Utter love for me.

Steve raised himself from her, with little pops of sweat separation. With a little suck sound of his cock head exiting her last grip. The nipple sack at the end of the condom dangled full.

"There's a waste can in the bathroom," I said.

"Thanks," he said, and walked to the bathroom on wobbly legs.

"Now you," Jill said. "Come to me. Come in me."

She pulled her knees back again and opened wide, for me, and I entered her. She was hot inside. She was hot outside, and sticky with mixed sweat, painted with odors of sex with Steve. And she was open and eager, wanting more.

"My husband," she breathed. "My love, my life."

That said everything. I kissed my wife. I fucked her. I loved her. I possessed her. Her husband, her love, her life. That was our everything. Steve had primed her, fully and gloriously. I took her higher. I made no effort to hold back. Nor did she want me to. I possessed her with unleashed power and she screamed out my name. "Jaaaaaaaaack! Oh Jaaaaack!"

"Jillllllllll!"

My wife caressed my sweaty back as I lay heavily on her, breathing hard. Her pussy squeezed my still hard cock, praising it, wanting it to stay. I had no idea when Steve returned to the bed. He was leaning on a stiff arm and a cocked leg on the edge of mattress, a foot on the floor, when I pulled out of Jill. He stared at the girth and length of my cock shinning with cum. His stare didn't reveal what he thought.

Jill lay in a puddle of relaxation and deepest contentment, an open book of a fully ripe middle-age woman who had been marvelously fucked by her two lovers. She reached out her hand to Steve, and their fingers interlocked. Her smile for him glowed with confirmation. He had joined us, and he was better than good. Much, much better. Her lover.

I went to the bathroom to clean, and shortly Jill joined me. She sat on the commode to pee. Then she sat on the bidet, one of the very few bathrooms in our city to have one, I suspect. She cleaned her pussy. She called out: "Steve, come shower with us."

Our shower was king size too, and three was not a crowd. We soaped and cleaned our bodies to refresh. We didn't talk. Steve and Jill tended to each other. With soap and wash cloth. With an intimacy as functional as physical. He washed her neck and breasts and belly and pussy. He crouched to scrub her legs. She turned and he washed her back and ass, over and under. With compelled respect and adoration of our Venus. She washed his chest and stomach and cock and balls, reverently, attending to her lover. Our new threesome partner had joined us, and he was better than good, much much better.

We dried off. Jill vigorously toweled her hair to dampness. We walked to the kitchen, naked to the house lights, naked to each other in our enclosed world. I uncorked a bottle of celebratory Champaign. We nibbled from the party tray. Our conversation was light and hyperbolic, skipping about hither and yon. I could see that Steve wanted to talk about what had taken place the past two hours, but didn't quite know how to open up. I sensed his watching me fuck my wife had a powerful impact. An erotic impact, and also a defining one. He was Jill's chosen lover, but she belonged to me.

It is notable how orgasms can have a reciprocal effect. They can cleanse, drain and exhaust, but they can also invigorate. We nibbled from the tray, we chatted about nothing, we sipped sparkling wine, and erotic energy returned, carried on memories from recent time, and reborn only hours ago. Their time in the Botanical Gardens, in the hotel, his house, together on our bed with me two feet away. I recalled the recording. Watching him fuck her in real time. Him watching me fuck her. The erotic energy returned to three naked lovers standing in the kitchen light.

Steve communicated what he didn't know how to say with liberated liberties unsullied by entitlements. Our guest and Jill's lover. He put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her close. She melded against him. He kissed her cheek, more than once, on impulse, somewhat chaste, appreciative, somewhat possessive. "Jill, you are the most ravishingly beautiful and exciting woman I have ever known."