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Take My Husband, Please.

Angela and Michelle decide to share their husbands.

Angela and I were old friends. We had met on the school bus in third grade. We remained close through high school, college, and graduate school. We were each other’s maids of honor at our weddings. I trusted Angela with my money, with my secrets, and with my life.

Angela and I had been double dating since we were sixteen years old. She had married Brad, her high school sweetheart, and I married Scott, my high school sweetheart. All four of us were best friends and were frequent guests in each other’s homes

My grandfather had recently passed away. He lived in Seattle. I was going to drive there from our home in Los Angeles to clean out his house and settle whatever affairs of his I could.

Scott and I were at Angela’s and Brad’s house for dinner one night when I announced my travel plans.

“We love Seattle,” Angela announced. “We always enjoy our stay. There’s so much to do there. And the night life is great.”

“I’ll have my work cut out for me; I won’t be able to indulge in any night life,” I responded.

“How long do you intend to be away?” asked Angela.

“About two or three weeks, depending on how long it takes me to clear out his house. There’s about fifty years of clutter to organize and throw out.”

“How are you getting there?” asked Brad.

“I’m driving.”

“That’s a long drive, Michelle. You should fly instead,” Angela suggested.

“Renting a car for three weeks is costly. When you add in the airfare, it’s much cheaper to drive.”

“When are you leaving?”

“I intend to leave next Monday, bright and early to beat the traffic.”

“With the two of you driving it should be an easy two day drive,” Angela figured.

“Scott can’t get off work, so I’m going alone.”

“Alone?” cried Angela. “Don’t go alone. It’s dangerous for a woman to be on the road alone. And you’ll be in Seattle in a house for three weeks all by yourself. That’s not good. Brad’s not doing anything. Take him with you.”

I let the comment slide. I wasn’t sure if she was joking and I felt a bit awkward in front of Brad and my husband at the suggestion that I should go away with her man.

Days passed. Surprisingly, her suggestion had intrigued me and I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I already felt guilty about leaving Scott. Now this? Going away with my best friend’s husband for three weeks? The idea appealed to me in a scandalous way, but it was completely improper. True, I considered Brad a close friend who happened to be male. But I was a married woman. Brad was my best friend’s husband. This was absolutely wrong, period. Yet the idea kept tormenting me.

Some days later Angela and I were out shopping together. I broached the subject.

“Angela, you said something the other night that has remained on my mind.”

“What was that?”

“You suggested I take Brad with me to Seattle. Were you serious about that?” I hesitantly asked.

“Of course I was. Brad’s not working now and I’m tired of him hanging around the house all day. He’s starting to look like the furniture. This gives him something to do. You’ll need help up there. He can help you; put him to work. He loves road trips and he loves Seattle. So take my husband, please.”

“You know we’d be living under the same roof for three weeks. You would trust us?”

“Trust you? Would I trust you? We’ve been friends since we were eight years old, Michelle. Of course I trust you. But I have absolutely no objection if you and Brad share companionship while you’re away together. So take Brad with you and enjoy each other’s company.”

“Am I to understand…?”

“Yes. You understand correctly. It will be good for Brad and good for you. And don’t get up on a moral soap box. We’re dear friends. We’ve shared our homes, our holidays, our vacations, our joys, and our tears. We’re as close as two friends and two couples can be. So take Brad and I trust you to bring him back a better man.”

“But that will leave you alone for three weeks,” I replied, not yet realizing that I had just implicitly accepted her offer. As I said it, an idea came to me.

“I could send Scott to stay with you,” I said, revealing my solution.

“Great idea! Then it’s all set.”

“All set except selling the idea to the men,” I countered.

“It will be an easy sell. Brad will love the idea of taking a road trip to his favorite city and I’m sure we can sell Scott on the idea of looking after me for a few weeks.”

“Oh, I still don’t know. It could be awkward and end in fiasco.”

“No, it’s a great idea and everyone will be happy with the outcome,” assured Angela. “Let’s get together and tell the guys of our plan.”

Angela was right; it was an easy sell. At first Scott had some reservations about Brad and me. But his opposition softened when he considered that I wouldn’t be alone on the road and in a strange city. And of course, the plan for him to stay and keep Angela company in Brad’s absence, with Brad’s and my approval, no less, won him over.

I started looking forward to our road trip. The thought of being alone with Brad brought butterflies to my stomach. I thought racy thoughts, but also harbored apprehension. What if this aroused jealousy and ruined our marriages and our friendship? Angela had confided in me much about her and Brad’s love life, but did I want Brad discovering my most personal bodily details? Did I want my husband enjoying Angela’s substantial charms? What if they fell in love? We were trekking into a potential minefield.

Monday morning came and Brad and I hit the road. It was less uncomfortable than I thought it would be. After all, Brad and I had been friends since high school. The four of us had gone on vacation together before. We shared a timeshare in Paris one summer. We took a river cruise on the Rhine River another year. He had seen me in my pajamas countless times. I had seen him in swim trunks at the beach on many occasions. Brad and I were not strangers. I shed my anxiety.

The first day we made it to Redding, California. I had made reservations from the car while Brad was driving. After thirteen hours on the road, which included Brad changing a burned out headlight in an auto parts store parking lot, we were stiff from sitting in the car. We entered the lobby to check in, limbering our joints as we walked.

The concierge wore an artificial smile. “Your room number is two-twenty-three, ma’am. I’m sure you and your husband will find it quite comfortable. We’ve recently renovated our rooms and upgraded our amenities. The bathroom features a spacious tub equipped with massaging jets and the king size bed includes natural combed cotton sheets,” he sniffed.

“King size bed? I reserved two queen beds. And I didn’t reserve a luxury suite,” I protested.

“Central reservations erred when they confirmed your reservation. You see, our lesser rooms had already been booked. I’ve taken the liberty to give you a complimentary upgrade, ma’am. I know you’ll be quite satisfied,” he proclaimed with a self-assured smirk.

Brad and I checked in to our sumptuous room. It was decorated in modern motif. We both eyed the king size bed.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Brad offered. “It’s plenty big and is as soft as any bed,” he continued, pressing his hands into the cushions. I didn’t reply.

We had dinner, called our spouses while the other showered, and turned in, our alarm clocks set for an early wake up. I slipped under the percale sheets and Brad took his place on the couch. We turned off the lights.

I tossed and turned for half an hour. I could tell Brad was awake, too. I got back up.

“C’mon to bed, Brad. This is ridiculous. There’s plenty of room,” I said, tugging his arm.

He rose and followed me into the bed. Being an old friend and a perfect gentleman, he made no assumptions and got no ideas. He bid me good night and contented sigh escaped him. He fell asleep. I soon did, too.

I called Angela from the car the next day. “How is he behaving?” Angela asked.

“Like a gentleman,” I replied.

“Oh,” she responded, sounding almost disappointed.

“You were right,” I told her. “It was a good idea to bring Brad. At dusk yesterday we discovered a burned out headlight. Brad found a replacement and installed it.”

“I know. He told me last night when he called me. You see, I have good ideas once in a while.”

“You do. How is my Scott behaving?”

“Like a gentleman. You had a good idea too when you sent him to look after me. I hate sleeping in the house all alone.”

“You mean you didn’t sleep alone?” I asked, playfully twisting her words.

She hesitated. “No, I didn’t. Scott insisted on taking the couch, but I insisted that he join me in bed,” she confessed. “But nothing happened,” she quickly added.

“Well, our men are exactly the same, and it seems you and I are, too. We went through the same routine last night. Your lovely husband took the couch and I had to literally drag him into bed. And likewise, nothing happened.”

“I hope you don’t have to drag him again. I’d be ashamed if my man is too shy to share a bed with a woman,” Angela said through a laugh.

“I would be, too,” I agreed.

“I know you have a lot of work to do starting tomorrow,” Angela said. “Put him to work. Take advantage of him,” she added cryptically.

“Enjoy Scott’s company as well,” I added just as cryptically, not totally confident that I meant it.

Brad and I cleaned out two rooms and tore up carpeting the next day. I don’t know how I would have done it alone. Brad did the heavy lifting while I emptied drawers and removed a lifetime of accumulated possessions.

I was exhausted that night. I invited Brad to share my bed. He reluctantly agreed; I didn’t have to drag him. We fell into bed and fell asleep.

Some crazy dreams haunted my sleep. A feeling of distress or anguish tortured me. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was Grandpa. I awoke with a start at two o’clock in the morning with a racing heartbeat and in a cold sweat. This woke Brad.

“Are you alright, Michelle?” he asked. I was panting.

“I had a nightmare,” I gasped in the darkness.

I slid close to him and turned on my side. I reached back and pulled his arm, turning him onto his side, too. I put his arms around me. I pushed back so our bodies were nestled together.

“Hold me,” I instructed, still distressed.

I slowly calmed as Brad held me. I turned on my other side and took Brad’s face in my hands.

“Thank you for your hard work today,” I said. With that, I gave him a passionate kiss on his lips. He kissed back.

I knew there was no going back. I immediately got moist and could feel Brad growing harder. I dispelled all formalities and removed my panties. I pulled off Brad’s gym shorts and took his manhood in my hand. Angela was a lucky girl.

Angela and I had never dated anyone except the boys who would become our husbands. Scott had my virginity, Brad had Angela’s. We had our men’s virginity. But after seven years of monogamy, I had gotten the itch. Sometimes temptation beckoned and I wavered.

Angela admitted to similar cravings. Neither of us had acted on it; we remained faithful in accordance with our vows. Angela, always having been the more lustful of the two of us, had now conceived this scheme of sharing our husbands. There was a certain logic to it; if we were going to be unfaithful, we’d keep our infidelity close to home. Having our husband’s knowledge of it and their permission obviated the need for duplicity. Furthermore, I reasoned, Scott might be fighting similar cravings. It would be better for him to sate them with Angela, my best friend, than with some homewrecker.

I mounted Brad and slowly settled on him, taking him all in. I rode his stout erection with my hands on his chest. I would rise to the point where his head was just parting my lips, massage him with one-inch movements, then slowly settle back down, engulfing him completely. My doting affection was getting Brad near, so he grabbed my behind, and without ever leaving me, flipped us into the missionary position.

We made passionate love as only two people who truly love each other can. Brad was gentle and caring with me, treating me like I was the finest woman in the world. We established a refined cadence, thoroughly enjoying ourselves. Brad finished twice after giving me three healthy orgasms. After two hours of respectful lovemaking, I fell asleep in Brad’s arms.

Brad and I exchanged a loving kiss upon waking. Brad mounted me and we made love again with daylight streaming through the windows. He soon released a fiery orgasm inside me. We were lovers.

I called Angela later that morning. She was my best friend and I couldn’t keep my affair with her husband a secret.

“Angela, I have something to tell you,” I said gravely. “I seduced Brad last night.”

“How did he treat you?” was her curious reply. Her reaction caught me off guard.

“Treat me? He treated me like a perfect gentleman would,” I replied, then regretted it. I didn’t intend to reveal the tenderness of our lovemaking. That would only hurt her more.

“He better have,” she warned. “If he was disrespectful in any way, tell me. He’ll be in the doghouse when he gets home.

“I have a confession of my own,” Angela continued. “Scott and I made love last night.” I felt a combination of hurt and relief. Hurt because my husband cheated on me with my best friend. Relief because the guilt I felt for my transgression was lifted from my conscience. But I impulsively asked the same question.

“How did he treat you?”

“You’re a lucky girl, Michelle. You have a fine husband. Scott made me feel like a princess. You’ve taught him well.”

Now that all four of us were even, I took this as a compliment and beamed with pride.

“I’m glad he did. And thank you for the praise.”

“So get some work out of Brad. Don’t let him slack. Enjoy my husband and maybe teach him a few things,” Angela said through a smile.

“I will and I’ll try. Enjoy my husband, too. I want to come home to a revitalized mate.”

We rang off.

This was great! The conversation that I thought would result in a fight and a broken friendship instead was an amiable agreement to share husbands. I called Scott.

“Hi Honey,” he effused. He sounded too happy. “How are things going up there?”

“Fine. I slept with Brad. Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not. I slept with Angela. I thought that’s what this whole business was all about. The men would share their wives and the wives would share their husbands.”

There were still pangs of jealousy deep within me and they welled up.

“So how was she?”

“Passionate. How was Brad?”

“Respectful.”

“Good. Did you enjoy?”

“Yes, I did,” I admitted.

“I’m glad you did. You deserve a respectful lover.”

“And you deserve a passionate one,” I said to my husband. We exchanged goodbyes and rang off.

I started feeling better about this arrangement. We were all friends. We were consenting adults. If I wanted to share my husband with my best friend, that was my business. If she wanted to do the same I’d oblige. Our husbands had no opposition to sharing. This could lead to a healthier love life.

Brad and I lived together as man and wife for the next three weeks. Because no one in Seattle knew us we could display our affection in public. It was unseasonably warm in Seattle and we spent our evenings alone at home and as naked as Adam and Eve.

I availed myself the opportunity to inspect my best friend’s husband’s manhood close up. He had a fine specimen of a penis with a generous pink head. The humid Washington air made his scrotum supple and his testicles drooped elegantly. They were healthy and filled their sack nicely. I lifted them one at a time and toyed with them, assessing their weight and shape. They passed my inspection.

Brad liked what all guys like. I took him in my mouth and went as deeply as I could. Brad was bigger than Scott; at home I could take Scott all in. Despite my considerable attempts, I was unable to accommodate Brad’s full length. To compensate for my deficiency, I rubbed my hair on Brad’s scrotum as I held his testicles. I also hummed a popular song. Brad responded to my ministrations with enthusiasm. He gushed forth a generous orgasm, satisfying himself and me at the same time.

At first Brad was shy and exercised restraint in lovemaking, restricting himself to the missionary position. I encouraged him not to inhibit himself with me. I informed him of my submissive side and suggested he take a more proactive role in leading our lovemaking. He complied with my advice.

Brad took total control of my body. He forced his erection between my boobs and made me entertain him to his gratification. He mounted me and pressed his generous erection onto my face, making me stimulate him until he was satisfied. He bent me over the back of the couch and had his way. He had me in the shower, on the recliner chair, the dining room table, and the kitchen countertop.

I asserted some woman’s prerogatives of my own. I taught Brad where I wanted to be kissed and how. He knew how to treat a girl. He presented me with loving kisses instead of crude licks. I insisted he stay put until I was completely satisfied, not allowing him to vacate the scene of my outburst until I calmed. I put him in every position I wanted, enjoying his obedience and his generous efforts to please me. If Grandpa was watching from above he’d be either appalled at my behavior or proud of me.

When we returned to California we resumed our lives with our own spouses. But our sharing wasn’t through. We often had Angela and Brad as overnight guests in our house. The purpose, of course, was to swap husbands and wives. We spent nights at Angela’s and Brad’s house, too, with the same intent. It was comfortable and loving and open.

This openness became more liberal and extended to times when all four of us were not together. I came home from shopping one afternoon and was surprised to find Angela in bed with my husband.

What did I do? What could I do? I told them to move over.

 

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