We had never really talked about sharing her with another man.
My wife and I met in university, in our last year. She was a pretty brown-haired English lady in her early twenties, smart, sociable, with a gorgeous figure and long brown hair, very attractive but reserved. We had a meeting of the minds, and a month after we started dating it developed into a meeting of groins. Two weeks after that we were engaged. Everything was just - right, somehow. Two years later we were settled, she at grad school while my fledgeling high-tech career paid the bills. I'd introduced her to sexy movies and magazines, life in and out of bed was getting more interesting as time went by, and we had lots of fun experimenting with new sexual thrills. Nothing all that unusual, you understand - having sex in every room of the house, christening new pieces of furniture by fucking atop them, making out in the car on quiet country roads late at night. She even went without underwear from time to time when we went out, so that I could finger her under her skirt as we drove through town. But we never talked about sharing her.
We had a friend named Mark who was about to get married. I'd known Mark through university, and Christine had met him in our final term, at the same time she met me. He's a teddy-bear, and we both liked him a lot. Two weeks before the big day we threw a party for him and his fiance, with several of our friends attending. He got a lot of teasing about "losing his freedom", and Christine spent a lot of time with him that evening. I cooked dinner as usual, and afterwards she cleaned up. Mark helped her while I mingled, and when the two of them emerged from the kitchen again they were chatting merrily, and sat down next to each other on the couch. He put his arm around her shoulders - not unusual in our group of friends, we're all quite fond of each other - and we all kept talking. His fiance, who we'd also known for a long time, was obviously amused by their semi-cuddling and didn't mind at all.
After everyone had gone home, as we were getting into bed, Christine was quiet and a bit distracted, obviously trying to figure out how to broach some subject. I was naked as usual at bedtime, and she was wearing a nightshirt.
"Tonight was fun" she said.
I agreed, and joked that I hoped she had enjoyed a last cuddle with Mark as a single guy.
"Hmm," she said, "in fact he was talking about that. He was kind of hinting. I asked him how all the wedding planning was going, and he said everything was sorted out except for one thing. His last fling."
Gulp.
Please understand something about me. I'm not the jealous type, and I'm also not one of those masochists who needs to be humiliated in order to get off. I flatter myself that I'm not too bad in bed, though I'm no athlete. I love my wife, in every sense and as often as possible. I was also very fond of Mark - mind you, I'm completely straight - he was a charming and faithful friend. And suddenly the idea of Christine giving him his last fling filled me with lust. My cock started to stir.
"Um. Would you like to?" I heard myself ask, pretty sure I knew where this was leading.
She immediately started breathing heavily. I started to run my hand up her thigh, up her tummy to cup her breast. I found I could smell her wetness.
She said in a very quiet, trembling voice "would you mind?"
I answered that I loved the idea. We had amazing sex, and near the end, as I was thrusting into her, I asked if she wanted Mark to do the same. She could only moan in answer.
The next weekend, one week before the wedding, we went to another friend's cottage, isolated in the back country bordering the Great Lakes. There were eight of us, including Mark, his fiance and four single friends. Saturday during the day most of us were sitting on the dock in front of the cottage, which is on a small island (100 yards deep and 50 across, looking at the front of the cottage). There's a small island behind which is joined to the larger one only when water levels are low, which they were.
At one point in mid-afternoon, I noticed that Mark and Christine were absent, and went looking for them. They were sitting under a tree together on the back island, in a little hollow. They were sitting side-by-side and chatting amiably, playing with strands of grass and laughing once in a while. As I watched, they stood up and started walking back to the cottage, so I left. They joined us on the dock a few minutes later.
That night we had a great dinner, several bottles of wine were drunk, and afterwards we shared a room with Mark and his fiance. It was completely pitch dark, without even a moon to light up the woods outside the window. While Christine and I shared a twin-size bed on one side of the room, Mark and A. were doing the same ten feet away. The others were lying around the cottage on sofa beds and in sleeping bags, also just a few feet away and separated from us by a curtain. So I had to whisper very quietly to ask Christine if she'd enjoyed the day. She had.
