The Limits of Monogamy

[Author's note: contains themes of consensual non-monogamy. If you don't like wife swapping/hotwifing, please move on to other stories that may be more to your taste. Or, stay for the drama, Up to you! Cheers Flynn99 for the story idea!]

---

My wife is like the weather: bright and breezy, and occasionally unpredictable.

She's rushing, because she's going to be late, pulling on her underwear, picking up the dress from where she laid it on our bed. She's wearing stay-up stockings that shape her legs delectably as she steps into her high heels. She turns, catching me looking.

"Make yourself useful, zip me up?"

Christina has always been like this, giving with one hand and taking with the other. She steps into the tiny party dress and backs up towards me so that I have a full view of her pert, rounded bottom in the tight fabric. She bends over to smooth out a stocking even though I know it doesn't need smoothing, because it shows off her rear. She straightens up again and I zip up her dress.

"Thanks, babe. My ride's here, gotta go."

She twists around and gives me a quick kiss, then pats my crotch, grinning as she feels the bulge there. Yes, I'm reacting to the sight of my wife in her figure-hugging white dress, with her blonde hair gathered back, her perfect mascara framing her delicate blue eyes. I am treated to a smile, her cheeks dimpling in a crazy, sexy way, and then she's in motion, clicking in her stilettos towards the door.

"Have a good time," I call after her.

"Will do."

The door opens, and she's gone. I adjust my jeans to get comfortable. We've been together ten years, and she can still do that to me. It's her way of always getting her way. She thinks I haven't worked that out by now.

I check the time, and grab the car keys. I'm going to be late too if I don't go now, but I had to wait for my wife to leave.

I head out of our front door, down the garden path to the garage. We live in a nice neighborhood, on a slope that overlooks the lake. We never had kids, so the money had to go somewhere, right? I open the side door, but I don't get into the car immediately. Instead, I run up the stairs to the granny flat above.

It's clean and tidy, with milk in the little fridge in the kitchenette, tea and coffee. I should have bought flowers, maybe, just something to... no, come on. Stay on track. I go down the hallway, past the neat bathroom, open the door at the end. The bed is made, the pillows plumped. I'm stalling. I know it's ready because it's the third time I've been in here today. I need to get a grip.

I backtrack down the stairs, get into the car and head out into the night.

I drive with the music on, trying to settle my nerves. The streets are dark; it's midweek and there's nobody around as I pull up outside the apartment block. There's a single light on in the third floor corner apartment. I'm all clear.

I get out, checking my phone one last time. Christina has posted a picture of herself with a cocktail. She's grinning, like she's having a good time, leaning forward slightly in a way that I know she knows reveals her cleavage. I look up at the building in front of me with trepidation. I guess I'm ready for a good time too, but I'm stalling.

Grow a pair. But then, let's be honest, maybe they're the problem. They've got me into all kinds of situations, but nothing quite like this one. I check the time again, unnecessarily. Christina will be gone for hours.

I press the intercom and after a few moments, the door clicks and I enter. The hallway is deserted, and I take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, two at a time until I stop myself. I'm burning off the excess energy, but I need to calm the farm.

The third floor is empty too, but I'm acutely aware that any of the doors could open at any time. I stride down the hallway to a door, and knock. It opens immediately, and there she is.

"Hi," I say.

Alessandra just stares at me. She's dressed casually, but the curves of her body don't do casual. She's chosen a button-up blouse that stretches across her ample breasts, standing in tight jeans and low stiletto heels; a little slutty, enough to stop me in my tracks. It's a studied look, just enough without being over the top. She's Latina, a head shorter than me, rounded in a way my wife isn't. She turns and retreats into the apartment, and I'm mesmerised by the way her shapely backside moves in her jeans. I'm an avid student of the female posterior.

I slip into the apartment and let the door close behind me with a click. It breaks the silence.

"You ready to go?" I ask.

Her head turns, wide honey-brown eyes in a lovely face. "Yes."

"What do you need?"

She picks up a tote bag and threads it over her shoulder. Suddenly, she's all business, heading back to the door, leaving me to follow in her wake.

We take the stairs because she doesn't want to be discovered waiting for the elevators with a man who isn't her husband. We cross the lobby, through the doors, and emerge into the night, but she doesn't slow down.

"Where did you park?" she asks.

"Down here."

I direct her to the car, and she slips quickly into the passenger seat, closing the door and ducking down. I get into the driver's side and glance across at her.

"Let's go," she hisses.

The nerves are radiating from her, and so I start the engine and pull out into the traffic. Little by little, I feel her begin to relax.

"It's okay, Alex. Felipe's not coming back for hours," I tell her.

"You don't know that," she mutters.

"He'll be out all night. He always is. You told me that."

"I know."

We drive in silence for a while, and then I hold out a hand. For a moment, it looks like she's going to ignore it, but then she entwines her fingers with mine, gripping tightly.

"It's okay," I murmur. "He won't be home before midnight. I've got everything set up."

The back of my hand rests on her jeans. I can feel her body heat through the material. Her palm is clammy, but gradually she's loosening up as we put distance between us and the apartment she shares with her husband. Eventually, she lets go of my hand, and I rest it lightly on her thigh, my thumb stroking gently up and down. She covers my hand with hers, but she doesn't stop me. We don't talk all the way back to my house.

I stop outside the garage and press the button. The door begins to roll up, and I feel her stiffen again.

"We're here," I announce, as if it isn't obvious.

The car rolls into the darkened space, and the door comes down behind us, and then everything is quiet. I can make out her outline in the gloom, but I can't read her expression. I unclip my seatbelt and lean over, pulling her gradually towards me. I touch my lips to hers in the dark and she hesitates. Then she kisses me back.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, "I just..."

"I get it. Felipe's never going to know. Nobody saw you. It's you and me now."

I get out of the car, circling around it in the dark to the passenger side. I open the door and reach in. Alessandra takes my hand and steps out. I draw her towards me and kiss her again. She responds this time, wrapping her arms around my waist. My hands slide down her back, over her smooth rear, cupping her cheeks.

I lift her up and she gasps. She's lighter than my wife, her petite body contouring to mine as she wraps her legs around my thighs.

"What're you doing, Charlie?"

"Carrying you over the threshold," I reply.

To my relief, I hear her giggle nervously.

"It's tradition, when you bring your woman home."

She nuzzles against my neck, her breath tickling my ear, and I can feel myself stirring in my pants.

"But I'm not your woman, Charlie. I don't belong to you. You haven't claimed me."

I carry her to the stairs and begin to ascend. She is warm and soft against me. I can feel the shift of her breasts pressed tightly against my chest as she breathes.

"I'm going to," I tell her, and she kisses my neck.

At the top of the stairs, I put her back on her feet and turn on a light. Alessandra looks around.

"It's not big," I tell her. "But it's very private."

"And Christina won't be back for hours?"

"We have all night."

Alessandra's eyes sweep the room. She's nibbling her lip. Finally, she slides her tote bag off her shoulder and puts it on the counter. The nerves have surfaced again.

"So, are you staying?" I ask.

Alessandra reaches into her bag and extracts her phone.

I frown. "What're you doing?"

"Checking."

She scrolls through her messages, and I have to wait.

"He won't know, Alex. It's all good."

Alessandra hesitates, but then she presses a button on the side of her phone and it powers off. She takes a breath, like it's broken the umbilical between her and her husband. I take the phone from her hand and slip it back into her bag. She doesn't resist as I wrap her in my arms and lower my face to hers.

She's shorter than my wife too, the opposite in just about every way but one. I notice the flush of her cheeks. No, she and my wife have that in common. When I kiss her this time, she doesn't hold back.

Finally, she breaks off and looks up at me, wide-eyed. "Are you going to take me to bed now?"

"Yes. I'm going to make love to you now."

"Make love? Not just fuck?"

"I want this, Alex. It's not just fucking."

"Have you said that to Christina?"

She fixes me with a strange look, like she's challenging me. I don't reply. Instead, I take her hand and lead her down the little hallway into the bedroom. She comes to a halt in the middle of the floor, watching me. She doesn't move.

I can see how nervous Alessandra is as I undress. I pause. "It's too much, isn't it?"

She gives me the tiniest nod. "It's a lot, tonight."

I'm naked now, and I go over to her, enfolding her in my arms. "Second thoughts?"

She doesn't answer, but I know she's wavering. I pick at the top button of her blouse; she doesn't resist.

"Trust me," I tell her.

Those big, gorgeous, honey-brown eyes look up to me, and I can feel myself reacting. I undo the next button, and then the next.

Slowly, I undress her, unzipping her jeans, until she's just in her underwear. The expression on her face hasn't changed, partway between trepidation and reluctance. I reach behind her and unhook her bra to free her ample breasts at last, then pull her into me. We're skin on skin, her petite frame in my arms, and I wait. Eventually, her arms encircle my waist and I know we've passed the watershed. I place a kiss on the side of her neck and pull her panties down, and she's naked at last.

I kiss her, but she doesn't answer back. I whisper into her ear, "Come on."

Alessandra doesn't move, but when I take her hand, she lets me lead her to the bed. I pull back the covers and she slides between the sheets without a word. My pulse is hammering, and I can see she's nervous. Or is it unwillingness? I get in next to her, wrapping her in my arms again, the sheets cool on our bare skin.

"What are you going to do?" she murmurs.

My hand slides down her front, over her tummy, down to the little dark patch between her legs, and I feel her abdominals clench.

"Are you going to stop me?" I ask.

"Do I have a choice?"

Her eyes are wide and honest. She's looking for something from me. Perhaps it's mercy. I close my eyes and bury my face into her soft, dark hair so that she can't read my expression. Her question answers all my questions about who she is, her history. My fingertips tease the curls of her neatly-trimmed crotch and she catches her breath.

The door opens.

We both turn, as one. Christina is standing there, still in her party dress, backlit by the light in the hallway. Her face is in shadow, but as she places her hands on her hips, I have absolutely no doubt of what's coming next.

"Surprise," she announces.

---

Okay, before you get the wrong end of the stick, maybe I need to back up. Six months earlier, that kind of thing. There's something you need to know about us.

We were in the club. I think it was a Thursday, because it was quieter. My wife saw her first. She grabbed my arm, purring, "Now there's a walking solution to the declining birthrate crisis."

I turned to follow her gaze. Christina was right. The woman walking into the club would be turning every man's thoughts towards babies.

She was petite, Latina, in high heels and a tight, short skirt that barely covered her firm rear. Her top was unbuttoned one button too many, depending on your viewpoint, showing off her ample cleavage. Her hair cascaded around a gorgeous face in long, dark ringlets. I barely noticed the man she was with.

My wife's hand gripped my knee and squeezed. "Easy, tiger. You've got a tongue like a roller door."

I blinked, looking back at my wife. "Do not."

"Want me to mop up the dribble? It's all down your chin."

"You're full of crap." But I couldn't help it: I brushed my chin anyway.

The couple went over to the bar, giving me a spectacular view of the woman's behind. The skirt was stretched tight across the tops of her thighs; if she had bent over at that point...

"Want another drink? Hello, Earth to Charlie."

"Yeah, uh, sure. Same."

"Okay. Sit tight." Her hand shifted from my knee to my crotch. She gave it a pat. "And it does feel tight."

Christina slipped out of the booth and minced on her high heels to the bar, wiggling her rear more than strictly necessary for getting from A to B, because I'd be watching. She knows I'm an appreciator of the female posterior. It's my weakness.

Which makes my wife my weakness, which is why we were in the Lost and Found in the first place.

It wasn't where we first met, anything like that, but it's where we graduated to after a lot of the vanilla stuff. A kink club just seemed to be the right fit. We actually met at a Halloween dress-up party. She came as a vampiress, if there's such a word: Gothed up in a tight black lycra dress and fishnets with the most ridiculous plastic fangs. I knew there was more to her, from that first few seconds of saying hello. The die was cast.

There's more to both of us, so we had that in common, I guess.

It's not that I've always had trouble with monogamy, or that I had a bad childhood, or a searing break-up, or any of that. I didn't need to guard my individual freedom fiercely, or feel the need to notch up the bedposts. I'm not a particular fan of danger, or an adrenaline junkie, or a home-wrecker, though I've met those types living off the thrill of fucking someone other than the person you share your home with. Let's be honest, there's enough of it about.

Christina was the same, coming at it from the same angle, and for the first time, I wondered if there was something here that might work. We're both very boring, otherwise. She's in management consulting and I'm an accountant. See? Told you. But that's also the frisson, the stepping out of our ordered lives, catching the cab from our nice house overlooking the lake in our quiet neighbourhood, and then becoming someone else just for the night.

We play with other couples. I like to watch her watching me, how hot it makes her as I fuck someone else. She has this particular tell, where I look across and her eyes are fixed on my cock as it disappears into another woman's pussy, that little lost look on her face, the flush of her cheeks. She doesn't touch herself, because she's saving it all up for afterwards, the two of us together in bed at home.

Similarly, I let her play, so long as he wears protection. I don't watch, but it's about what happens after. She needs to be reclaimed. It's some of the hottest sex we've ever had.

So, maybe it's not for everyone, but it works for us. Watching my wife swish up to the bar, I knew what was on her mind. She'd pointed the woman out. She wanted to watch me fuck her. She needed to be told to watch.

The couple were standing at the bar, and my wife came up on the woman's side. She waited to be served, and then her head turned, which told me it was go.

There's a protocol to it. Christina had likened it to the astronauts docking at the Internation Space Station. There are stages of approach, with go/no-go decisions at each. Christina was on initial approach, striking up a conversation with the dark-haired woman next to her at the bar. Her partner leaned in and soon the three of them were chatting.

He said something and my wife laughed, giving her head a vigorous nod that made her long blonde hair shake, moving into flirting. My attention was on the reaction of the woman between them, but I was struggling to read her body language.

My wife got her drinks and then pointed over towards me. Stage three already: she was hot to trot tonight.

His name was Filipe, and he introduced his wife as Alessandra. Up close, she was absolutely stunning: diminutive but curvy, poured into her little tight dress, leaving nothing to the imagination. Or, everything to the imagination, depending on how you look at it. Christina was watching me watch her, and I could tell by my wife's face that she approved. She isn't into girls, but like I said, she likes to watch me slip into girls.

No, that's not true. We've tried threesomes a couple of times. When you're playing with another couple, you have to consider what they're looking for too. It's a lot of give-and-take, negotiating the blockers and keeping it fun. It can all go really wrong, really quickly if you're not all on the same page. So, we've satisfied my wife's curiosity about girls, and put it on the back burner. But, I have to be honest, I still revisit it for inspiration, the look on Christina's face as she allowed a woman onto final approach for the first time.

As I talked to the Latina beauty next to me, I kept track on the conversation on the other side of the booth. Felipe was keen, turning it up for my wife's benefit, and I didn't blame him. My wife looked gorgeous, out of his league by a long way. Alessandra was out of his league too, and as I watched him revel in the female attention, I couldn't help but wonder how they'd gotten together.

Felipe was angular, but curiously nondescript, Latino like his wife, black hair brushed back, high cheekbones on a thin face, like the blade of an axe. He was wiry instead of broad, not too tall but still taller than his wife, dressed in a flashy, dark shirt and pants. My wife's eyes flicked to me, and that told me everything.

Christina wanted to make sure that I was watching her flirt with a man who didn't compare to her husband. She was pricking my alpha instincts, teasing. She gets off on the thought of getting off with guys she would barely give the time of day to in daylight, because they're no competition to me and yet she still allows them to bed her. They are a threat that she can be saved from, that needs a real man to come and claim her.

My wife is complex and tumultuous, like a summer storm. I have become very astute at predicting the weather. She glanced across at the hot woman sitting next to me, and then back to me again. We've both become very good at saying what we mean without speaking.

To answer my wife's question, I settled back in the booth and turned all my attention towards Alessandra, ignoring Christina completely. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my wife shift in her seat, crossing her legs, and I smiled broadly at the woman next to me. My wife was getting hot and bothered, seeing me ignore her. Regardless of how far this went tonight, it was going to be fully on when we got home.

We finished our drinks, and then Christina called it off. I'd expected it, but Felipe was blindsided. Curiously, Alessandra didn't react much at all. My wife reached across the table and squeezed my hand, before turning her attention back to Felipe.

"It's been lovely getting to know you a bit," she told him. "Are you here next week?"

Felipe frowned, trying to parse my wife's sudden change of behaviour. "I suppose."

My wife rose from her seat, still holding my hand. "We'll see you then. Enjoy your night."

She nodded to Alessandra, and then led me away to the bar, her rear jiggling like jungle drums as she strutted across the floor. I looked behind us, and sure enough, Felipe's eyes were glued to my wife's bottom. Her hand was hot in mine, gripping tightly. She was so very pleased with herself.

Sometimes the storm lifts, sometimes you have to just batten down the hatches. Christina had worked herself up enough just from the flirting, she didn't need anything more. We approached the bar and she turned to me with lidded eyes, smiling seductively, turning the dial all the way up.

"He wanted me, Charlie. He had his hot little hand on my knee. He was inching it up my leg, right in front of you, and I didn't stop him."

Her eyes teased me, waiting for my reaction. I stayed silent. I'm not that easy.

"I bet he would have slipped his hand into my panties, right there in the booth. I would have been sitting there with another man's hand between my legs."

"And then you crossed your legs, so I knew there was no danger."

Two can play this game. My wife's cheeks were flushed, her lovely blue eyes wide. I smiled. Not so easy tonight. I turned to the barman and ordered drinks for us both, then turned my attention back to my wife. Her expression had shifted. No, we weren't going straight home to fuck. She would need to wait.

"Is this punishment," she purred, "for being a bad wife?"

That's the thing about the weather, it can turn.

"I'm not sure we should go just yet. Alessandra was smoking hot. I think I might go back and talk to her."

My wife's eyes flared. "Bastard."

"She was rubbing her foot against my leg all the time. I think she'd be up for more. I bet her panties are soaking."

The last word was the trigger, and my wife leaned in, pressing her lovely body against mine. "Mine are soaking," she whispered into my ear.

I broke off, collecting our drinks. We didn't move away from the bar, though. I took a sip, and then Christina followed, resigning herself to playing on my terms. Call it the bastard in me, but I couldn't resist turning the knife.

"I bet she'd be frictionless. I bet she's a lip-biter as I slide in."

Instinctively, Christina bites her lip and I know I've gotten inside her head. This is the real reason we do all this, pressing each other's buttons until we're fit to burst. Felipe hadn't understood the protocol, that we never go from first meeting straight to bed. You can't do that with strangers, not without it blowing up in your face. Next week, if they show up, they won't be strangers. We'll be ready for final approach.

"What do you reckon, babe? Is she a D-cup? It didn't look like a push-up bra. Maybe I should go back and check."

Christina's hand settles on her own chest, and I smile.

"I bet they'd be so soft in my hands. A good handful, don't you think? They'd probably have a life of their own as I fucked her."

I painted the mental picture of Alessandra on her back, her breasts wobbling with each savage thrust as I pounded into her, the coup de grace for my wife.

"Fuck me," she growled.

"We need to finish our drinks first."

"Fuck the drinks. Fuck me."

The weather changed again.

I made her wait, though. I took my time finishing my glass, even though hers was already empty, my free hand settled on her hip, my thumb idly stroking the fabric of her tight dress. At last, I put the empty glass on the bar and took her hand. She led me immediately towards the exit.

But, Alessandra was there, sitting at one of the little cocktail tables on her own. Christina stopped. Alessandra noticed us, and her face crumpled immediately. Still clutching my hand, Christina diverted towards her.

"Are you okay?" my wife asked.

Alessandra stared at her for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah."

"Sure?" my wife pressed. "where's Filipe?"

The petite, dark-haired woman gave my wife a brittle smile. "We met someone we know. He went upstairs."

"With?"

"With her, yes."

Christina released my hand. She flopped onto a stool. "You aren't okay, are you?"

Alessandra didn't answer immediately, but she balled her hands into little fists. Slowly, she shook her head.

"I thought you were here to play," my wife continued. "In the booth, I, uh..."

My wife hesitated and I felt it too. She looked up at me, frowning. "The feet," I confessed.

I'd made that detail up, just to tease Christina. In reality, Alessandra had sat next to me in the booth and hadn't moved a muscle. I should have noticed the signs, but I was too busy concentrating on my wife. I took a seat too.

"Was this all your husband's idea?" I asked her.

"I guess."

"Do you do this a lot?"

"Sometimes."

The silence lengthened, and finally Alessandra filled it, her beautiful face creasing in dismay.

"It's how he is. He's got a drive. I know he's cheated on me."

"This isn't supposed to be cheating. It's playing, there's a difference. When you go home afterwards..."

"When I go home afterwards, it's... I'm just glad it's over," she hissed.

I glanced at my wife, who was staring at her, open-mouthed. "Oh, hon, that isn't how this is supposed to work. I'm so sorry. I... shit. We should have picked up on that."

Alessandra shook her head, blinking rapidly, and there were little droplets on her cheeks. "It's not your fault."

My wife took Alessandra's hand. The other woman didn't resist. Thoughts of grabbing a cab home and a night of tempestuous release evaporated.

"What do you need?" Christina asked.

"Felipe's upstairs with her and he just left me here on my own. I want to go home, to get out of this place."

"Or."

It was the tone of my wife's voice that made Alessandra lift her head. "Or what?"

"What's good for one is good for the other. You're absolutely smoking hot, you could have your pick. Even it up."

"I'm not. I couldn't. I just fuck things up. Felipe's always telling me that. He's always picking up on things I don't do right."

My wife's posture changed, stiffening. A storm was brewing.

"Listen to me, Alex. You don't mind Alex?"

"It's fine. My Dad calls me Alex. He..." Alessandra ground to a halt, utterly forlorn. "He'd have advice for me. He'd tell me."

"He'd tell you that you're amazing, yeah? You are amazing. I wish I could wear that dress like you do. Charlie hasn't stopped talking about how hot you are."

Christina's eyes flicked up to me, and I joined in. "Yeah. We saw the moment you walked in. I didn't even notice your husband. You could have walked in with Godzilla and nobody would have noticed."

Alessandra's eyes fixed on me now. I gave her a smile. "A goddamn twenty-storey-tall killer reptile, and still everyone would be looking at you. You're gorgeous."

"Are you trying to pick her up?" Christina interjected.

"No," I fired back.

My wife's lips twitched into a smile. "Really?"

"Okay, maybe," I laughed.

Alessandra's expression brightened fractionally. Christina slid her arm around the other woman's shoulder.

"If you don't want to even the score tonight, then how about we take you home?"

"No. I don't...," Alessandra interjected.

"Hey, relax, I meant your home. Not home with us. I wasn't saying that. What do you say?"

Alessandra paused, then raised her chin. "Yeah, I'm done here. Okay."

We got up and made our way out of the Lost and Found, past the huge Pacific Islander doorman, out onto the street. I hailed a cab.

"I'm nowhere near where you live, am I?" Alessandra asked.

"No," I replied. "But, it's only money. It just means Christina's going to be a bit later into bed."

My wife's face twitched into a wry smile, but she didn't say anything. The cab arrived and we got in, the two of them sitting in the back.

It felt like a long drive, watching the streets roll past in the dark. Behind me, I could hear my wife's voice, murmuring, and Alessandra answering occasionally, in low tones. I couldn't make out the words, but I knew Christina was laying out the terrain for her, how it all worked, or more precisely how it actually all worked. I thought back to Felipe sitting in the booth with his hand on my wife's thigh as his own wife was forced to watch, and I have to confess that my thoughts were not charitable.

We arrived at her apartment block, and we all got out. Christina rested her hands on the smaller woman's shoulders. "See you next week."

They hugged and we watched until Alessandra was inside her building. I cocked my head at my wife. "What are you planning? What were you talking about?"

"Get back in the cab Charlie. I need you to listen. Then I need you to take me home and fuck my brains out."

---

I was stone cold sober. Christina was two drinks in, bundled into the back of a cab on our way to the Lost and Found. She'd taken ages to get ready, and she'd made sure I watched. I knew exactly what she was wearing under that tight black dress. Her make-up was immaculate: glossy blood-red lipstick and dark eye shadow, the classic vamp look that she pulls off so well. Her appearance said, 'fuck me', all the way down to her charcoal stockings and patent leather stilettos.

But her eyes told me a different story. She'd needed two drinks before we set off from home.

The cab pulled up and we got out. This early on a Thursday, there was no line to navigate, and we walked straight through the wide doors into the club, my wife's heels clicking on the concrete. I paid the cover charge, and we slipped through the sparsely-dotted people to the very back, to the huge Pacific Islander who guarded the doorway into the reserved area, the club within the club: the Lost and Found.

This early, the booths were mostly empty, and we slid into the spot near the big door that led upstairs into the playrooms.

"What do you want to drink?" I asked.

My wife smoothed her dress and crossed her legs, arranging herself. Anyone coming through the main door would get the full view of a spectacular blonde in a tight black dress, waiting for fun. It was hard to take my eyes off her: dressed like that, my wife's legs seemed to go on forever. She caught me.

"Easy tiger. White wine, please."

I got our drinks, and then we made small talk. My wife's phone pinged and she picked it up quickly, her fingernails tapping like machine gun fire on the screen. It pinged again, and she smiled, firing off another message.

"Busy," I commented.

"Both of them. He's so eager. They're five minutes away."

"How's she?"

Christina paused, looking up from the soft glow of the phone. "I guess we'll find out. She's messaging, so that tells me something."

My wife put the phone down on the table and took my hand. "Let's just see, hon. If I'm back in ten minutes then you know it was a fail. Happens sometimes, right?"

"I'm pretty sure he won't pull the pin," I countered. "He's hot for you. He's not the question."

"You worried I'll get my wicked way and you're stuck here, Charlie?"

"Don't start."

"Making conversation with his wife while he's pounding me upstairs."

"Really, don't." I knew what she was doing.

Christina relented. "Hey, okay. You good?"

"Yep. All good."

"I should think so. Alex is so hot, babe. Your hands are going to be all over her tight little backside. She's going to be so wet for you."

"I said don't. I know what you're doing. I don't need firing up, and really, neither do you. You need to actually dial it back if anything."

I didn't mean it as a rebuke, and I didn't want to dampen the mood, but the words just came out. This is the thing about us, what makes all the sharing work. We know each other inside-out. I know how turned on it makes her to imagine my hands on someone else's body. I know that she's amping herself up for the show and she needs me to echo her enthusiasm as well. But there was something not quite right about the scenario with Felipe and Alessandra; my wife just had a different way of dealing with it than me.

I was about to speak, when I caught sight of two people coming through the door.

"Holy shit," my wife exclaimed.

Yes, holy shit. Felipe was in leather pants and a black shirt with the top few buttons undone, black hair brushed, carefully-groomed five-o'clock shadow. But his wife stole all my attention.

"I think I just turned gay," Christina hissed.

Alessandra was in black PVC pants polished to a high gloss that showed off the perfect curve of her thighs, drawn taut and flat between her hip bones to draw the eye in towards the space between her legs. She was in matching shiny black heels that sculpted her calves and shaped her legs perfectly. Her midriff was bare, the flash of a gem in her belly button. The golden brown skin of her trim stomach rippled as she walked towards us. Her voluptuous cleavage was pushed up in a little strapless leather halter, jiggling as she walked. Her hair was combed back into a lustrous, dark ponytail, her face bare of makeup except for a little black eyeliner and pink lips.

They came up to our booth and stopped. Felipe was grinning like a cat. We slid out of our seats to greet them.

Filipe held out his hand to me and I shook it. "Hola, Charlie. Good to see you again."

"You too," I replied.

He gave my wife a kiss on the cheek and I stepped up towards Alessandra to do the same. That's when I caught the look in her eyes, and that little knot in my stomach resurfaced.

"Sit, please," I announced. "Drinks are on me. What would you like?"

"Just a cerveza, thanks," Felipe replied. "And what's your wife drinking? Alessandra will have the same."

I nodded to him and went over to the bar to put the order in. Perched there, waiting to be served, I could study the pair of them with my wife in the booth. Christina was talking animatedly, and Felipe was reciprocating, but his wife sat in silence. I knew what the look in her eyes had meant. I ordered the drinks.

Alessandra had been put on display, poured into skintight shiny black pants and halter top as a statement. Filipe was showing her off, offering her up. Despite the stunning dark-haired beauty sitting next to him, all Filipe's attention was on my wife. I supposed that he would be rock-solid in those leather trousers of his by now, enticed by the situation of having his wife pressed up against him in her tight PVC pants while talking the blonde bombshell sitting across from him into bed.

I brought the drinks back and sat down next to my wife. She smiled at me, her eyes just a little too bright, and said, "Babe, I was thinking."

She leaned in, her lips against my ear. Felipe watched us both.

"You good with this?" she whispered.

I nuzzled against her neck and whispered back, "He's a dick."

"I know."

"You really want to go through with it?"

"Yeah. Leave him to me, babe, I can handle him. If anything, I reckon it's going to be tricky to stretch this out for more than quarter of an hour. I might have to do some dancing."

She pulled back to look me in the eyes. "Take care," she told me.

"You too."

I slid out of the booth to let my wife stand up. She took Felipe's hand and led him towards the door that went upstairs. She cast a look at me over her shoulder just before she stepped through. I turned to Felipe's abandoned wife.

"Guess it's you and me," I said. "Do you want another drink, or would you like to dance?"

Alessandra got up. "I'd like to dance."

I held out my hand and she took it.

We left the booths behind and retraced our steps back into the main club. The crowd was building, and Alessandra seemed immediately more at ease. I had to lean close to be heard over the music.

"Better?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Kink clubs aren't your thing, are they?"

"No."

Alessandra looked around quickly. I nodded towards the dancefloor, indicating that she should lead the way.

She sashayed towards the music, parting the crowd effortlessly. I followed close behind, trying very hard not to stare at the perfect curves of her rear in her tight black pants. She was getting looks, and when we reached the dancefloor, and she stepped close to me to dance, I felt like the most fortunate man in the club.

I'm not a good dancer at the best of times, and more or less sober I'm even worse. Alessandra understood, sliding her arms around me, swaying, looking up with wide eyes. Her expression was serious, but her body was warm against mine. She didn't say anything, waiting for my next move. I craned my neck, my mouth to her ear so I could be heard.

"How are you going with all this?" I asked.

"How are you going?" she replied, her breath tickling the side of my neck.

It was already too much, and as she gyrated against me, my pants began to tighten. My hand drifted down her spine, feeling the softness of her bare skin, until I touched the waistband of her pants. I hestitated.

"You stopped," she breathed into my ear, in a way that made me instantly rigid.

"You want me to continue?"

"You can if you want. You don't need me to tell you."

I pulled back, trying to read her expression. "Actually, I do," I replied.

Her face clouded momentarily, then she burrowed against my neck. I felt her lips on my skin, sending shivers through me. I couldn't work her out.

"You could have any man in this club," I told her, tucking my cheek against hers over the thumping bass. "Including me."

"You really think?"

"Absolutely. Don't you?"

"My thighs are too fat."

Startled, I pulled back again. "They aren't."

"They are. Filipe tells me."

I didn't have an answer to that, and we danced until the song finished. "Drink?" I asked.

"Yeah, okay."

I led her towards the bar. She slipped her hand into mine. I needed to get her away from the music and ask her something.

The bar area was quieter, and I got her a white wine and a beer for myself. We found a couple of stools and sat down. Her expression was guarded. I took a drink and then cleared my throat.

"You're a good dancer," I said.

"You stopped."

"What?"

"Your hand. You stopped. Don't you like me?"

Blindsided, I shook my head. "I didn't stop, I..."

"See, my thighs are too fat."

I couldn't work her out. Then, I had a flash of realisation.

"Tell me something," I said. "Are you only here with me so that your husband can have sex with my wife?"

"Aren't you?"

My eyebrows rose. "No, absolutely not."

"Then why are you here?"

"Uh, because..."

"You don't want sex with me, you're just doing this because it's what your wife wants."

"Wait," I protested. "Hold up, I do. What makes you think I don't?"

"Because we're talking and not..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. I could fill in the blanks. She must have seen it on my face because her mouth turned down and her eyes dropped.

So, this was Alessandra's life. The gorgeous woman perched on the stool before me in skintight clubwear was used to being swapped. No, traded. Felipe dressed his wife like a wet dream and gave her to guys to fondle and paw and then fuck, so that he could have fun with a string of different women. All the while, he was telling her little things, picking at flaws, and the more she let herself be used, the more worthless she felt.

This was where she was now, reduced to a PVC-clad fantasy for strangers to fuck. I had to hand it to Christina; my wife's instincts had been spot on the money.

"Let's get out of here," I announced.

"And go where?"

"Out."

"But, Filipe."

I stood up and held out my hand, waiting for her to take it.

She got up from her stool and put her hand in mine, letting me lead her out of the club and into the dark. Alessandra huddled close to me, even though the night was warm. I slipped an arm around her bare waist and she slid her arm around me too.

"Are we going somewhere to fuck?" she asked.

She was matter-of-fact, like it was a done deal.

"If you want."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll see you home. It's up to you."

"No, Charlie. It's never up to me."

We found a bar on the next block. It was quiet, with big leather-upholstered furniture in the back. I got the drinks in again, to find her already arranged on a plump sofa the same golden colour as her skin, and I came to a halt in front of her. The sight of her, reclining in her leather bustiere and her shiny black pants, hair pulled back, and the little, lost expression in her eyes, robbed me of all motion.

"Are you going to sit down?" she asked.

I stumbled into action, depositing myself on the sofa, handing her glass to her. She gave me a look that left no room for interpretation and patted the leather next to her. I slid across.

"I'm not going to...," I began.

She took my glass from me and put it next to hers on the table. Then, she took my hand and placed it on her thigh. My fingertips smoothed over the glossy surface, feeling her body heat beneath.

"Are you doing this because Felipe's going to ask?"

"Charlie, please stop talking."

My hand slid up her thigh, over her hip, cupping the exquisite cheek of her bottom and she drew me in for a kiss. I felt her hand in motion too, shielded from view by my body, slipping between my legs to discover my awakening manhood. She bit my lip playfully. I opened my mouth.

She forestalled me. "I'm serious, no more talking."

We kissed, oblivious to the other patrons, ignoring the cold hard fact of her husband upstairs in the club with my wife. I nuzzled her neck and whispered in her ear.

"Yes, I want to have sex with you, if you want to."

I felt a tremor in her chest and realised that she was laughing silently at me. "You have no idea."

"Is that a yes?"

She was smiling now. "You still asking?"

"I guess. You must get asked a lot."

Alessandra hesitated, then reached up to run her fingers through my hair. "No, Charlie. I never get asked," she replied, putting subtle emphasis on the last word.

I leaned in again and she pressed her lovely body against me, and the conversation was over.

---

I weaved between tables in the outside area, looking for my wife. It was lunchtime, and the office blocks all around had disgorged their occupants into the open-air food court in the part of the city that we both worked. There was a couple sitting nearby, and as I passed, the woman stood up and waved. She had long, dirty-blonde hair and a dimpled smile, younger than me, with a ripe, rounded belly. Across the concourse, a petite, dark-haired woman waved back, pushing a stroller with a little girl in it, and for a moment I thought it was Alessandra.

A hand waved at me from another table. Christina was sitting with another woman whose back was turned to me. No, that was Alessandra. I walked over to them.

"Finished ogling the pregnant woman, Charlie?"

"Uh, no. I wasn't. I was looking for you. Hi, Alex."

Alessandra turned to me then and gave me a little smile. "Hi Charlie."

"I didn't know you were coming to lunch."

Alessandra opened her mouth to speak, but Christina got in first. "I'm double-lunching. We were having a chat."

My wife was still smiling, but Alessandra shifted in her seat. "I should get back," she said. "I'll leave you to it. Thanks for lunch."

She stood, and so did my wife, kissing goodbye. Then Alessandra gave me a peck on the cheek. "Bye, Charlie."

I watched her make her way between the tables, then I turned to my wife. Christina's smile had disappeared. We sat.

"What was that all about?" I asked.

Christina fidgeted with her phone. "You saw, right?" Her eyes were fixed on me.

Slowly I nodded. Alessandra had taken care with her make-up and her concealer, but I'd spotted the puffiness of her cheek.

"So?" Christina asked.

I let out a long breath.

"Seems taking her to the bar and not fucking her wasn't the plan," my wife muttered.

"It wasn't right, I told you that. We just made out. Whatever happened with Filipe, maybe it's not our..."

"No," she interjected. "Let me head you off. It really is our business, Charlie. She's absolutely lovely."

I folded my arms and regarded my wife. The thunderclouds were gathering. "Okay. What's the plan?"

---

Alessandra's body is rigid in my arms as my wife stalks across the carpet towards the bed. She stands over me, looking down, her face side-lit by the hallway light. She's smiling like a Cheshire Cat.

"Move."

I press up against Alessandra, and she edges across the bed to make space. My wife unzips her dress and strips, casually, baring herself in front of the woman in my bed. She slides between the sheets.

"How did it go?" my wife asks.

"Maybe I should ask you," I fire back.

"He was energetic, I'll give him that."

"Uh..."

My wife screws up her face. "I used a condom, babe, and I took a shower afterwards. I bought you plenty of time."

She reaches across me to stroke Alessandra's arm.

"Now are you two gonna get down to it, or do I have to get you started?"

She's on her side, watching us both, waiting, a little enigmatic smile on her lips. Then her expression softens.

"Alex, it's okay now. You're good. You can stay here as long as you need. Just come and go as you want, or we're in the main house. We're just a stone's throw away."

Alessandra mutters, "I suppose. But will you see Filipe again?"

"Nah. Tell you the truth, I think I'm over this swapping thing," my wife laughs. "I think it's time to try something else."

There is an awful moment of silence. I don't dare breathe.

"Me too," Alessandra replies.

My wife snuggles up to me and I realise that I'm between the Devil and the sea, that in a single moment our lives have changed.

My wife is like the weather: bright and breezy, and occasionally unpredictable.

But then, isn't that the point?

---

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