He Longed to Share His Wife Ch. 01

This story features a man who longed to watch another man fuck his wife. This is a desire I have never really understood, let alone had any wish to put into practice. Nor, as far as I am aware, have any of my longer-term partners had any wish to be 'shared' in this way, not in real life anyway. I can just about understand 'partner swapping' but not what is widely referred to as 'wife sharing', though I would have no objection, in principle, to helping a couple who wanted to explore such an idea. Such willingness forms the basis of my tale.

This story is not intended to be a deep psychological study into the whys and wherefores of partner 'sharing'; the whole situation is far too diverse and complex for that. But it does, I hope, reflect on some of the thoughts and questions involved and the dilemmas they might face. If issues like these fill you with moral disgust, then the easy answer is to stop reading now and look elsewhere for entertainment that is more to your taste.

This is an imaginary situation. If you do feel the need to discuss the pros and cons of sharing, better to do it on the Lit Forums than by commenting on this story. I would also ask you to base your votes on the quality of the story, not on your thoughts about the characters' behaviour. Then we can all have fun.

Finally, a special thank you to Linda whose delights unwittingly inspired this story.

It turned out to be a holiday like none I could have imagined but that wasn't how it started out. But, even if I'd known what it held in store, I wouldn't have changed a moment of it.

The year had reached the cusp between late summer and early autumn, the time when children are back at school, dog-walkers have returned to seaside beaches, and trees have begun to take on a tinge of golden yellow. As it happened, the weather was still beautifully warm -- in fact it was better than we'd had during much of the so-called English summer -- so I'd decided to head off for a week's break. I'd packed a bag or two and set off in the car for a part of the country I scarcely knew.

I'm Mike, by the way. Twice-divorced and happy to remain that way -- conventional relationships don't seem to work for me but I do enjoy intelligent, inspiring female company. I've never regarded myself as good-looking, let alone handsome, but enough women seem to see something in me and I certainly don't complain about that. I like to think they find me interesting.

My idea was to find a small bed and breakfast establishment or guest house -- and use it as a base to explore. I was looking forward to a bit of walking, some sightseeing, a day or two relaxing on the beach, and swimming in a sea that was only now reaching its highest temperature.

I'd driven a couple of hundred miles or more before I began my search for somewhere to stay. At that time of year I expected no difficulty in finding accommodation, so I could afford to be choosy, and I'd started out early enough in the day to give myself time to hunt around. I wanted somewhere that was rural but within strolling distance of a village, so that I could enjoy a pub meal and a pint or two without the fear of being stopped for drink-driving.

I abandoned the main roads and sought out the narrow, sunken country lanes that characterise that part of the country -- rural England at its best. After covering a good few miles I came across one village with a pub -- the Plough -- that looked well worth a second glance. Breakfast was a distant memory so I stopped and went inside for a lunchtime sandwich and a coffee. It was the idyllic country pub -- low ceilinged, blackened oak beams, stone-flagged floors, and aged wooden tables and settles; homely, with a warm atmosphere. The presence of a several locals was a good recommendation and a glance at the menu showed that it offered a reasonable selection of evening meals too.

All I needed was somewhere to stay. The pub didn't offer accommodation itself but I asked the landlord if he knew of anywhere locally where I might get a room.

'The Wilsons do B&B during the summer', he told me, 'but they usually only take pre-bookings and they don't have a sign up outside the house. Worth a try though.'

He gave me directions -- out of the village and the first turning on the right; it was about a quarter of a mile down the hill, just before the bridge.

I had no problems finding the house. It was set back from the road, with a sweeping drive leading up to it. I knocked on the door.

An attractive, woman answered my knock. I suppose she must have been around 50, though it was hard to be sure. Her most striking features -- short fair hair lightened with some silver streaks -- though the roots hinted at a darker natural colour, penetrating brown eyes, high cheekbones, a few freckles beneath her eyes, and a lovely smile, combined to make a most appealing face. There was a touch of maturity in her figure -- she was nicely rounded but firm, neither overweight nor skinny. In all, she gave signs of taking care of herself without being obsessive over it. Her breasts, from what I could see beneath her t-shirt -- and I had to try not to stare at them -- were on the small side and there was no sign of a bra. Her t-shirt also revealed that the freckles continued on her upper chest and arms.

I explained my presence.

'You're lucky', she said. 'We normally stop taking guests by this time of the season and go away for a holiday ourselves but we're a week late this year. There are no other guests at the moment so, if you're happy to fit in around us a bit, you're more than welcome.'

She ushered me in and explained the terms, which seemed very reasonable, and then introduced herself.

'I'm Linda', she said, 'and my husband's Alan. He's out in the garden somewhere.'

'I'm Mike', I responded.

She headed towards the stairs, pointing out the door to the dining room as we passed. 'We normally serve breakfast in there but, as you're on your own, would you mind having it in the kitchen? It's just down there.' She indicated a passage running off from the hall.

We climbed the stairs and turned to the right at the top. She opened the second door along the passage and stepped back to allow me to enter first. It was a spacious, cheerful room, tastefully furnished without any of the over-the-top chintzy decoration that so many guest houses seem to feel is necessary. Apart from the double bed and a fitted wardrobe, the furniture included a couch, a writing table, and a wall-mounted TV. In the corner was a door to a small en-suite bathroom, with shower and toilet. The window looked out over delightful gardens that seemed to go on for quite a distance.

'Keys for the room and the front door are in the lock. You're very welcome to eat with us in the evening, if you wanted', she added, 'but we'll be a bit hit and miss this week -- there's a lot to do before we go away. You may find it handier to eat at the pub so that you're not tied down. Other than that, if you're happy with everything, I'll leave you be.'

She gave me another of her lovely smiles and stepped back out of the room, closing the door behind her. I waited for a few moments, taking the opportunity to bounce on the bed -- it was very comfy -- and then I went back down the stairs to collect my luggage from the car.

Back in the room, I unpacked some of my stuff, slipped on my swimming costume under my trousers, grabbed a towel and headed for the beach, three or four miles away. I spent a wonderful afternoon swimming in an unusually calm sea and came back afterwards thoroughly relaxed. After a shower, I set off on foot up the hill into the village for a drink and meal at the Plough. The beer was tasty, the food tasty and more than adequate, and the walk back in the final rays of the evening sun made a perfect end to the day.

It let myself in through the front door and was about to make my way up the stairs to my room when the lounge door opened and a man stepped out into the hall. He greeted me.

'Mike, I take it, I'm Alan. Sorry I was tied up earlier -- trying to get the garden in shape before we go away next week. Perhaps you'd like to join us for a drink?'

I thanked him and followed him into the lounge. Linda was sitting on the sofa. She'd changed from her daytime t-shirt and jeans into a cool-looking blouse and skirt. Alan had clearly been sitting in one of the armchairs so I took the other. I watched Alan as he poured me a beer. He was slim, tall and had a good head of salt and pepper hair but otherwise I thought him not particularly memorable.

They asked about my holiday and my plans. I, in my turn, asked them how they came to be living in that part of the country -- they obviously weren't locals.

Alan, it transpired, had been one of two partners in a business. The other partner was the inventor and entrepreneur who made the business fly; Alan looked after the finance -- he was an accountant, which didn't surprise me -- and ran the administration. Two years earlier the partner had decided he wanted to end their association. Fortunately the business was thriving and there was competition to buy it when they put it up for sale. Alan's share of the proceeds, together with the profit on selling their London house, had been a tidy enough sum to fund their future so they'd decided to move to the country. It also enabled Alan to indulge his passion for sailing by paying for a yacht, which they moored on a nearby estuary.

We talked well on into the evening. I can't say that I was greatly taken by Alan but Linda was another matter. Bubbly, bright, lively: pick any of them and they described her perfectly. It was hardly love at first sight but there was a spark there, and I sensed that we both felt it.

She seemed perfectly relaxed and curled her legs beneath her on the sofa. Whether it was intentional or not, her pose revealed an expanse of unclad thigh to me. Then, when she bent towards me, a short while later, her blouse fell forwards, revealing her small breasts, still unencumbered by bra. They were tipped by two plump mid-brown nipples, surrounded by tiny areola. I found it hard not to stare but I didn't want to draw Alan's attention to the fact that I'd just been given a full view of his wife's breasts.

Linda bounced up and went across to the stereo system.

'What sort of music do you like, Mike? Come and pick something.'

I crossed the room to join her. There were several racks of CDs and I cast my eyes down their titles. I could feel her hips and side pressing against me and then I felt one of her breasts against my back. A shiver ran down my spine. Fortunately we were behind Alan's chair, so he couldn't see what was going on. She put her arm round my back and rested her hand on my hip. I was already reaching for a CD -- The Traveling Wilburys -- to pass to her, so she had to remove her hand to put it in the player. If it hadn't been for that, I'm not sure how much further she'd have continued. It would have been interesting to find out.

For the want of knowing what else to do, I looked straight into her eyes and smiled at her. She smiled at me and, with a furtive look at Alan, planted a sudden peck on my cheek, before turning back to the stereo.

The music played and we continued talking about all manner of subjects. I couldn't help noticing that Linda's eyes were on me for much of the time and it would have been easy to concentrate the conversation on her but I did my best to involve Alan, though it wasn't easy.

Eventually the CD came to an end, our glasses were empty, and I suddenly began to feel quite weary.

'If you'll excuse me, it's been a long day. I think I should be heading for bed.'

'No need to apologise', said Alan, though I wasn't aware that I had. 'I hope you have a good night's sleep.'

He stayed in his chair but Linda jumped up. 'Have you got everything you need?'

'I think so, although I could do with a couple of extra pots of milk for my wake-up coffee', I added quickly.

'I'll get you some.'

She followed me out of the lounge and headed for the kitchen, returning with the pots clutched in her hand. She stretched forward to pass them to me, then moved closer to me, very close. I felt her breasts against my chest, her hard nipples pressing into me through her blouse. She lifted her face towards me and kissed me lightly on the lips. I reciprocated.

'Sleep well, Mike, sweet dreams', she whispered, as we moved apart. I had a pretty good idea of what was likely to feature in my dreams that night.

'You too, goodnight.'

*****

The next morning Linda cooked the breakfast and Alan served, so there was scarce opportunity for flirting between us but I was able to cast surreptitious glances in her direction as she worked at the stove. She really did have a fantastic figure: a tidy behind, nice hips, and a neat waist. She turned towards me at one point and caught me admiring her. She smiled sweetly, though there seemed to be a faint look of anxiety on her face.

*****

I arrived back early that afternoon; I'd been driven off the beach by a sharp rain shower and by then it was too late to go sightseeing. When I got back Linda invited me into the kitchen for a cup of tea and a chat. I took her up on her offer and sat down at the kitchen table while she prepared a pot of tea and set out a selection of homemade cakes. There was no sign of Alan.

We talked about this and that for a while, and then she paused briefly.

'Can I ask you something? Something personal?'

She looked down, as if to hide the slight blush on her face.

'By all means', I replied, without any certainty that I could or would want to answer.

'For a long time, Alan has wanted to watch me sleep with another man -- well, sleep isn't quite how he puts it. I've never understood why he wants to do that and he doesn't seem able to explain it. He just feels it's something he needs. Our sex life has fallen away at bit and maybe he's afraid I might start looking elsewhere -- perhaps he thinks that this way will give him some control over it. He does tend to lack confidence -- he was always number two in the business and he was shaken by its break-up -- and I think that spills over into our marriage. It's very complicated.'

She paused, as if waiting to see whether I could add any further explanation.

'There could be lots of reasons but which is the real one? Only he can say and he may not know himself. Some long-hidden desire, perhaps: a voyeuristic thing or even a bit of a masochistic streak? Or he might be hoping it'll boost his confidence by seeing other men attracted to you -- as long as you go back to him afterwards.'

I told her that I'd heard of a few cases where husbands like the independence and assertiveness that their wives get from the freedom to have sex with other men but I'd always linked that in my mind to a more submissive husband. I'd even heard that some men with strong feminist beliefs regard the idea of encouraging their wives' open sexuality as a way of striking a blow against society's prejudices against women.

'In your case, though, I don't see any signs of a dominant wife and a submissive husband and I'd be surprised if Alan turned out to be either a staunch feminist or a misogynist. You're very different characters but you give the impression of being equal partners. As you say, it's very complicated.'

I broke off, keen not to stop her flow.

'I've never been keen on the idea, but I agreed that I would think about it if the right man ever came on the scene. Until now that's never happened.' She paused.

'And it's happened now?'

'Yes', she said quietly, the blush returning to her face, 'yes, it has. I like you a lot and I'm very attracted to you. I hope you noticed.'

It's not often that another man's wife says things like that to me out of the blue and I couldn't think what to say at first. 'I did...' It took me a moment or two to get my thoughts together. 'You are absolutely stunning and... very desirable and I'm flattered that you should think I'm the "right man".'

'It's not just flattery. I don't know what it is but there's something between us, isn't there? Alan may have sensed it too. We...', she paused, obviously not being sure how to put it to me, '...he was very keen to have sex last night but all I could think of was what it would be like to have you inside me. That's never happened to me before.'

'So where do we go from here?' It seemed the obvious question to ask.

'Well, Alan will want to approve my choice...' There was another pause. '...and I will insist that the first time has to be just the two of us without him watching. He might not like that but I won't do it in front of him, not the first time ...and I'd want to spend the whole night with you. If he reckons I'm going to return to him after a quick fuck, he's got another think coming. Whether he likes it or not, it won't just be sex for me. If he wants it so much, he's going to have to accept my terms.'

I nodded slowly, as I took her words in.

'I can understand that. If I... if I were to be the man, I wouldn't be keen to have him watch while I made love to you the first time. I'd rather we got to know each other first and, on top of that, I'm not exactly used to this sort of thing. To be blunt, having him watching is bound to be stressful and I wouldn't, well, want to end up with performance problems.'

'I was going to talk to Alan tonight over dinner -- I'd assumed you'd eat at the pub, like last night -- but I wasn't going to tell him that we've already talked. It might be a sneaky way of doing it but I'm going to start by hinting that it's "yes" at last and get him really excited, then I'll reveal my conditions. I'm hoping he won't want to wreck the chance of it finally happening by being difficult. If we get through all that, I'll suggest he invites you into the lounge again when you get back. You're not supposed to know anything about it, of course, so remember to act surprised.'

She started to blush again. 'I am rather assuming that you do want to make love to me'.

There was only one way to answer that. I stood up and walked over to her. I took her face in my hands, turned it up towards mine, and lowered my lips onto hers. Our mouths opened and we kissed eagerly. That must have been the point at which we truly realised the lust we felt for each other. Our tongues began a frantic exploration of the other's mouth. I let one of my hands slip down from her face to her breast and fondled it gently. At the same time, I pressed against her to let her feel my erection against her stomach.

'I think that answers my question', she murmured, 'and you're making me feel very aroused, which I'm enjoying, but we have to stop there.' She pulled away from me.

'Yes, I'd better leave you to get your meal ready and I need to go and take a shower -- a cold one, perhaps -- before I go out. Good luck with Alan over dinner.'

My evening passed in something of a daze. Thoughts were buzzing through my head as I walked up the hill towards the village. Would he agree to her terms? How would he feel about me disappearing up the stairs with his wife, knowing I was about to spend the night fucking her? I could almost imagine that being worse for him than watching it happen before his very eyes.

I ordered a half of bitter -- that was to be my limit -- and cast my eye over the menu. It was hard to decide what to eat. I just wanted the meal to be over and to be on my way back.

'Penny for your thoughts?' the landlord interrupted me.

'They'll cost you a lot more than a penny.'

I finally ordered something that shouldn't have been too difficult for the kitchen to prepare but, even so, it seemed to take an age to be served.

'Sorry, the chef's motorbike broke down and he had to get a lift in to work', the waitress explained.