Pleasure Upon Request

Alyssa giggled and said, "I knew you would."

Waiter, check please.

* * *

The conversation that would end with my dick in his wife began on the fairway of the eleventh hole, and just as it had with Sadie herself, it began with an admittance of strange behavior. As it turned out, I did not have to guide him in the right direction after all.

"I know I've been acting weird lately," Doug said from the passenger seat after a good measure of silence. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to talk about why."

I shrugged, playing casual. "Sure thing, bro."

"I value our friendship, Ricky," he said, "you must know that. I value our friendship and I value you as a friend. I trust you, and I'm not a man who trusts very easily. You're honest with me about all things, even things that are tough to talk about, and that is rare. You're discreet, which is also rare. You're an important sort of friend for any man to have."

"I appreciate you saying that, Doug," I said, and meant it. It was really nice to hear.

"I say all this because I want you to know how my our friendship means to me in advance of what I am going to ask you. I am going to ask you for a favor, and it is a very strange sort of thing for a man to ask another man."

"I'm here for you," I said, echoing a line that seemed to help strengthen Sadie's resolve. I parked the golf cart next to the green, but neither of us moved.

"We don't talk too much about sex and intimacy," he continued," at least to any kind of deep degree. Men, in general, don't delve too deeply into such subjects." He paused and took a deep breath; the big revelation, as far as he knew, was at hand. "I have very unusual fantasies when it comes to sex, some rather unusual desires, to the point where I feel the need to see a therapist to discuss some of them. My wife often accompanies me and we talk about them together. Some, Sadie and I are able to fulfill together. Others, we are not."

He paused, and I took the opportunity to instill a little confidence. "She is a wonderful woman," I said with genuine sincerity, "and she loves you very much. I'm sure she would do anything for you, whatever makes you happy."

He smiled, nodding his head. "Yes," he agreed, "she will. In fact, she has already agreed to help fulfill one of my deepest, darkest fantasies, something that has kept me awake at night and plagued my thoughts ever since I was married. I do not know why the urge to make this happen is so fierce; my therapist says there any number of different reasons for it."

Which brought us to it, I thought, and asked, "What is it?"

He sighed and looked off into the distance. "Watching another man fuck my wife," he said softly, and in a strained voice.

I had been practicing my reactions to various possible statements of this kind for several days, and allowed the surprise to creep across my face. "You want to watch someone fuck your wife?" I repeated.

He turned to look at me then, his dark blue eyes both anguished and excited at the same time. "Not just someone," he said. He blinked, took a breath, and added, "You."

I was very thankful for my lunch with Sadie in that moment; even with foreknowledge, hearing it from the mouth of the man himself was a significant shock. I realized then that I still had not believed it would actually happen, that Doug would ask.

"Me?" I asked.

Doug looked away again. "I love my wife," he said. "She is everything to me, but this thing inside me, this feeling, these needs . . . it's like a pressure that won't go away, that grows and grows and begins to hurt. My therapist likens it to a plastic water jug that has yet to be punctured; it folds inward on itself and struggles to function until the air is released."

Strangely, it made sense, and I asked, "Having me sleep with Sadie is like the puncture?"

Doug sighed, and you could practically hear the weight lifting. "Yes, and then release," he said, and in that moment I realized everything he was saying, everything Sadie had said, was completely and utterly true. My friend desperately needed my help.

Still, it was a big decision and required a measure of respect. "This is heavy stuff," I told him. "I'll need some time to think about it."

He turned to me and actually offered a smile. "I understand," he said simply, and we sat in silence for a long moment before he pulled himself out of the golf cart. "Let's finish this hole before we clog up the course."

Needless to say, my golf game was mighty shabby after that, not that it had been superlative before. In a strange coincidence, however, Doug played those last seven holes in as relaxed a state as I'd ever seen him, and actually finished ahead of me on the back nine, which was rare.

Weight off his chest, indeed.

* * *

I waited twenty-four hours before I called, feeling perhaps that overnight consideration was adequate time for such a thing. I certainly did not want my friend to think that I was too eager. In truth, since those initial flashes at lunch with Sadie, I'd hardly given thought to the actual sex itself; my friend and his troubles had been foremost on my mind.

Which changed the instant I heard Sadie's voice answering the phone.

"Hello?" she asked.

My voice caught in my throat as my mind suddenly overwhelmed me with images of sweat and breasts and blonde hair. It was like I'd been jumped in an alley and beaten senseless.

"Hello?" Sadie said again.

"Hi, Sadie," I said finally, hoarsely. "It's Rick."

I could practically hear the smile on her face. "Hello, Richard," she said. "Douglas is in the garage, I'll get him for you." There was a pause, and in a whisper, she added, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," I said without thinking, and when she chuckled lightly, I realized what I'd said. "I mean, not my pleasure . . . I mean . . . shit."

Another laugh, musical and light. "I know exactly what you mean, Richard," she told me.

Doug picked up a minute later. "Hey," he said, simply but with excitement, and lingering behind it was the unspoken question of the day.

I had my whole speech planned out. I'd even practiced it once in the mirror, just to make sure I hit all the right notes. I was a strong public speaker and knew how to deliver a line, always had, and yet, when I heard the man's voice, heard its eagerness, everything I planned to say went out the window and what came to my lips sprang right from the wellspring of truth.

"I'll do it," I told him, "as long as I know it is what you want. You're my friend, Doug, and that is the most important thing. If you and Sadie want this, I'm there for you."

The exhale that followed was so long the air practically came through the receiver, then he said, and in a whispered voice that mirrored his wife, "Thank you."

I refrained from the my pleasure comment this time around, preferring instead to leave it unspoken. "What now?" I asked instead after moments of silence.

"I'll speak with Sadie and call you back," he said.

And so it was settled.

Part Three: Actions

There are many things to keep a man awake at night: career, finances, illness, family troubles, woman troubles, kid troubles, etcetera. When it's dark and cold and the bed just doesn't feel right, sleep can be difficult to come by and the minutes can drag like hours.

The night of September 2nd, a Friday night as it happened to be at the outset of the Labor Day holiday weekend, was just such a night for me.

I am not, it should be noted, a man prone to nervousness. I usually take things in stride. However, when the coming day brings with it the prospect of fucking the wife of a very close friend while said friend watches, I submit to you that any man similarly situated would struggle as I struggled to sleep the night before.

The plan was in place: Doug and Sadie would arrive at some point in the afternoon of the following day, at which point things would progress as they may. I was not at home, mind you; my family owns a house in Whitewood, the mountain resort town near Sky Mountain, which in the winter is a big ski area for Los Angeles residents as it lies only ninety minutes outside of the city, traffic permitting. I had offered the place as the location for the proceedings and Doug and Sadie both thought it an excellent idea, and so here we were. I drove up Friday afternoon to prep the house and stock the booze cabinet; the couple was coming up on Saturday after a previously scheduled morning engagement.

I had not seen Doug since the golf game, nor Sadie since the lunch, which meant it was almost three weeks since I'd seen either one of them. This, I think, was for the best. I don't know how easy it would've been to hang out casually with Doug, knowing what was coming.

I'd done a little research, actually, looking into the whole cuckold fetish thing. Interesting stuff, and much of it fit snugly into what Doug and Sadie were saying. Still, while I was not worried about the marriage of Doug and Sadie, per se, I was concerned about how my own relationship with the couple would play out following the weekend. I wanted to help, and the chance to access a beautiful woman like Sadie absolutely fired me up, but I certainly did not want to lose my friends. I hoped, truly hoped, that my fears were unfounded.

I sexed up during the week, prepping myself; I did not want to perform poorly with Sadie, nor have the evening end, shall we say, prematurely; that would not help Doug, I told myself. Alyssa spent the night on Tuesday and a random encounter with another beautiful young lady led to memorable sex on Thursday, which meant I rolled into the weekend as relaxed as could be.

Still, that didn't help me sleep any better Friday night.

It was past four o'clock and I was probably on my fourth cocktail of Saturday afternoon when I heard the rumble of a car out front. I'd done very little all day, having finished all the preparatory housework the previous evening; I slept late, showered, shaved, fixed a little lunch, and then pretty much just watched college football for the next five or so hours.

I rose and went to the window, and peeked through the closed blinds at the Range Rover parked out front. Doug and Sadie were inside, chatting. There was a long pause, then Sadie laughed and the pair of them got out.

Sadie looked great, as usual, with a pair of tight jeans and a blue tank top. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, which was also common. She looked very casual, very fresh, and very hot, and did not seem to be nervous at all.

Likewise Doug, who was smiling and seemed in high spirits, which made me feel a good deal better; when I first heard the car, I'd had a difficult moment of reconsideration, but the feeling faded at the sight of the happy couple.

They embraced in front of the car, him wrapping her in his arms. There were words spoken, though I could not hear them, before they turned to make their way up to the house. I, of course, scurried back to my seat; I'd left the front door unlocked.

"Come on in!" I called at the sound of the doorbell.

"We're here!" Doug exclaimed good-naturedly as the door opened.

And so our weekend began.

* * *

I guess it was just me.

I imagine that if there had been a fourth member of our little group, someone just sitting and watching and observing for the sake of posterity our actions in the hours before the event, the conclusions drawn by such a person regarding the mental and emotional states of those three persons involved would have been that there were no conclusions to be drawn.

In other words, nothing seemed out of the ordinary at all.

Doug and Sadie were perfectly amiable, treating me as they always treated me, treating each other as they always treated each other, making no more and no less of themselves. There was no discernible tension between them, nor agitation of any kind. If I had not known something above and beyond was scheduled for later, I would not have suspected a thing.

It was, I decided, a testament to the strength of their marriage and the depth of their love, the knowledge of which was an excellent source of confidence and served as my own basis of calm.

There was small talk after their arrival, comprised mostly of three weeks' worth of catching up, just the sort of pleasant casual conversation between good friends one might expect in such a situation, a holiday weekend away and out of the city at the tail end of summer. We boozed a little bit, although no one went too hard; I will still way below my tolerance, Doug was no slouch himself, and lightweight Sadie contented herself with wine. It was unspoken, but we all knew we'd need our wits about us later; no one wanted a drunken mess to spoil our plans.

Dinner was low-key, too, just a simple pizza delivered to our door. Sadie answered and the eyes of the pizza delivery boy, a bespectacled teenager, nearly popped out of their head. This was not uncommon; she was scorchingly hot, after all. I followed with the credit card, in time to see her offer the poor and suddenly hunched over youth a comforting smile.

It was well past eight when things began to get quiet. The light of the day had faded and the mountain air was crisp and cool both inside and out, and our bellies were full and our bodies happy, and thus did our minds begin to turn to matters at hand.

Doug stoked a fire, rising from his seat and laying the wood himself without comment; it was moments before a good-sized blaze was burning. I rose and dimmed the lights a great deal, keeping them on low for back-drop, but letting the orange flickering flames do most of the work.

No one moved for several long and silent, contemplative minutes. I understood this to be the final period, when words from one or the other would terminate the proceedings; no one spoke.

Finally, Sadie rose. She looked at her husband, then flashed a glance at me, then turned back to him and went to him, and kissed him on the forehead, and said, "I'm going upstairs to freshen up. I'll be back down in a little while. I love you."

"I love you," was all Doug said, but there was great feeling in each of the words.

Which left Doug and I alone.

My friend gazed into the fire for a long time. "Thank you," he said softly, finally, and I did not respond as I could feel more coming. It did. He looked at me and said, "I know this is a lot to ask. I know it must be difficult." He grinned wryly. "Well, sort of difficult."

"I don't . . ." I started, but he held up a hand.

"No need," he said, and rose to his feet. "I know you well enough, my friend, to know that I do not need to ask of you the things a man might ask in this situation. I know your quality and your character, even if sometimes you lose sight of them yourself." He took a deep breath, and sighed. "I think I'll go for a walk. I'll make sure my return is not noticed."

And so I found myself alone again in the main room of my family's mountain house, blinds closed, lights low, fire burning, waiting as I was waiting before, only this time I was only waiting for one person, the beautiful woman upstairs.

I would not wait long.

* * *

My thoughts ran wild as I stared into the fire, waiting, wondering, eagerness and apprehension rising in concert. The flames were mesmerizing, and the stupor they created in concert with my active mind meant I noticed little beyond the bubble of my imagination, which is why I did not notice her as she floated down the stairs behind me.

"Richard?"

Her voice was soft and incredibly feminine. I rose to my feet and turned, and saw her standing at the foot of the stairs. The firelight did not reach that far and her figure was swathed in darkness, but I could see she was wrapped in a robe of some kind.

"Sadie," I breathed, the word like a bullet betraying my nerves.

She did not come closer, not yet. Her voice was measured and calm. "I trust you, Richard," she said quietly. "I love my husband very much and this is what he wants." She paused and took a deep breath. "I want this, too," she added, her voice like a murmur on the wind. "You should know that."

Though she could not see it as I was wearing jeans, my reaction to her words was instantaneous. I nodded, but said nothing. She remained where she was, unmoving, but I could see the hint of a smile splay over her face.

"I am a sexual person," she said, as if wanting to explain, and so I heard the words once more. She sighed softly. "Are you ready, Richard?"

"Yes," I whispered, little more than a breath.

And so the beautiful blonde stepped forward from the shadows by the stairs and into the flickering light of the blazing fire, and deftly plucked the sash holding her robe in place and allowed the garment to fall to the floor, and bared fully the form and figure of her luscious body to my suddenly salacious eyes.

It was a moment I will take with me for the rest of my life.

Sadie Stillman was not human; she was wrought by the gods in the heavens. There was no other way to explain her, really, no other category to consider. She stood before me, nude and glorious, her rounded curves illuminated by the soft orange glow of the fire, and my blood boiled instantly with heat to match the flames.

I gazed for the first time upon the soft swell of her breathtaking breasts, full and round with small pink nipples, a pair of perfect teardrops upon her chest, rising and falling with each breath. Her stomach was flat and toned, which served again and also to accentuate the curved underside of her breasts, and smooth and flawless all the way down to the downy swath of blonde between her legs, a strip so neatly trimmed that each and every thin hair was visible in the flickering firelight. The color matched the blonde hair of her head, flowing in waves down and over her shoulders, loose and free and sexy, and her blue eyes seemed to catch all the light there was in the room and hold it there, shining bright like the sky on a cloudless day.

She allowed me to look, I realize now thinking back on the moment, for I honestly cannot remember how long the moment lasted. I only remember that it seemed too short a span before she moved forward, hips swaying, to stand before me, scant inches between us, still not touching but tantalizingly close.

I'll be honest with you: at this point I was nearly ready to jump out of my skin, my excitement was so high. I realized that even with everything said and done, I had still been holding myself back with some degree of disbelief, some measure of expectation that our plans would be derailed by either husband or wife. Not so, it seemed; it was actually going to happen.

Which left me woefully clothed, which I remedied immediately. She watched silently, thoughtfully, as I stripped off my shirt and shucked off my jeans and briefs, and her gaze lingered upon my naked erection for only a moment before rising to my face. I stared into her eyes, knowing my own were as wide as they were capable of going, and did not speak; I was totally without words, utterly speechless.

"I'm ready," she murmured as a different sort of expression came over her face, an expression I'd seen before on the faces of myriad women, and by the time the last of it left her lips, the change had come over me, too, and I was transformed back into myself: confident and skilled, and unflappable.

I, too, finally, was ready.

And then in the next moment, her movements fluid and graceful and unhurried, hardly making another sound, Sadie closed the distance between us and stepped into my arms, and I embraced her, pulling her tight, and she sighed and shivered as her large breasts squished into my chest.

The heat between us was palpable; it crackled between us, emanating from our skin in waves where we connected. We were both primed and ready, it seemed, and reacting to one another, and that more than anything else gave me the confidence to take charge: I pressed my lips to her forehead and stroked her silken hair.