Ask

"Hon," my wife looked at me, arms crossed, "you're not listening. I want to, of course I want to, in fact, I can't think of anything we could do that would be more intimate."

"But?" I responded, knowing that everything that preceded the but was meaningless.

She looked down. "I...I think..."

"Amy..."

"I think you need to ask...ask him."

"Ask him?" I gasped. "I...I have to ask him to...to...to be intimate with my wife?"

"That kind of intimacy, yes," she said. 

"Just how am I supposed to ask him that?"

"Carefully, respectfully, reverently...I don't know. You probably should invite him to coffee or something, tell him you have something important you'd like to ask his permission about. You can phrase it how you want, but I'd suggest something like, I don't know, Amy and I were talking and we thought we'd like more intimacy together and so I'd like your permission to lick her clean after you've been with her."

I stared at her, mouth open. "A...Amy..."

"Please, I...I think it would be so good for us. I know how much you want to do that, I'm sure he'll say yes, but you have to ask him."

"But that's so...so humiliating," I mumbled.

"Sweetie, it's loving, not humiliating. Licking me clean after he's been with me is an act of love and reverence, it's showing you approve and accept him as the man in my life."

"No, I mean...I mean asking him."

She looked at me, her eyes tender. "I know, love, I know. That's why you have to ask."