So, throughout the course of my day, I did a little research. What I found was that this is something of a common, albeit semi-closeted circumstance. Just like everything else, everybody with internet access has an opinion. Rather than spend a lifetime weeding through the ravings of couples for or against the ‘sharing’ behavior, I decided to concentrate on the opinions and findings of the professionals that were actively researching the reasons behind the surge in popularity of ‘sharing’. 

There were a few findings that seemed common to the few studies I looked at along with these Ph.D.’s mentioning something called ‘compersion’. I’d never heard the term but I was pretty sure you’d have at least a basic understanding of what it meant. Its definition is when one partner gets great pleasure from observing the other partner experiencing great pleasure from whatever external stimuli. That sounded harmless enough. 

I then read about the reasons why compersion manifests because most people experience some form of it almost daily; it’s why we do things for the people we care about. There was also one condition mentioned that almost defined our relationship and made me feel as though I wasn’t some anomalous curiosity. I figured that we would go out to dinner and talk then. At least we’d be free of distractions. Besides, I wanted Greek food anyway.

So, we arrived at the little Greek restaurant, which was as usual sparsely occupied, ordered food, and sat in a booth.

“So, what did you find out?” she asked with an unexpected air of curiosity. “I’m still not certain what the point of all that was.”

“Alright,” I began, ignoring the conflicting emotions in her reply. “So, what I found was we’re not by any stretch of the imagination alone in this circumstance.”

“Nope,” she said. “There may be three of us,” she added, joking, which helped to lighten up the seriousness of the conversation.

“Oh, there’s lots more than that, and everyone’s got an opinion as well as reasons for engaging in such a practice. Rather than describe everyone’s reasons, I’ll just tell you about the one that made the most sense to me.”

“And where exactly did you get this information from?” she asked.

“From interviews with Ph.D.’s that have been conducting behavioral studies due to the widespread participation in 'sharing’,” I answered.

“Okay,” she answered. “I just don’t want you getting information from some stupid porn site or something.”

“No, no," I replied. “It's nothing like that. I tried to find something objective, not something opinionated,” I added. “So, getting to the point, it seems that when a relationship experiences change that is very troublesome to one of those involved, it can trigger an exaggerated compersion in that partner. I’m guessing you already know what that is?” I asked.

“I sure do,” she replied, “But I hadn’t applied that to this situation.”

“Okay, so, if you have a partner, like, gee, let's just say me, for example, that thrives on your pleasure and gratification, and for whom that is a necessary component of the relationship, for whatever reason, if they no longer feel as though they’re fulfilling that role of providing gratification, they often start thinking of ways to possibly renew that situation. Basically, they just want you to be happy and fulfilled, emotionally, sexually or financially by whatever means are necessary,” I explained, “And as far as this is concerned, that may be where my feelings are coming from.”

“Uh-huh,” she said thinking about what I’d said. “That’s all very logical and rational and there may even be an element of truth in there,” she added. “But that sounds too simple.”

“Well, it’s vastly more complicated than that, but I just gave you the short version. Honestly, I felt like I’d be preaching to the choir,” I admitted. “You studied this kind of stuff. It’s all new information for me. I figured that on some level, in some circumstance, you’d have heard this before.”

“Well, I have vaguely, but as you know, that wasn’t really my area of study or expertise, but the concepts are familiar,” she stated. “So, let’s just say that’s all true. That doesn’t explain my reaction to a basic stranger coming on to me.”

“Well, remember how I’m always saying that you need to access the ‘naughty’ side of your personality?” I began. “Well, it may be possible that someone else has poked the sleeping tiger with a stick. I know you think you’re too old or ill or whatever, but I don’t necessarily think your brain agrees with you, at least not all of the time. You can’t possibly have forgotten how much we used to enjoy our physical relationship. I know there’s a part of you that wants to reclaim that. I’ve always told you that you are a hottie, this just proves it.”

“Okay, let’s say for the sake of conversation that that’s true too. Why aren’t you furious?” she asked.

“Because all temper would do is end our relationship,” I answered. “It’s not worth that, that’s too high a price for something that hasn’t even happened. Believe me, I have my reservations and maybe I’m making it all sound too simple but if anything is going to happen, then I have to understand it and I want us, as a couple to be on the same page,” I answered. 

I thought for a second and asked, “Are you disappointed that I’m not livid?”

“Maybe a little,” she replied honestly. “But honestly, it’s just one more confusing thing in an already overwhelmingly confusing situation.”

“Just for the sake of clarity, this has nothing to do with how much we love each other, nothing at all. If you wanted to hide something, you wouldn’t have come to me and told me about what was going on. Otherwise, you would have acted impulsively and that would have been that.“

“I know that’s true, this has huge trust implications,” she added.

“It does, more than anything else,” I agreed.

“I just keep coming around to the same issue. The bottom line is that this just isn’t me, I’d never consider this kind of thing, ever,” she said, sounding very concerned.

 “Just because I cook, that doesn’t make me a chef,” I said, having an inkling of what was bothering her.

“If anything did happen, it doesn’t ‘make’ you anything either,” I said, trying to be supportive, which was another reaction that didn’t make much sense. “It would be just,” I paused, trying to find the right word. “It would be an indulgence.”

“Well, that’s a very diplomatic way to describe it,” she said, joking sarcastically.

“Well, that’s exactly what it is, if you don’t make too much of it, not trying to minimize anything,” I replied. “Now at the same time this is very serious and there would have to be, of course, rules…boundaries,” I said. “I mean if anything were to happen. Rule number one would be that you’re in charge and that you can pull the plug on anything at any time.”

“If anything were to happen, that’s absolutely a rule,” she conquered. “And rule number two would be that I set the pace, no pressure on me…if anything were to happen.”

“Also a very good rule, if anything were to happen,” I said. “Rule number three, you decided if/when it starts and when it ends, if anything were to happen. I know that’s almost the same as rule number one but you can’t be too clear,” I said, feeling the mood lighten up a bit.

“Well, I still have a lot of thinking to do...a lot of thinking,” she said seriously.

“You certainly do and you’ll decide what you want to do or don’t want to do,” I said.

*****

We left the little restaurant and arrived home and had yet another typical evening, leaving the subject at hand, alone. There are always other emergencies and other concerns available to occupy one's time and effort. I was feeling a little better by bedtime; things did seem to be so overwhelmingly daunting. 

She also appeared to be a bit more relaxed. We ran through our normal bedtime routine and she fell asleep before I turned off the TV.

I fell asleep rather quickly and was almost immediately in a dream state. I don’t really remember everything, just foggy bits and pieces. 

At one point, I was driving a fairly large car, like something from the ’60s or ’70s, with big bench seats. I was driving on some kind of a dark, tree-lined road, with sidewalks and old-time gas street lamps, like you’d expect to see in a park or an upscale neighborhood. The car windows were down and I could feel the warm breeze. I can’t remember if I was actually going somewhere or if I was just driving.

When I looked into the rearview mirror, she was in the backseat accompanied by someone I didn’t recognize. She looked as though she were wearing some kind of 1950s, low-cut, cocktail dress with her hair down, yet pulled back from her face. Her escort was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and tie, also very 1950s. I kept glancing in the mirror and I could see her escort was stroking her bare shoulder with his fingertips, which she seemed to take no real notice of.

His hand moved the hair away from her neck and he turned slightly toward her. He began to gently stroke her neck, his finger caressing momentarily behind her ear, before slowly drifting downward, over the bare skin of her chest, disappearing under the sparkling material, gently cupping her ivory breast.

"Are you okay up there, Sweetheart?” she asked coyly.

“Oh, just trying to keep my hands on the road…I mean, my eyes on the road,” I replied.

“Don’t worry, Honey, I always save the best for you,” she answered, almost reassuringly reading my mind.

I glanced back again, unable to take my eyes off the activity in the backseat, and observed her escort's free hand, meandering downward toward a warmer, more tropical environment. He found the bottom hem of her gown and gently it rose like the curtain on a Broadway production. 

Her warm, silky thighs separated, exposing her steamy little kitten to the night air. His hand very briefly came to rest on her sparsely covered mound before continuing downward, blanketing her dew-covered pink blossom. I heard her deep sigh and her eyes closed as her head lay back against the seat. Her escort's fingers teased the wet little opening, lingeringly tracing to and fro, parting her flower’s delicate petals. I watched her hand descend and cover that of her escort's, directing his finger to enter her slick interior. I could hear her breathing fall into rhythm with the tempo set by his methodical petting.

“If you adjust your mirror, you can see more of me,” she suggested coyly, opening her eyes and looking at me in the mirror. “I like it when you watch me. It makes me very excited.”

I didn’t have to be asked twice. I wasted no time adjusting the mirror to get a perfect view of her lap. I saw that the gown had been gathered up, most of which rested in her lap, revealing the tops of her white stockings and the white garter fastened to them. Her creamy thighs were parted just enough to accommodate her benefactor’s hand, adorned with two very wet, glistening fingers that easily wafted between her delicate pink folds.

I watched his fingers delve completely into her slick little cavern as her beautiful thighs began to quiver. She softly moaned as the thick, shiny cream trickled from her depths, glazing her escort's fingers.

“Oh, Honey, don’t you worry, he’s just a toy. Something to amuse me while I’m waiting,” she said with her eyes once again.

“Waiting for what?” I asked. 

“For you, of course,” she answered. “You do enjoy it when I’m all hot and bothered, don’t you?”

“I am a fan,” I replied.

“I certainly don’t want to break any of the rules,” she added.

“No, we have to follow the rules,“ I conquered.

The next thing I knew, I was in the backseat and the escort had vanished. She had her head in my lap and my very rigid pole in her soft hand.

“See, Sweetheart?” she said. “I always save the best for you,” she said softly as I watched my manhood disappear into her warm, enveloping mouth.

At that moment I unfortunately awoke. 

As the proud possessor of a raging 2:00 am erection and mere inches from me was my beautiful wife, possessor of the softest little butt in existence, it was too much to resist. 

I reached out a hand, caressing that familiar, unbelievably smooth curvature, causing her to slightly stir. I slid her panties down, freeing those magnificent ivory pearls from their material confinement, and slowly stroked my hand between her irresistible globes.

I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the massage oil, applying a generous amount onto my anxious cock, and spread the remainder between her inviting alabaster cheeks. She twitched a bit and softly moaned each time my hand grazed over her tight little back door. She pressed back gently against my hand, welcoming the sensation in her slumber, as I slathered oil onto the already silken surface of her skin.

My fingers explored further, grazing over her slumbering pink lips as the remaining oil from my hand enhanced her natural dampness.

I grasped a perfect alabaster globe, separating it from its partner and clutching my eager manhood, stroked the pulsating head over her sensual blossoms. I felt her soft inviting petals brushing the head of my throbbing shaft and I gently guided myself into the all-encompassing warmth of her harbor.

“Honey?” she said, still a bit groggy. “What are you doing?”

“Making an after-hours deposit,” I replied softly, with just the tip of my cock between her silky folds.

I slid my arm around her waist, pulling her against me, allowing my manhood to venture deeper into her wet interior. She moaned sleepily, as her pink petals hugged the midnight visitor. 

I reached around her, lightly stroking her clit, feeling my hardened staff slowly sliding in and out of her warm pink tunnel. She began rocking her perfect hips backward, meeting my gentle thrusts. I pulled her even closer against me, resting my chin on her shoulder next to her ear, and whispered…

“Imagine if I rolled you over onto your tummy, spread those pretty legs apart, just like this,” I whispered, doing exactly as I had described.

 “And then, I teased your tight pink tunnel with the tip of my beating cock,” again, doing exactly as I had described.

“And then, I slid just the tip of my warm cock into you and held it there,” I said while again doing precisely that, allowing her to feel my head throbbing.

I felt her legs tremble a bit as she gently orgasmed.

“And what if, I spread these beautiful cheeks and licked all that sweet, sticky honey from your little pink lips?” I said, making good on my narration once again.

She moaned when my warm tongue contacted her wet little sugar box.

“And what if I took my cock and slid it between these perfect little cheeks?” I described as I guided my shaft between her globes, sliding back and forth in the pillowy embrace.

“And if I took my hands and rubbed your shoulders while I very slowly slide my warm cock back into your wet little sugar box?”

She sighed gently as I once again pierced the pink veil, bestowing a few long, slow strokes.

“And what if, while I stroked in and out of you, you realized that it wasn’t my cock at all taking you for a midnight ride? What if you heard ol’ Dean say, 'You feel as warm and beautiful as I imagined you would.'”

Hearing the words was shocking, unexpected, and exciting, all at the same moment. Your hips rose slightly, welcoming your fantasy mount into your pink cave and I felt your treasure box release a gush of silky nectar. You turned your head into the pillow, stifling a passionate moan, and I held your sculpted hips, guiding you back onto your fantasy steed.

“And what if I passionately kissed your beautiful lips before sliding my beating friend into your hot, wet mouth, while Dean stroked in and out of your hungry little pink flower? Would you show us how hard you can cum, like a good girl?”

I could hear her practically screaming into the pillow, which for myself, was music to my ears. A song I hadn’t heard in a very long time.

“Imagine feeling his shaft balloon inside your tight pink tunnel,” I continued, still grasping her perfect hips, pulling her back fully into my beating member. “You can feel his surge, filling you with thick, warm cream, breeding your innocent little pussy,” I described, causing her to vocally orgasm, trying to bury her excitement into the pillow, just as my excited member fulfilled my illustration, resulting in one of the most intense climaxes I’d experienced in a very long while. Each time my shaft erupted, her body shook as waves of pleasure surged through her, creating an almost endless climax. 

I withdrew my sword from its pink sheath, as its head was still pounding. I deposited a trail of warm, white emulsion between her magnificent globes. I watched the newly formed rivet flow downward until it slowly dripped onto those pink petals, melding with the stream already oozing from the center of her blossom.

I know her imagination was filled with conflicting images as she lay there, very still, trying to catch her breath.

We woke up at different times the following morning but did meet in the living room briefly as she gathered her things for work.

“Hello, Lady,” I said, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind. “Getting your stuff together?” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“Yep, I am,” she answered, already sounding distracted.

“Are you ready for work?” I asked, referring to her mental state of resolve.

“Yes, Honey, I think I am,” she replied, sounding just a bit ominous.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” I said nervously, looking for some kind of reassurance.

“I do, Honey,” she answered, turning around in my embrace to face me. “And don’t you worry. It’s just any other day.”

I actually laughed. “Any other day? It’s definitely not just any other day,” I answered. “You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on at work.”

“Oh I most certainly will,” she responded with some resolve. “I sure will.”

*****

She went to work and I paced, worried, and felt sick to my stomach for any number of understandable reasons. I had the utmost confidence in her keeping her word, but even then, sometimes resolve wavers. I guess this was going to just be one of the longest afternoons of my life. If only I could be a fly on the wall or a very large hornet so I could sting good ol’ Dean in his fucking eye. 

She went through her day, as always, but today, she decided, was going to be just a bit different. Since Dean liked being the aggressor, she came up with a simple way of taking a bit of the wind out of his sails, just to show him who was really in charge.

She escorted her last client to their car and returned to her room to straighten up. Just like clockwork, the door opened and Dean strolled in with something of a self-assured, confident look on his face, as if his evening ‘visits' were now an anticipated, accepted routine. He walked over to where she was wiping off a tabletop, quietly approaching her from behind. His hand reached out and gently cupped her bottom, which he began to caress with the greatest admiring devotion.

His touch created that desirous warmth, but she didn’t let on; instead, she quickly spun around and confronted him. He took a step or two backward, surprised by her unanticipated reaction.

“Uh, not so fast there, brother,” she said, accentuating each word by firmly poking his chest with her finger. “You’ve been taking advantage of the fact that I haven’t screamed, had you arrested or broken in half…at least not yet. Apparently, you think you have some kind of privilege to come into my room every day and treat yourself to a no-strings-attached little feel as if I have nothing to say about it. Well, guess what, brother, everything…everything has its price.”

“I did apologize for my behavior, didn’t I?” he replied, a bit condescending, taking a step closer, “Is this bothering you?” He said, tracing a fingertip up and down between her breasts.

She completely ignored his comment and continued.

“I told my husband all about you,” she declared with a sense of triumph. “He knows what you’re doing, I told him. I told him everything.”

“Did you?” he replied, visibly shocked. “Do you think that was the smartest thing to do?” He added, behaving as if the two of them had some kind of an arrangement.

“Of course I did,” she stated defiantly. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re the one that started harassing me or don’t you remember things correctly? You’ve created a very awkward situation. And none of this would be going on if you had enough self-control to keep your stupid hands to yourself.”

“But I think you like my stupid hands, don’t you?” he said, placing one on the front of her pants, again sounding confident, “Maybe just a little bit.”

Like every time proceeding this one, the heat immediately began to build deep in her little pink sugar box.

“I might, maybe just a tiny tiny bit,” she conceded, remaining defiant. 

“Is that I big 'might' or a little 'might'?" He taunted as his hand began stroking his hand up and down over her denim-covered mound.

“You know something? I can feel how warm you’re getting,“ he said smugly, sliding a finger between the material lips.

She instantly blushed from the top of her head to the tip of her toes but maintained her resolve.

“It’s an undecided 'might,'” she admitted truthfully and pushed his hand away. “Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

“Yes, of course, I do,” he said a bit indignantly, certainly not expecting what he was about to hear.

“Well, my husband and I decided that even if there’s the slightest, most remote chance that I’m in any small way attracted to you, there may be a small possibility that I might explore that a bit,” she said coyly.

“Really?” he remarked incredulously, replacing his hand on the front of her pants, again, lightly caressing her cooped-up kitten.

“It wasn’t my idea,” she divulged. “It was my husband’s. You’re not important enough for me to throw away my marriage on.”

“So I have your husband to thank for this?” he replied with a small, confused smile, gently stroking her warming little mound. "I think you might want to feel something other than your husband up inside this warm little pussy."

“You have my husband to thank for not feeding you your fingers and shooting you in the head,” she said, stating a fact. “Beyond that, I don’t know if you have anything to be thankful for yet,” she added, getting a bit irritated. “And what happens from here or what doesn’t happen, is entirely up to me.”

“And just what exactly is going to happen?” he asked curiously, feeling expectant as if he knew what was coming.

“We’re going to have a ‘date’ of sorts,” she informed him. “And from there, I’ll get to see if I want anything further to happen.”

“Wow!! Alright! Now you’re talking,” he excitedly replied. “That’s a great idea!”

“Not so fast there, brother, you just keep your zipper up for the time being,” she warned. “I’m sure that in one way or another, we’ll all have a very interesting evening,” she said, smiling and again removing his hand. It seemed like the tables were turning.  

“Uh…what do you mean all of us?” he asked once again, unsure of what was next.

“You, my husband, and I,” she replied, just waiting for his reaction. “Oh, yes, and you’ll be paying…and that part is my idea,” she added smugly with building confidence.

“Your husband?” he asked in disbelief. This was not at all what he had anticipated and his hand fell away meekly from the front of her jeans.

“Those are the rules and they’re non-negotiable,” she stated matter of factly. “Whatever happens, both he and I are there. Take it or leave it.”

“Are you guys some kind of swingers or something?” he asked, still reeling from the “rules”.

“Not at all,” she said flatly. “I’m not that kind of person, neither of us are, under most circumstances,” she said, feeling like she’d taken complete control of the situation. “I will give you this much,” she said before continuing. “There is a small attraction and I’m curious to see what that’s about. It’s as simple as that. You’re just a curiosity. You may or may not experience a very enlightening evening, but there are no guarantees. So if you’re man enough, you take your chances. No risk, no reward,” she said, feeling pretty good. The shoe was now firmly on the other foot.

This time she opened the door herself, and turned out the lights, leaving him standing in the dark. She had a hard time suppressing a smile as she walked down the hallway, hearing the door open behind her.

“What I am supposed to do now?” he called after her, confused.

“You seem to like being in charge of things,” she responded. “You figure it out,” she said, smiling to herself. “Just remember, you better choose a nice place, you’re going to want me to be in a very good mood,” she answered, starting to laugh. “Why don’t you try and impress me? It’s your big chance.” 

All of a sudden, she felt empowered and this whole thing began to feel a little bit entertaining.

******

It took her longer than usual to get ready, which for some reason I found kind of cute. She tried on a few outfits, looking for my opinion on which looked best and what might be construed as “too much”.

She was dressed semi-seductively in a button-down pink blouse with black polka dots and a leather skirt that was just about two inches above her knees. It had small little slits on either side. Black leather, zippered heels completed the look that on anyone else might have been tame, but on her, it looked very very inviting. Nothing over the top, just understated demure, but make no mistake, she looked good, very, very good.

She was uncharacteristically quiet on the drive to our dinner date, a pre-arranged location that was upscale, dimly lit, and not terribly crowded. 

We parked the car and as always, I opened her door and helped her from the car.

“Nervous?” I said. “This is kind of surreal.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” she replied. 

“I was talking to myself,” I said, attempting to ease the tension with a joke that missed the mark.

“Why do I feel like we’re going to the gallows?” I remarked and she didn’t answer, probably consumed in her own thoughts.

“Maybe I’ll feel better if I put something in my stomach,” she said, thinking out loud.

“I’m sure you will,” I said supportively. “You know, we can turn around right now and go home and forget the whole thing,” I said, taking her hand and walking toward the front door. I figured I’d offer her an out before things went any further. I wasn’t sure if it was more for her benefit or mine.

“At this point, I don’t think either one of us would forget the whole thing,” she said, pretty much summing up the situation, “I’m nervous too.”

“Yeah, I suppose the ball is rolling,” I agreed. “ You can pull the plug on this at any time, you know that, right?”

“I know,” she said in an almost uncertain tone as if we were entering a haunted house. “But right now we’re just going to dinner to meet someone, nothing has happened and I don’t know if anything will.”

We entered the bar/restaurant area of the large hotel and she quickly looked around. The place wasn’t packed and she easily spotted Dean occupying a booth against the far wall in the corner. The atmosphere was very nice and I had to admit, I would have chosen this place myself. Large, high-backed padded booths, long white tablecloths, candles on the tables, everything a person could ask for. It was secluded, private, and romantic. He had arrived first - yeah, go figure - and we were led to his table.