“You did WHAT,” I yelled. Becky cringed at my anger. I was justified. She had neglected to pay the security monitoring service, so our retail flower shop had been unprotected for the past three months. We were in a low-crime area, but part of the monitoring was our cooler temperature. If it got too warm or cold, it was supposed to alert the service who would then call us. Then we could go there and take corrective action before we lost our inventory. But she failed to pay them and last night our cooler froze so hard that each bucket had an inch or more of ice on the water’s surface, with frozen flower stems sticking out of them. FUCK!!! That was close to a thousand dollars down the drain. We had passed on inventory insurance because we had the security system. It was all on us. FUCK!!!

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’ll do anything to make up for it.” She was crying now. This was her shop. She had the horticulture degree, was artistic, and wanted to be self-employed. I was so pissed I couldn’t think straight. I would have been perfectly happy to go back to work after we sold the real estate business, but instead we sank the profit into this shop, just to make her happy. Now we had lost it all. Not enough left in savings to restock AND cover the rent and power bills this month, not to mention the dissatisfied customers we were about to have who might never return. FUCK!!! I just wanted to go home, but our lease required us to be open certain days, and at least six days each week. The landlord was not forgiving or understanding, either. So, we had to stay open and tell walk-ins that we had no flowers to sell.

So, we hung around, she in the back, me up on the raised area decorated as a dining room where Becky did wedding consultations. I don’t know what she was doing, but I was sitting there, looking around, wondering how we could recover from this. Pretty quickly I arrived at the realization that we would have to either sell something or get a loan. The only things of value we had were our vans, and they were our delivery vehicles. Didn’t make sense to sell them, then have nothing to deliver flowers with. Given our current financial condition, no bank or the like would give us a loan.

A private loan was what we needed. I mentally ran through the list of friends and acquaintances. Hmmm, I wonder. Johan had been our real estate office manager. He had proven to be a financially wise and frugal person with both our company’s money and his own. He lived comfortably on what we paid him and for the past year he’d been working with another company making about 50% more. We had crossed paths recently. He looked the same, dressed the same, drove the same car, and lived in the same economical apartment.

What the hell? The worst that could happen is he says no. I went out the back door so Becky wouldn’t hear our conversation, completely ignoring her as I passed her by.

Johan answered right away. “Hello?”

“Hey, Johan. This is Steve. How are you doing?”

“Hey, you,” he responded. “Doing well. What’s up?”

I explained to him what had happened. He was appropriately sorry for our plight and asked if he could help. I told him we needed to restock and meet rent and power bills that were due before we could earn the money for them. When he asked how much, I told him about two grand. He grunted when I said that.

“How long to pay it back, do you think?”

“I honestly don’t know. We’re barely breaking even on average. It could be a while.”

Fuck, that did it. He wasn’t interested unless I could add some incentive, whatever the fuck that meant. I thanked him for his time and hung up. Back at the “dining room” I sat there again, trying to think of something. Becky had busied herself dusting and rearranging our non-flower inventory, none of which had ever sold. Truth was, for as little walk-in traffic as we had, we could have been in a much cheaper, industrial or warehouse building and done as well sales-wise.

She was a nice-looking woman, but was quite inhibited, sexually, the result of strict, prudish upbringing. A little thick in waist and hips, but with a nice set of tits (36 D). She had always sucked my dick in our 20+ years of marriage but had just recently begun to let me cum in her mouth. Swallowing was out of the question. As I watched her moving around, I imagined her being braless, her tits swaying and jiggling as she worked. My dick stirred. Damn, I’m getting horny with our world crashing down. I laughed silently to myself. Then...

I remembered some things Johan had said that indicated he was attracted to her. My first wife and I had been into swinging, and I wondered about sharing Becky with Johan, but figured she’d have nothing to do with it. However, now she was about to lose her dream and it was entirely her fault. My dick stirred more. I also remembered catching Johan watching her when he thought nobody noticed. Hmmm, “incentive” perhaps? I went back outside to call him back.

“Hello?”

“Johan. I might have some incentive. Are you interested?”

“Maybe. What are you offering?”

“Becky.”

Dead silence. I almost laughed, imagining his expression.

“You mean...?”

“Yes, Johan, I’m offering to let you fuck my wife for a two grand loan. And it WILL be a loan. Just without a repayment schedule.”

Several more long moments, then, “She’s okay with this?”

“She has no choice. She fucked up and got us into this position. She needs to do whatever is necessary to get us out of it.” I put a strong emphasis on “whatever.”

“OK, I’m in. I’ll bring the money to you right away. Cash is best, I suppose?”

“Cash is best but bring it to our house tonight. No better time to start than the present.”

We hung up and I went back to my “dining room” station, wearing the same expression as before. As I sat there, I watched her some more, now imagining her with Johan. I decided that it was time for her to start swallowing cum. I’d been on a diet to improve the flavor of my semen, but I doubted Johan was. She was not going to enjoy this. Oh, well. Fuck around and find out. Damn, I was getting a raging boner.

At six, we closed up and drove home in silence. We had leftover pot roast and veggies for supper. I had just finished loading the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. Becky answered it (not planned, but perfect). “Johan, what brings you over?”

“I’m a knight in shining armor,” he replied as he entered. I noticed he consciously brushed hard against her tits. Her surprised expression was priceless, as was his grin. He headed into the living room; Becky and I followed.

She looked at me questioningly. I explained, “You have fucked up royally. You know that, don’t you?” She sort of nodded. “Johan as graciously offered to loan us the money required to fix your fuckup. In return, you’re going to fuck Johan however he wants.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “Oh, no, no, no, that’s not happening. You’re out of your mind.”

Johan pulled out twenty 100 dollar bills, waving them slightly. “You don’t have to, but as I understand it, without this, you’re out of business.”

“You are both bastards,” she said with an unbelieving tone.

“Oh, bullshit,” I countered. “You’ve said before how sexy Johan is and I’ve caught him leering at you several times.” That gave them both surprised expressions. I almost laughed. I walked over to Johan and took the money. “Now, we go to the bedroom. I’m going to watch, maybe I’ll join in, maybe not, and the lights stay on.” Becky looked like she was about to faint. “Let’s go. We’re burning fuck time.” Johan shrugged, took Becky by the arm, and told me to lead the way. Down the hall we went.

I took up a place in the corner between the wall and the end of Becky’s dresser, out of the way, but with a great view. They stood there, Johan looking at Becky, Becky staring at some point on the window blinds. I wondered if she was considering making her break through it.

“OK, you, two. Get on with it. This is going to be good.”

Becky sighed, muttered “I don’t believe this,” and began undressing with her back to Johan. I motioned to Johan to get involved with her. I chuckled to myself, remembering how “fish out of water” I’d felt at the first swing party Charlene and I had gone to.

He moved around to stand before her and took over undressing her. She refused to look up at him, still staring at some spot in front of her. I noticed her shoulders were up slightly, a posture she took when feeling threatened. He slipped her blouse off, looked around for a moment, then tossed it onto the dresser. His hands went to her breasts as hers went to her sides. She was either mortified or doing her damnedest to not enjoy this. He massaged her tits through her bra briefly, then slid his hands around and unclasped her bra. As he pulled it forward, the straps fell from her shoulders and he slid it down and off her arms, tossing it to the dresser, too.

Becky’s face was beet red, and her nipples were distended. Oops, maybe she was enjoying this after all. I wondered if she was getting wet. I would have bet the farm she was. I’d come to believe over the years that she had a kink to her. Deeply repressed, but there, nonetheless. She would always come very hard when we did something she “didn’t like.”

Johan’s hands came to her bare breasts, lifting and massaging them, thumbing the hard nipples causing them to stiffen and grow more. Becky still refused to look at him. Her hands at her sides were now in fists. She was such a control freak, I wondered if she was trying to maintain her “I don’t want this” appearance. When he bent and suckled on them, her gaze went to above the window. I noticed, though, that she wasn’t as red.