Wife On Loan

Can I Borrow Her?

I had told him before that anything I had was his. He could borrow anything I had, anything, but I never really thought about what he may actually ask to use. I meant what I said, of course. If he had a need, I would be willing to grant him the use of whatever it was. No exceptions. At least that was what I'd said.

When he called and asked to stop by, that he had something to ask me about, I was curious, but I told him I'd be home. "You told me once," he said after he arrived, "that I could borrow anything you have, right?" I nodded, assuring him that it was true. "I know it sounds crazy, but there is something you have I want," he said. "That I really need," he added.

"I have been doing a lot of reading lately," he said, "about other counties and societies, cultures with different ideas about marriage and fidelity and stuff. You know, places where people believe that nobody owns others. I have been thinking about what you said," he said, "about being willing to share everything in your life."

"True," I said. "Anything."

"Even Claire?" he asked.

"Claire? You want to borrow my wife?" I said.

"Just for a couple of nights," he said. "It's been a long time since I... you know, had any... ah, attention."

"You want to borrow my wife?" I said again, incredulous.

"Not really borrow," he said, "not like using a wheelbarrow. More like spending some time with. Maybe even sexual time. Many counties do that kind of stuff, like a courtesy given a houseguest. Like an offering of the lady of the house 'while they're visiting.' You know, like just being polite," he said.

"Barry, when I said you could borrow anything I was thinking more in the wheelbarrow range," I said. "I wasn't thinking of you fucking my wife."

"It sounds so crude when you say it that way," he said. "I wouldn't say, 'Can I fuck your wife?' I just want to see if she'd agree to be with me. See if anything sexual develops maybe. So, how do you feel about extramarital sex, swingers and wife swappers and those folks?"

"I don't judge them," I said. "To each his own," I added. "We have friends who are swingers. What they do is their business," I said.

"But do you think it is wrong?" he asked.

"No," I said. "Those who think that way are no more wrong than those who don't," I said.

"So, you are not against what I asked you about?" he said.

"I'll ask her," I said finally. "If it involves her body, then it is up to her," I said. "Seriously."

"Have you ever traded partners?" he asked.

"I have traded baseball cards, stamps, marbles, coins, but never partners," I said.

"It is the modern tradition," he said. "People all over the world are doing it."

"I have never been up to date on anything," I said. "This idea of borrowing my wife, did that just come to you?"

"No. I read about two friends in Denmark who exchange wives at Christmas. Each borrows the other's wife for a night," he explained. "It's just friendly swapping."

"But you have no one to offer in exchange," I said half joking.

"That's why I am asking to borrow her," he said with a painful smile. "You know I think the world of Claire," he said.

"And she thinks the world of you," I said. "I will pass on your request, really. I am not sure how she will respond, but for sure I will ask her for you. Although, maybe you should ask her yourself," I said, suddenly realizing it should come from him.

He said he would and I felt a little guilty for suggesting it, figuring she might be a bit curt at such a suggestion. I imagined him asking her and her being somewhat offended that he'd assume she might have sex with him.

When he left I went back inside. She was in the family room reading. I kissed her, then sat down next to her. "I told Barry he could borrow anything I had," I told my wife.

"And I am sure you meant it," she said.

"I did, but he came up with something I hadn't thought about loaning," I said.

"I am sure he'll return whatever it is," she said.

"Oh, I know he'll return it. He only wants it for a night or two," I said. "He has something to ask you. He'll be coming by this week to talk to you about his proposal," I said.

"Is it something I have?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah, for sure. It is definitely something you have, and it is something he'd like to have too," I said.

"So, what is it?" she asked, a bit confused.

"He'll ask you himself," I said. "He wants to make you an offer you can't refuse. What he wants only you have," I said. She looked intrigued. "I am not sure you've ever been asked this question, at least not in this way."

"Now you've got me curious," she said.

"He'll ask you himself," I said. "Better he than me," I added.

When Barry came by I excused myself and went out to the garage, not wanting to butt in. The front window of the house can be seen from the garage, so I could see them as they talked. She listened, then hugged him, then they sat down and I could no longer see them.

I would loved to have heard the conversation, but I felt it should be private, and just between the two of them. If she granted him his wish, that would be up to her. What ever she decided, I had resolved would be completely okay and up to her. And whatever she came up with would be fine with me, at least I hoped it would.

After an hour, she came out to the garage. "Barry and I will be gone for awhile," she said. "I may be back late," she said. She kissed me and gave me a smile only a wife can give. It said, 'I think I will be obliging your friend's request.' Or at least that's what I thought it said.

When they left it was in his car, and before they drove away, she had gone in the house and changed into her slinkiest and sexiest dress. When they left she looked positively delicious. As sexy as she looked, I thought she just might be thinking of granting his wish. Claire is a beautiful woman, and it is not surprising that he'd want to fuck her, but I was amazed that she had apparently decided to accommodate my friend's desire.

I wondered what he had said that convinced her. I would have loved to have heard that conversation. I know she likes sex. I know she cares for Barry as a friend, having known him as long as she has known me. I wasn't sure if she was sexually attracted to him, although he is a reasonably handsome guy.

As naive as it is, I just never really thought about her desiring anyone else. I know they had seen each other nude. We'd skinny dipped with him on camping trips and a few times at nude beaches. I remember thinking how sexy she looked standing naked by the waterfall in Lassen, and wondering how any man could resist her sexual charms in such a situation. How would any healthy male be around her all day when she's naked, looking sexy and luscious, and not want to fuck her? Clearly, by his recent request, he truly did.

What I actually never realized was that, evidently, she felt the same way about him. When he asked me if he could borrow her for a couple of days, I thought the attraction was his and his alone, but I guess she was sexually attracted to him as well. When she had left with him, I decided to ask her about how she really felt and what they did when she got home.

I must admit, as I sat home and thought about where she was and what she was probably doing, I began to get aroused thinking about the two of them having sex. I began picturing them together. It wasn't certain they were fucking, but I was pretty sure they weren't playing canasta or old maid.

I pictured her on top of him, his pecker buried deep in her pussy, thrusting hurriedly into her. I figured he'd admire her naked body, drinking in her loveliness, and then fondling it ravenously, rubbing his hands all over her nakedness, caressing her flesh and kissing her lips and sucking her tongue, massaging her breasts and sucking on her nipples.

I imagined his cock head pushing into her, parting her labia, sinking deep in her soft, moist sex. I envisioned him eating her, pushing his tongue deep in her vagina, tasting her sexy flavor, drinking her pussy juice, lapping her fluids like cream in a cat's bowl.

I imagined he would fuck her hard, bouncing against her flesh, their slapping sounds filling the room. I wished I was there, watching him fuck my wife, seeing him ravish her, hearing him praise her as he pushed himself deeper. I found I wanted to see it more than anything.

The man who had asked me to borrow my wife became my absolute obsession that I couldn't let go of, and I was controlled by thoughts of his sex with her. He was my friend, but his desire for her compelled me to think about them together constantly: what they did, how they did it, and for how long.

I was captivated by images of them fucking wildly, savoring the feel of each other's flesh, relishing the heat of one another's body, and I had orgasms from picturing their coupling.

I don't ever remember a similar experience, and before that I never once thought of her with someone else, but I began to masturbate to images of them fucking, seeing him push into her, then repeatedly moving her labia apart as he opened her up with his beefy cock and slide to the back of her wet canal, bringing smiles to her face and tightness to her grip. She would tense with every insertion, closing her hands into fists and contracting her stomach muscles.

In my mind she'd cry out to him, begging him to fuck her harder, faster, and longer. He would lift her legs over her hips, the back of her thighs on his chest, her calves over his shoulders, and he would ram his cock to the back of her cunt, hitting its tip against her cervix causing her to grunt from the force of each thrust.

"Fuck me Barry," she would yell in my dreams, and he would comply, increasing the speed of his thrusts and the force behind his incursions into her.

I saw them at the lake in Lassen fucking on a rock. "Fuck me, Barry," she said in my fantasy, "so my husband can watch and learn how it's done, how a man pleases a woman, how to fuck her so she comes screaming."

"Feed me that manly cock. Force it into my pussy," I could hear her beg. "Yes, Barry. Fuck your buddy's wife in front of him. Fill me with your seed. Make me come," I could hear cry. "Make me a baby. Oh, please."

Her begging him echoed in my thoughts, and it was vivid and realistic and erotic. I envisioned her sucking him, telling him that his cock tasted so good, that she could blow him all night, and that his cock and his cum was the tastiest she'd ever had. I imagined her asking him to eat her, that she'd never been eaten well, that her husband was awkward and clumsy and didn't know how to eat pussy.

Her cries while he ate her echoed in my imagination, and I was hard from the sexual arousal of her tormenting me sexually. I saw her sucking his cock until he came in her mouth and she swallowed every drop that shot or oozed from his dick. Gleefully, she drank his cum, smiling over at me as she drank his spunk, looking at me like I needed to learn how to have sex and to eat pussy.

The friend that had asked me if he could borrow my wife was teaching me how to fuck my own wife and, amazingly, I was loving it; I was tortured by it, but loving it at the same time.

At ten fifteen his car pulled up in front of my house and she stood by the driver's window and kissed him for a long time, showing she did not want their night together to end. As she walked up the walkway, after the long kiss had ended, the smile on her face was of a woman well fucked and sexually satisfied.

When she got to the door and I greeted her, she moved passed me and smiled again as she went in. "Well, did he fuck you?" I asked. She looked at me and shrugged as if she didn't remember.

"I'll never tell," she said with a sly smile. She shrugged. "Maybe he just wanted to talk."

She has gone to meet him many times since.