Do It

By Laran Mithras

Christopher plays a cute game with Shelly on Sundays.
"Would you do him?" Why? Why not?
He uses the game to counter his wife's insecurities.
After twenty-two years of marriage, there is one major hang-up.
Shelly hates Christopher's best friend.
She sees Cal as arrogant and unlikable.
Christopher makes one final attempt at correcting her view.
A tiny bit of trickery should help things along...

101 pages of hotwife romance. Included: wife-sharing, wife watching, games, no humiliation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laran Mithras
• Release date: Jul 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215287330

Laran Mithras

I write sexy stories that skate along the edge of modern relationships. I don't like cliffhangers, endless chapters, or ongoing fighting and misunderstanding until the last page of the book. So, I don't write those in my books. Many authors think they're being edgy and have an alpha-male alien who's never heard of Earth running around saying, Jesus Christ! every two pages. Ridiculous. So, yeah, I don't do that, either. No religious expletives in my books.I write from the standpoint of realism. My heroes and heroines are normal people who make the extraordinary leap to sexual and emotional fulfillment. Most of my stories are HEAs and are designed to provoke a deeper thought about where we stand with our relationships.I don't live with two dogs or cats who rule my life; I have two pet rats. Yeah, really.Comments on stories or other questions can be directed to: [e-mail]. Connect with me on Facebook: Laran Mithras. Happy reading!

Book preview

A lot of times people look at the negative side of what they feel they can't do. I always look on the positive side of what I can do.

Chuck Norris

CHAPTER 1

We had a naughty game.

Shelly. I tapped my drink container against hers.

We sat in the Food Court at Blossom Hill Mall drinking coffees on a Sunday. The game hadn't come easily, no. But it was easy now.

Her blue eyes found mine, questioning. She had been scanning the thin crowd, as I had been.

I nudged the air with my chin. Patched vest. Biker-guy.

She adjusted her thin-frame glasses and found the man. Her eyes widened. Him? She sipped her coffee in a show of casual indifference. A range of facial expressions shifted fluidly across her features.

The game was something I had started out of frustration. My wife had caught me looking ahead towards the Food Court several months back and thought she had caught me looking at three young girls dressed in micro-shorts. She had asked if I was checking them out.

Despite my explanation, she did not believe me.

I had detected something else, though, under her surface. Envy at their youth? Our daughter was grown and out of the house. Was Shelly feeling the downhill race of age?

I had been right and the game was born.

But the game evolved. It became not a discussion of who I would or wouldn't prefer to do, but a contest of choosing who I would do if I absolutely had no choice. It was an easy matter to include her in that choice.

Who would you do, out of this crowd, if you have to?

This facilitated discussion of what we liked, rather than accusations of what the other suspected.

The game had further morphed to today's form: selecting someone in particular and forcing a decision. Would you?

My wife was delighted that I didn't have eyes for skirts or tits. I was just as elated to have her openly weighing a man without the pretense of shock or rejection.

The game was fun.

It was interesting.

It was enlightening.

I delivered the game-line to which we had become accustomed, Would you do him?

No strings, no recriminations, no judgments, no jealousy. If given the chance without hang-ups, would you?

My wife rubbed her thumb on the lid of her coffee, considering the man. A blush rose in her cheeks – somewhat new for her. She whispered, A biker? He'd wreck me.

Level voice, Would that be bad?

Her eyes jerked away from him and snapped to me. Gone were the questioning looks of a few months ago. She inhaled pensively. Aren't bikers bad? What could that produce other than a bad time?

The talk was good for us: it was real; it was meaningful; and it shared the deepest of feelings and reasoning. I said, Bad boys are bad in bed?

No...

No? Then...

She hadn't looked back at the biker, but now she did and shrugged. Getting mixed up with a bad—

What if he's not bad? Challenging preconceptions was something at which I was determined to succeed.

She blew a breath out through her lips and sat back, still looking at the biker. Well... I guess they're not all drug dealers.

Right. Let's avoid television tropes.

She smirked.

What was she thinking as she did? I didn't know.

She lifted her chin to the side, but kept her eyes on the biker. Sure... I guess.

Fun? What are your expectations of that kind of man?

Maybe. She shifted in her chair.

She was thinking about this man, and I knew she was running through her mind what it would be like to be underneath him. Just that idea of the game alone made my dick become swollen – as it was now.

I said, You're thinking rough?

She nodded, still looking at him.

Good rough? Bad rough?

She laughed – a light tinkling sound that had captivated me twenty-two years before. Shelly was a good-looking woman – more mature now than the youthful beauty I had married. Her blonde hair had lost its golden luster and she no longer styled it. She had stopped using makeup some years back learning about how much of it caused cancer. Her hips had widened and her chest had flattened. Clefts had scored her mouth with laugh lines and crinkled the corners of her eyes.

Her beauty had matured to my appreciation. She doubted herself, but I treasured what we had earned.

She said, I don't know. Maybe.

Maybe?

Sure, I guess. Maybe it would be a good rough.

I smiled. For me, the game was a success. Getting her to talk freely about sexuality was a huge step away from the uptight shell with which many older women surrounded themselves. Such also helped her ease into her older age.

I knew this was an issue for a lot of women. I cared; many husbands didn't.

Her eyes shifted around the Food Court. Okay, tank-top girl coming toward us – by the sub stand.

I twisted around.

A gal somewhat younger than us was easy to