Patience

As a masseuse's husband, I long ago got used to seeing my wife's hands pleasing other people.

Ryleigh's hands are well-trained, which is good for our business and extremely good for our private life. No shortage of male clients at Wholeweal House have surreptitiously remarked on my good fortune to have a wife with such a skilled touch. I always give them a knowing smile, like yeah buddy, don't I know it.

And it's true. I am a lucky man. Ryleigh is a total babe, with curves in places most women don't even have places. She takes astoundingly good care of me, even after an exhausting day of kneading out stress spots and recommending herbal supplements, of which I am the guru.

Still, things haven't always been rosy. When we first got married, ten years ago, I really thought I was done playing the field. I'd sampled a pretty wide variety of female pleasures, all sizes, shapes, colors, and personalities—which matter, at least to me. Ryleigh blew into my life like a storm when I was 25, putting all the competition to shame. Beautiful, smart, funny, and of course those talented hands...a guy would have to be completely insane not to snap that up. Plus, I loved her. Still do. A lot.

But people are tricky. We have chinks in our armor that we don't even know about sometimes, until something creeps past our defenses. One of the most common is the old flame. And it was this that got past my perimeter during year two of our marriage, in the form of Jennifer Mabry, blonde bombshell of my teenage dreams, who I chased in utter futility all through junior high, until she moved away.

At which point she wrote me a letter, professing her unrequited love for me, and apologizing for being tied up with other guys all the times I was free. I think my dick ached for a month after I got that missive in 9th grade, and the fantasies of what might have been kinda ruined me for a while, at least until the carnal wonders of the marching band bus became apparent.

I more or less forgot about Jennifer, until one day at Beantown, a few doors down from our shop. Who of all people do I find standing in line right next to me, ordering the same coffee?

It's hard to explain, and sounds stupid when I do. Just...all of those old neural pathways opened right up, and my body started chanting 'Jen-ni-fer,' 'Jen-ni-fer,' like it had back in the day. Worse, she had blossomed, and was even hotter than before, which was quite a feat. We talked for like an hour there before I began to pick up a frantic pinging from my upper brain, reminding me that I had a super-scrumptious wife waiting for me to get back to the shop.

Ryleigh knew something was up the moment I walked in. And because I love her, I was totally honest, explaining the old crush and everything. She got it, and I was relieved. But over a couple of weeks, I kept getting these texts from Jennifer, and my imagination would go nuts. It became a problem.

Finally, I brought it up one night, after I'd done some massage of my own, deep in Ryleigh's sweet nethers, relaxing her mood. We had talked in abstract terms many times about the open marriage thing. It made perfect sense to both of us as a concept. We're broad-minded people, very socially progressive, with friends who get into all kinds of taboo in the bedroom.

Yet since meeting a few years prior, we had remained completely monogamous. I was so smitten with her that it barely even occurred to me to covet outside flesh. Ryleigh had never said boo about other men, and I knew her well enough to know she'd never cheat. But my mind had been so hijacked by fantasies of receiving Jennifer's pent-up passion that it seemed like a good time to put our open-mindedness to the test.

"Hey, Ryles..." I introed, stroking her warm belly, feeling stupid even as I said it. "Do you ever think about...you know, opening things up?"

My wife's big, brown-eyed stare was devastating. Not angry, really. 'Shocked' is a better word. Like I'd just pulled a rug out from under her feet. It took her a moment to respond.

"I...wow, Davi..." she stuttered.

RETREAT, RETREAT!! My brain screamed, but it was too late. This discussion was happening. 'In theory,' I wanted to add, but my wife is not stupid. In fact, it only took 3.5 seconds for her to sort it out.

"Jennifer," she said, nodding her head in comprehension. "You've been talking."

I kept expecting some explosion, but Ryleigh was more taken aback than upset.

"She hasn't proposed anything," I hastened to add. "She respects my marital status."

"No, I know," Ryleigh said, studying me. "This is you."

An interminable stretch of silence passed as she composed her thoughts, the jarring transition between orgasmic afterglow and major relationship decision rattling her usual quick grasp on things. She had not pushed me away, and remained still as I continued to caress her warm skin. That had to mean something. I said nothing, lest I fuck the whole thing up. Which, miraculously, I hadn't yet. At last, shifting a little in the sheets, she spoke.

"Davi, if you think it'll make you happy..." she said, with a half-heartedness that hit me right in the stomach. "I wouldn't want to stand in your way."

It was the answer I'd been hoping for. But not the emotion I wanted to see on her beautiful face, which was heavy now with uncertainty. Was I rejecting her? Had she done something wrong? Were all men really dogs after all? These thoughts and a million more flashed across her eyes, tugging here and there at the corners of her full lips, sowing doubt and negative energy into the bonds that had held us together so strongly up till that moment.

I'd fucked it up.

"It goes both ways," I offered, desperately. "Surely there's someone you've thought about."

Watching Ryleigh search her mind for candidates was painful. Like she didn't want to. I was clearly the only one inconstant enough to daydream about outside affairs. A piece of shit, was what I was. Lying there next to my faithful, committed bride, I hurled silent insults at my wanton penis, who'd caused this trouble in the first place. Ryleigh, ever attentive to my moods, picked up on my distress.

"Look, Davi," she said, calmly. "We're different. It's okay. I'm not really in that place, you know? I'm happy to be with you."

"And I'm happy to be with you," I replied, assiduously, reassuring her. She nodded, and gave my cheek a comforting stroke.

"I know," she said, almost as if she believed it, but there was a trace of worry she couldn't quite hide from me. "It's unfinished business. I get it. I'm not going to say it doesn't freak me out a little."

"You can tell me no, Ryles..."

She shook her pretty head.

"I don't want to be your ball and chain," she said, sincerely. "That kind of wife pisses me off. I'm a big girl, I know about sexual psychology, the myths that made monogamy and all that. Sex is just sex. What we have is part sex, but part something more. You're not leaving me. I understand."

We'd said these sorts of things many times before, in reference to other people's open relationships. I knew she believed all of it intellectually. But I could tell her heart was having a rough time making the leap emotionally. Ryleigh was a romantic. She wanted her forever prince, whether it was logical or not. And dammit, gazing into her deep brown eyes, as troubled as they were loving, I wanted to be that prince.

"I'm an idiot," I said, pulling her close. She didn't resist. "I just...my hormones got carried away."

"They'll do it again," she offered, sagely. "Go take care of business. Appease the ghost. I'll still be here."

Big words. Yet in the weeks that followed, I couldn't for the life of me get up the conviction to call Jennifer. I said nothing to Ryleigh about it either, and our usual easy intimacy grew strained, her devotion locked in some kind of holding pattern until I made good on my hall pass. Jennifer texted, but I couldn't read them. I felt like a big walking schlong, so soaked in crappy teenage instincts that I'd forgotten how to be an adult.

At last, one night I tackled Ryleigh as she came back from the grocery store, and I looked hard into her eyes as I pinned her buxom frame to the couch. I was frank.

"You know what's impossible?" I asked, kissing the tip of her nose.

She looked up at me skeptically, though not immune to the passion in my body language as I held her down. Her voice was breathy as it escaped her sweet lips.

"What?" she ventured, legitimately curious.

"Not thinking of you," I replied, honestly. "Turns out you're the only woman my body wants. I love you, Ryles. You and only you."

I've never been kissed harder in my life. She'd been waiting to hear those words, and wasn't going to question them for a moment. Her voluptuous thighs wrapped around my waist, and we fucked like demons the rest of the night. I'd been foolish, and had come to my senses. Once again, I was her prince.

Years passed with no adoration lost between us, either in the bedroom or out. Ryleigh, for all her open-mindedness, was born to love only one man at a time.

Which made the events of two months ago...

'Curious' is one word. There are stronger ones, words that more accurately describe the emotions that fluttered through my head as I watched her from across the room, there at the Good Health expo downtown.

My wife always looks spectacular, but that evening she'd worn the dark green dress that showcased both her thick thighs and billowing cleavage to devastating effect on all the males—and some females—within visual range. None of this was unusual.

What was unusual was the expression on my beloved's face as she gazed in rapt fascination at the guest speaker for the day, Xan Bikel. His presentation was over, and he was expounding to a small group of attendees, including Ryleigh, near the stage. Xan was in his 40s, but was very fit, and radiated a magnetic charm that had clearly entranced my normally-unflappable wife.

I had seen that look on her before, but only directed at me, in the early days of our courtship. Her smiles were bigger, her eyes wider than normal, soaking up his every word and movement. I was trapped in an exchange with my chatty distributor, who somehow remained oblivious to my unswerving focus on my smitten bride, who was abominable at hiding her crush on this man.

Despite myself, I was jealous. It had been eight years since the aborted Jennifer experiment, and though fleeting temptations came and went, keeping my dick pledged to Ryleigh was not all that difficult, given the rewards her body and imagination bestowed upon me regularly. Yet I could see her fantasies brewing as she drank in this mesmerizing male presence. Where normally she deftly deflected such attentions aimed in her direction, this time she seemed off balance, as his charisma and confidence vaulted her defenses.

She wanted him, that was crystal clear. However, given our history, I guess I wasn't expecting the conversation we had that night as we tucked into bed. I could tell she was thinking about Xan, but as she spoke at last, I must confess that the floor fell right out of my brain.

"Davi..." she started, tentatively. "Remember that thing with Jennifer a few years ago?"

Floor: Gone.

"Yeah," I managed, my free-falling mind picking up the scent and grabbing hold. She wasn't...was she?

"I want to apologize about that," she said, sincerely. "I know you didn't go for it because I was all weirded out. It wasn't fair for me to act that way. But we'd just been married for a couple of years, and I guess I still wasn't secure...I really thought you might leave me..."

Emotion radiated from her voice as she rattled on, and though I knew exactly where she was going, it was good to hear the words.

"Anyway, I'm sorry, Davi," she said, her eyes searching mine for forgiveness. And for something else.

"It's okay," I said, honestly. Jennifer had been transferred to another mental folder long ago. It was old business. Unlike Xan.

"You want to hook up with Xan," I said, putting it out there.

Ryleigh blushed hard, staring at the ceiling.

"God, I'm such a stupid twat," she said, pre-empting the protest she expected. "That would be totally unfair of me to ask. I mean...fuck. I couldn't."

"You could," I corrected, mildly.

Her gaze shot down to meet mine, a little too quickly. She really wanted this.

"Davi, it's not fair..." she countered, half-heartedly.

"It was my choice not to hook up with Jennifer," I said, more confidently than I felt. "Your pass is still there. I want you to use it."

She swallowed, tears threatening.

"You're too sweet to me," she said, stroking my face. "You get two passes for this one," she insisted, pulling on my forearm for emphasis.

I smiled knowingly, though my heart fought to keep itself together. I was encouraging my wife to sleep with another man. At last, I knew what it had felt like when I'd asked her permission all those years ago. A little hurt, truth be told. Anxious, wondering what I wasn't giving her.

But also a little dirty. The idea of her fucking another lover carried an odd thrill of the forbidden, especially since I knew she would come back to me. That wasn't in doubt. Xan was only in town for a few days. And as much as she loved me, the one thing I couldn't be to her was new and strange. I got that. Plus, I'd just gotten two passes for the price of one. That wasn't nothing.

Nor was the insistent pressure of her hand upon my bulge, which, as it turned out, was prodigious. Sighing as Ryleigh's perfect lips kissed their way down my chest and belly, her warm mouth's destination unmistakable, I knew her gratitude would pay big dividends in the days to come.

The next night, I went out with Alonso and the boys from the Growlers, our softball team. I did not need to be sitting alone at home, thinking about Ryleigh's sweet muffin being skewered by Xan Bikel's eager rod. Still, I fretted, alcohol clouding my certainty. What if he was bigger than me? Or just better? What if fucking me would be a letdown after receiving the staff of the great guru?

To feel more virile, I challenged half the bar to a darts showdown. On fire, it was 1AM by the time Rick the dart shark showed up and shut me down. The competition kept my drunken brain distracted, but as closing time crept closer, a flood of fidgety self-doubt swept in, buoyed by the booze, and I was afraid to go home.

We hadn't actually discussed any plan. Was she spending the night with him? If not, how would we not talk about what she'd just been up to mere hours before? I wasn't ready, and asked Alonso if I could crash on his couch. Inebriated as we both were, he agreed, and after a brief cab ride, I plopped myself down unsteadily on the soft layers of bedclothes that Alonso's wife Fiona had thoughtfully laid out.

I had told no one about the great experiment, and would not. Brain wheeling in whiskey-soaked circles, I drifted towards sleep, my journey interrupted just at the precipice of unconsciousness by the text ding from my phone.

My heart froze as I fished it out. Ryleigh, of course: Three hearts.

The ice in my chest thawed a little. She was worried about me. I typed back:

Crashing at Alonso's. REALLY drunk. Love you.

I stared at the screen until it dinged again: Five hearts.

It was going to be okay.

In fact, I discovered, it was way more than okay. Popping the top on her lurking wanderlust unleashed an unprecedented torrent of friskiness in my curvy partner. I didn't ask about her experience with Xan, because I didn't have time. As soon as I walked in the next day, Ryleigh jumped me, with a frantic passion I hadn't seen in her since our bodies were new to each other. It was like she was rediscovering me, and the unspoken mystery of her dalliance added a friction to our lovemaking that spiked the needle right off the chart. I actually had to take the third day off from work, she had worn me out so well.

Caught up in the renewed vigor of her voracious sexual appetite, the thought of spending my earned passes didn't even occur to me. If I got fucked better than she was fucking me right then, I'd probably die from it.

Weeks passed, and while the frequency of her divine assaults ebbed, the intensity did not. Working in the same shop by day, we occasionally threw knowing glances at the other when customers weren't looking, especially on days when both of us were even having trouble walking after a night's ordeal. It was bad ass.

So I was unprepared when, one night after a networking dinner, Ryleigh's deep brown eyes gave me a look. We'd been together over a decade, and I have to say my catalog of Ryleigh Blum's facial expressions is pretty exhaustive. This one, however, was not in the database. All I was doing was scarfing a few kale chips as she eyed me from where she sat, fiddling with her purse strap. I stopped chewing.

"What?" I asked, through the kale. Classy.

She allowed a smile, knowing she couldn't tell me it was nothing.

"I just..." she started, a hint of embarrassment seeping through. "...I wonder sometimes if you're ever going to use those passes I gave you."

It was the first time they'd come up since the night I'd given her the go-ahead. I raised my eyebrows in astonishment.

"I've been...um, I mean, damn, Ryles, things have been...completely amazing lately. I haven't really thought about much else."

She beamed in naughty pride, then stared at the tabletop, her mind lost in some far-off fancy. I eyed her. Clearly she'd been thinking about this.

"You need a fresh pass?" I asked, curiously.

My wife flashed me a wide-eyed glance.

"Oh, no..." she replied, shaking her head. "I'm...beyond fine. Way beyond. Just...wanted to make sure you knew I wasn't full of shit. You're free to roam."

Hearing her say it made me ridiculously horny, and from the shift of her wide hips upon the barstool, I could tell it turned her on, too. I had only to step over and touch her shoulders, and she released a slinky moan as she leaned back into my chest, arching her back, offering up her heavy breasts for my greedy hands. My mouth enveloped hers, and she melted into a pile of abject submission, giving me free reign over her incomparably curvaceous landscape.

I stood her up, my hands full of her mountainous tits, thrilling at her squeals as I kneaded the pillowy mounds eagerly. She was already primed, and I couldn't wait.

Maneuvering her over to the kitchen table, I pressed her waist into its wooden scrollwork, my cock throbbing hard between her sumptuous buttocks. Ryleigh gasped, and as I worked my hands down her sides, she bent over, waggling her tail in open invitation. Tracing the generous outline of her hips, I found the edge of her skirt and pulled up, until my fingers found the top edge of her cotton panties. Kissing my way down the glorious curve of her hindquarters, I stripped her business end bare.

Those lips between her legs were plumped like a peach, and I dropped my pants upon the instant, the clink of my belt on the floor eliciting a plaintive moan from my willing victim. Stepping forward, my rigid cock filled the tight space between her luscious thighs, the tip pulsing upon her sopping entrance.

"Davi..." she panted, rapt in anticipation. "Take me, Davi..."

My name sounded so good in Ryleigh's mouth, and on its second utterance, my rod plunged into her, drawing out the last syllable into a long wail as she rode the wave of sensation filling her sweet pussy. I went right to work, pumping slowly, from balls-deep to merest tip, giving her all that she was due, my fingers digging fiercely into that yielding hindflesh as it quivered under my command.

My bride came quickly, shuddering as the wave broke over her senses. I grunted in satisfaction, keeping the pace up. I never let her get away with any fewer than three at the very least. The second hit hard, only moments after the first, and I hammered straight through it, keeping her off guard and overwhelmed, open to the animal release her body craved. Words were lost to us both, as she shuddered again, her hands clawing spastically against the smooth tabletop, finding no handhold, no refuge from the storm wracking her voluptuous frame.