“You aren’t afraid that I might like him too much?” I inquired, turning away so that he wouldn’t see what I already thought of his idea.
“You love me enough to marry me Chrissie, that’s good enough for me. To me sex and love are two different things. And what I’m talking about here is just sex. With you as the center piece in this little get together.”
“But what would you think of me?” I had to ask.
“I’d think the same thing I thought the day that I proposed to you, and you said yes,” he replied. “That I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
Oh I let him go on about it for most of the day before I reluctantly agreed, of course, but I knew then that I was more than willing to give this a try. That is if Harry, and I really clicked when we met. And upon further reflection I too realized what a lucky woman I had become falling in love with such a sharing man like my man Jim. After all, if he was willing to share his fiancé, just think how willing he would be to share his wife once we were married. Not that Jim wasn’t fantastic as a lover himself, he is, and I would have been happy living in monogamy with him for the rest of our lives, but I sure wasn’t going to turn down such a wonderful gift as this.
We made love with reckless abandonment that night. I even let him take me in the ass for the first time as a way of sealing our bargain. No little task as Jim is well hung, but then I wasn’t an anal virgin either, and I loved every second of it. Under the right circumstances all of us woman are sluts, even more so when making love to our soul mates. We can be as vulgar as sailors, and wallow in the mud like pigs when elevated to an orgasmic state of passion. And all that night, and late into the next morning I fucked Jim’s brains out at every turn as we discussed his idea of sharing his white wife with a strange black man in the filthiest of terms.
“Wait until Harry meets my favorite slut,” he said as he ate, and I served brunch both of us naked, “he’ll be envious for life.”
“I haven’t even fucked the man, and already I’ve been lowered to the status of favorite slut?”
“You bet your sweet ass,” and he grabbed a hand full of my naked buttocks to emphasize the point, “you are.”
“I suppose you’ll want me to dress up all slutty for your friend too?”
“That would be nice, but if you only wore a T-shirt I’m sure he’d be impressed as all hell. I know I always am.”
“Oh no, you don’t get off that easily,” and I slapped his hand away playfully, “I’m going to really do myself up for this. And you’re going to help me.”
“How am I going to help?”
“You are going to take me to the beauty parlor to get my hair done, and my legs waxed. You’re going to pick out the clothes that your fiancé slut is going to wear the night she is going to fuck your friend. You are going to shave under my arms, and my pubic thatch around my slit for him, paint my nails for him, and anything else I can come up with for the man you are sharing your future wife with. And do you want to know why you are going to do all of this?”
“Yes,” he squeaked out, and I noticed that he was getting hard all over again.
“Because I want to make sure right up to the very last second that this is what you really want is to become a cuckold. Because if we go through with this, we go through this together.”
His answer was to pull me down so that I was straddling his lap, and his cock slipped gently into my already cum soaked slit. Once again we were riding on the wings of our imaginations as we fucked like minks there in the kitchen. This was by no means love making, just pure uncontrollable sex. And to make things perfect I had Jim eat me out after he pumped his morning load of cum into me this time. Then when he was through I said; “Make the arrangements. If we click, I’ll let the two of you fuck my brains out.”
As it turned out Harry was going to be in a city nearby us on business two weeks later for the entire week. If we could manage to meet him for dinner some time during the week to get acquainted he’d gladly spend the weekend before going home over at our place. I agreed, and proposed that we meet on Wednesday at his hotel lobby for dinner around seven, and had Jim find out which hotel he was going to be staying at. Then once I found out that it was the Regency I called them up, and made our own reservations without telling Jim. Then I called Jim’s secretary, and had her clear his schedule for Thursday, and Friday of that week.
On the Monday that Harry arrived for his week nearby, I had Jim take me out to the mall to shop for what I would wear for our dinner meeting. In the end we both agreed that since this would be a formal dining experience that I should at least be in something fashionable, and not entirely sleazy, undergarments to the contrary, of course. So when he picked out a simple backless black dress with a relatively short skirt to it, I applauded his choice. I wouldn’t need a bra, and the front above the bosom that strapped around my neck was see-thru nylon, and the hem barely rode up in back when I sat down. From the waist up the dress was snug, but not uncomfortably so, and the skirt fit loosely below the hips for easy walking, and would not show that I was wearing a garter belt to hold up my hosiery. We both also agreed on the black leather ankle strapped high heels, and matching hand purse.
Then we set off for Victoria’s Secret to purchase my undergarments. I had a great deal of fun watching Jim blush, and stutter through our purchases. And the look on his face when the sales clerk held up the see-thru black nylon thong for a price check had more than a few customers chortling at his expense. Which was just what the doctor ordered as far as I was concerned. After all, this was his idea in the first place. And when we returned home Jim nearly raped me before I could put my new things down.
Tuesday Jim took me to get my hair done, and I made him sit there in the parlor watching as my hair stylist fawned over me, and the other ladies gossiped candidly all around him. At every chance I had I made Jim make the choices; what shampoo, how should my hair be cut, what conditioner to use, should I leave my hair its natural reddish blond color, or go for something new? In the end I had a facial, a bikini wax, my hair was washed, and the frizzy ends only were cut away. We left with my hair down to my hips still, but now dazzling, and shimmering down my back like a cascading fiery waterfalls.
Once we got home I had Jim draw me a scented bubble bath. Then while I soaked in the tub I had him give me a pedicure under my strict guidance, and when that was complete I had him shave all of the hair away in my arm pits, and around my slit, then he shaped my orange pubic rug into a small fluffy thick sharp arrowhead pointing at my clit. It made a vulgar display I’ll grant you, but the point was that Jim followed every one of my directions without complaint, or regret, and with the full knowledge that he wasn’t doing this for his own pleasure, but for that of another man. Another man who was in all probability going to have intercourse with his fiancé after seeing her for the very first time. I rinsed off with the shower nozzle, then stepped out of the tub to let Jim dry me off.
“Easy baby,” I reprimanded when he started getting rough with the towel between my legs, “for that you get no sex tonight.”
“What?”
“You want to be primed, and ready for tomorrow, don’t you?” I inquired.
“I thought we were just meeting him for dinner to get acquainted tomorrow Chrissie.”
“We are, but like I said, if we click…”
“I see. And I’ll know that, how?”
“Hmm, that’s a tough one,” I said thinking out loud. “But if you catch me fondling him that would be a sure sign that we’ve clicked, wouldn’t it?”
“Depends on what part of him your fondling, doesn’t it?”
