His

 

I was sitting in the living room, nervously tapping my foot, watching the well dressed, handsome man standing several feet away from me. Unlike my obvious apprehension, my tense movements, he was the epitome of calm, standing there in his suit and tie like he had not a care in the world, which, given his personality, he probably didn't.

Seeing my nervousness, he looked at me, smiled. "Easy, friend," he said, "you look like you're going to bolt."

"S...sorry," I said, looking down. 

We both heard the sound of heels coming down the hall, turned, looked. Molly, my wife, walked into the room wearing just a black lace bra, matching thong panties, and heels. She gave me a quick glance speaking to me in the way a married couple can without words, then turned to him and smiled. "David," she said warmly, making no effort to cover herself.

"Molly," he said, walking confidently to her, touching her back and arms. "I like it," he said, looking at me. "You picked well."

"Thank...thank you," I said looking up at her, quickly looking down. 

My wife turned to him, kissed him on the lips. "I should finish getting dressed," she said.

"Yes," David said, looking at me, "but we need to talk about something first." 

"U...us?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes, us, Scott," he said. 

"Do...do I need to be here for this?" Molly asked him, suddenly nervous herself.

"You do," David said, sitting down on a leather club chair, pulling my half naked wife onto his lap. "Sam, Molly tells me you've been pestering her lately."

"P...pestering her?"

"Yes, friend, pestering her. Pressuring her."

"I didn't...I mean...I just thought...I just wanted to."

"Here's the thing, friend, a woman can't serve two different men, she belongs to one or the other." His arm was around my wife when he said this, his fingers resting on one of her breasts, idly stroking her nipple through her bra.

I saw Molly's eyes, saw her look down when he said this, knew she was uncomfortable with the topic. "She...she's my wife," I said.

"I never think otherwise," David said. "It's not a question of who she's married to, friend, it's a question of who she sees as her leader, who she sees as the alpha male in her life. That has nothing to do with marriage, nothing at all."

I heard his voice clearly, but wasn't looking him in the eyes, instead watching his hand as he fondled her breast. It was to me, without question, deliberate, was his way of exerting control and dominance. Normally if a man touched someone else's wife this way, in front of him, there would be an immediate fight. But I said nothing, just watched, just accepted it, as he knew I would. "I...I know," I said.

"So we're clear, no more," he said.

"N...no more?"

"No more asking her to have sex, certainly no more whining about it. No more. How long has it been, Molly?"

Molly swallowed. "Since he asked."

"No, since you two were intimate like that."

"A...a couple of months," she said.

He had the look of a man who knew the answer to the question before he asked it.

"That's long enough," he said.

My eyes brightened for a moment but Molly's exchange with him snuffed that out in seconds. "To not have...have sex with him?" she asked.

"It's long enough to prove the point," he said, "long enough to make sure you two can still be emotionally connected without doing that."

"I...I don't understand," I said.

"Simple, friend," he said, "no more sex with your wife."

"What?"

"A woman serves the man she's fucking, Sam, it's simple as that. Sleeping with two men confuses her, so we'll eliminate that confusion. Now friend, before you get all bent out of shape, I'm not saying you two can't be intimate, quite the opposite in fact, I insist on it, physical and emotional, what I'm saying though, is you're no longer permitted inside her, those belong to me."

"Those?" I asked, confused.

"Her mouth, friend, her ass, friend, and her pussy, friend. Those belong to me."

"How...how are we supposed to be intimate?" I asked, stunned.

"You remember your baseball dating terms, friend? You're limited to second base."

I thought for a moment. "Second base..."

"First base is kissing, second base it touching above the waist, third base is touching or orally stimulating below the waist, home base is intercourse."

"Second base?" I asked, "we...we can't..."

"Second base, friend, the rest is mine. Remember, a woman can only serve one man."

"When can we...do more?"

He looked at me, a shit-eating grin on his face. "You can't friend, that's the point. That part of her is mine."