by Lexi Rush
I leave and stomp down each step like a punished child marching to his room for a timeout. At the foot of the stairs, I glance back but they aren’t following me. That chattering monkey erupts in my brain: she sent you to get the champagne all the way in the wine cellar to get rid of you!
I trudge down to the musky basement, with said monkey howling in my brain, thinking this is bullshit—this isn’t starting out like a threesome. I still hear no sign of them moving to join me. What do I expect? I’ve seen Devin pick up and coax a girl on her knees like speed dating. And that’s with a completely random chick. This is a pre-arranged, sure thing. I stare in a defocused blur at the mini-refrigerator beneath the wine rack and mutter, “Three-way...who am I kidding?”
My insides are in a Civil War. They say you only feel one emotion at a time, but my stomach disproves that bullshit.
I am a cocktail of anxiety, lust, jealousy, and profound fear—all in one big dirty martini. I used to be jealous when Jenna and I started dating. Every time we went to a bar, if I would leave her alone just to take a piss, the horny land sharks circled her like a piñata when I returned. Over time, and as I matured, I took another guy hitting on her as a compliment. I knew my prudent wife enough to know she was faithful.
Now, that prudent wife is wreaking havoc on my, well, maturity. On one hand, I am über horned up about seeing Devin slip Jenna the python; on the other, I’m feeling more than a ping of jealousy. I know that my jealousy is only a fear of her liking someone better than me. I know I sound like an immature bitch, but before tonight, I never felt like this.
Watching porn together in the security blanket of our bed, my fantasy pillow talk—I wanna watch you fuck him—made me feel like Superman; now as my fantasy is turning into a reality show, I feel like Kryptonite.
Part of me wishes the night could end; the other part, can’t wait to see how it plays out.
I shake my head, adjust my jeans, and fling the refrigerator door open. I reach to the bottom shelf and grab a bottle of Moet—the top-shelf stuff—and the bottle in my hand reminds me of what I had planned for later. I chuckle, but my nerves still feel jittery.
Gripping the bottle tightly, I power up the stairs, two at a time, and spring out the door only to find...
They’re not here!? I stand stock-still, but don’t hear them. Fuck me!
I stomp into the kitchen while hastily undoing the foil on the champagne. I stop to unhook the wire, then press under the tight cork. It launches into the ceiling, leaving a mark, and I nearly jump and hit the ceiling too.
The champagne oozes out of the bottle, on the counter, then drips onto the floor. I realize the sexual connotation and cringe. Pouring two glasses mainly full of bubbles, I march toward the stairs with wobbly legs that are directly wired to my jealousy. Kryptonite invades my usually strapping legs as I have an overpowering feeling that my wife and Devin are doing more than just talking.
My lungs feel aflame as I heave breaths in and out, needing the hand rail to reach the top of the stairs. I hold both glasses in the other hand and almost drop the glasses that have already spilled most of the bubbly.
I pause, but don’t hear anything. I lunge forward and poke my head around the bedroom door and brace myself...
Whew, not in bed! It’s dark and my eyes struggle to adjust against my thumping chest.
I feel like I’m playing hide-and-seek and they are winning. I wonder where the fuck they’re hiding and almost yell come out, come out, wherever you are...
I stop as I hear an all—too—familiar sound. Coming from the bathroom. It’s dark in there. I bee-line past the door and there they are—
For a moment, I think it’s an optical illusion, but the full moon beams just enough light through the bare bathroom windows to illuminate...
Jenna up on the counter, legs spread, knees up, with heels pressed against the granite—and Devin’s curly dark head twitching between her legs. Her dress is still on, except her shoulder straps are down and her tits are exposed. Her nipples look bigger than usual and I squint and guess it’s lipstick, no doubt remnants from Jenna’s mouth to Devin’s during their little greeting.
Interestingly, Devin is fully clothed.
They don’t even notice I’m here. My wife’s eyes are closed and Devin is in no position to take one of the drinks I’m holding for him. Instead, he drinks my wife’s sweet cherry cocktail. Hungrily. I pause, unsure what to do next. My crotch is exploding and my boner aches against my jeans.
I don’t want to clank the crystal flutes down and interrupt, but I want to slam them onto the tile floor to stop them. This is the best way to describe my inner Civil War. I’m not sure who’s winning, the north or the south.
I try to nudge my raging snake up with the glasses but can’t. I lean forward enough to ease a little of my trouser tension while gaping at the naughtiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. Jenna’s moaning loudly, or maybe the jackhammer in my rib cage subsides just enough to hear. She runs her fingers across Devin’s tight afro and cups her palms against the back of his head, beckoning him closer.
Devin groans into her pussy and she flings her head back. She pants as her rapid-fire moans tell me she’s close to erupting. I wonder how long it took Studly Hungwell to claim my wife’s pussy. If I were in Vegas, the odds would be heavily on before my feet hit the basement floor.
I know Jenna has the hots for Devin, but sheesh already.
My wife’s honey hair flails as her head thrashes like she’s possessed by Cupid’s evil twin. I almost yell get a room!
Just as I think I can’t take this anymore...
Jenna erupts, thrusting into Devin’s face with quick pulses. Her face screams bliss as her spasms continue, setting an orgasm record. My knees wobble and I purse my lips as my Turret’s pops inside my head, saying I hope she doesn’t break Devin’s nose. Or, maybe I do.
I feel surreal, an ethereal other-worldly eeriness. A fucked up thought flashes: why does her orgasm seem to end quickly with me, but go on forever with him?
Finally, Jenna’s guttural moans subside into a steady whimper that I’ve never heard from her sweet lips before. She gently guides Devin’s head away and his glistening grinning face oozes success.
Devin growls, “I love a squirter.”
I flinch and notice a small puddle on the floor—holy shit!
Jenna utters, “Oh my God...that was fucking aaaammmmmazing.” I swear Jenna is crying.
I’m an even bigger mess; I don’t know if I should clap or cry. My conservative little Jenna just squirted for the first time and she hasn’t even seen his python yet. So much for the saying that black dudes don’t go down. Devin not only goes down, he conquers the pussy. No wonder girls flock to him—he must ooze aphrodisiac from all the pussy juice splashed on his face. And now, my wife is added to his pheromone fragrance.
Another surge of Kryptonite overtakes me as dread invades my deep recesses...
Scripting this whole fantasy into my brain, I had expected him to yank out his python and fuck her—roughly and painfully—then cum quickly, and take off. With Jenna crying tears of bliss, Devin now owns her.
Devin stands and adjusts his jeans as Jenna gawks lustily at his bulge. The moonlight illuminates the outline of his python that is ironically pointing my direction. If my boner hurts, I can only imagine what he’s going through right now.
Something primal screams inside me and I slam the glasses down hard enough to break one of them—and break their spell.
Jenna turns her head and flinches, then says, “Luke, you startled me. Where have you been?” She sniffles as she finishes the question, sounding too nonchalant—like what I just witnessed happens every fucking day.
Devin is jumping around, wrestling with his jeans that I am surprised are still on—and must hurt like hell. He runs his hands against his cheeks and does an unmistakable inhale as he says, “Oh, hey bro.”
Hey bro? It’s still dark but I know he can read my expression of unadulterated resentment. M
y stomach pangs fail to subside even as their little interlude ends.
I flip the light on and catch a brief glimpse of her lipstick areolas before Jenna tugs her dress straps up. I find it ridiculously ironic that she doesn’t mind baring herself to a stranger, but now that her hubby is here, she feels like Eve after eating the apple.
An awkward silence triggers me to blurt, “Want more sushi?”
Devin chortles then says, “I’m full,” to me, then struts in front of Jenna and says, “and this was the best sushi I’ve ever had.” As if this wasn’t vulgar enough, he leans in and locks lips with Jenna.
That comment and random kiss hits me like a double sucker punch of Kryptonite. I’m glad I couldn’t eat anything all day or I would be retching all over the floor now.
Devin pulls back and they peer into each other’s eyes. I can’t explain it with any other word than lovingly. With another thud in my belly, I feel a surge down below my belt.
I’m not sure how much more Civil War I can stomach.
Jenna must have read my mind as she says, “I’m hungry,” then giggles as she steals a glance at mister python. With Jenna still on the counter, I want to rip off all my clothes, then slip between her creamy thighs and ram into her, feeling her juices from cock to toe. The puddle on the floor between her legs is impressive and I have a bizarre desire to taste it and stand in it. To mark it as my territory. Ok, I know I sound kinky, but fuck it.
Jenna reaches out and Devin’s hands grip hers. He easily whisks her off the counter with muscles bulging, and eases her onto the tile floor. I can’t believe she still has her stripper heels on—or that she can even stand in them. Jenna pulls her dress down slightly. My mental checklist notices no panties in sight. Just as I thought. As we finally head downstairs, thank God, she leans in and locks lips with Devin again.
This hits me hard. Jenna never wants to kiss me after I go down on her. But, now she initiates a sloppy kiss as if saying I want to taste my juices.
As their embrace continues longer than I want, another depth charge of Kryptonite detonates in my stomach. My foot taps against the tile and breaks the silence, but they don’t seem to notice.
Finally, they split and Jenna grabs Devin’s hand and pulls him as they amble past me. I can’t help but notice that Devin lags behind just enough to check out my wife’s ass. This body-paint-of-a-dress leaves nothing to the imagination already. And Jenna’s curvy ass mesmerizes Devin.
I flashback to a locker room guy talk conversation with him and remember him telling me how much he loves anal. With his eyes burning a hole in the back of her dress, I cringe. I don’t have the heart to tell him she despises butt sex.
I follow a few steps behind and am relieved they don’t veer onto the bed; instead, Jenna leads the way to the stairs and hopefully, the sushi I had to drive thirty miles to pick up earlier. I can tell Devin is spellbound by Jenna and not only her ass. Devin usually moves with impressive grace for a big man, a confident swagger that borders on overconfidence. Now, he struggles to walk and with his eyes still fixated on Jenna’s pear-shaped derriere, I hope he doesn’t fall down the stairs. Or, maybe I do.
We manage to hobble to the kitchen stools in front of our center island. Jenna grabs the middle one, and we sit on both sides. I now feel more like the host—in control for a change—and I grab the Moet from the fridge, pull three new glasses from our nifty built in holder under the cabinet and pour. Jenna’s flute overflows with bubbles a bit and Devin and I both smirk at each other.
I stand behind them a raise my glass up higher and say, “I propose a toast.”
Jenna and Devin grab their glasses, turn and I freeze...
I am taken aback as I look at both of them. They have a sheen, a sexual sheen—and Devin’s face has a film...
Of dried Jenna juice. Jenna cuts the uncomfortable silence with, “To making lasting memories...and new friends.”
I say, “Here, here,” and manage to suppress what I want to say.
We clank, then as Devin and Jenna sip, I gulp. Moet is usually delicious but I can’t taste anything right now. I feel fidgety again and I return to the refrigerator and pull the tray of sushi out and set it in front of Jenna. We each grab a few pieces and quietly toss them in our mouths. Of course, all I can think of is that the granite here matches the master bath—the place where Devin enjoyed my wife’s pink sashimi. And how his face must smell. I can’t believe he didn’t wash himself—and now we’re sharing finger-food.
“Mmm, this tastes good,” Devin’s baritone breaks the awkward silence as he stretches out the word good like Barry White. Instantly, he and Jenna engage in a new round of eye fucking—their fervor makes me consider turning on the air conditioning.
Jenna is smitten, no doubt about it, and Devin’s eyes reveal his hunger for her, well, sashimi. Though our agreement was intended to be a threesome, I fear I’m the odd man out. If two’s company and three’s a crowd, my one-some sure feels lonely.
I notice Devin’s hand glide on Jenna’s leg, then slowly slide up and down. They don’t even notice my sigh.
Jenna flinches and my cock twitches. I say fuck it to myself, and slip my hand on Jenna’s other leg and caress her in my own way. I notice Devin’s hand is much larger than mine and I’m guessing Jenna takes notice. To one up me, Devin’s slips to her inner thigh, teasing one of her favorite erogenous zones. He already found her favorite. His big black hand looks erotic against Jenna’s creamy skin.
Jenna releases a purr and I can’t help but think, damn, this guy’s good! The cliché: putty in his hands takes on a whole new meaning. My eyes wander to Jenna’s eraser nipples that rival my throbbing sword that my hand helps forge its way up my pants. Her nipples point upward also, driving me wild.
I feel flesh and realize either Jenna or Devin has hiked up her dress—exposing her swelling sashimi. Though she spreads her legs slightly, Jenna’s dark cherry stands above her pink area. Her honey-colored pubes aren’t quite 70s bush, but say I’m deviant.
Devin’s fingers slide dangerously close to my wife’s sex and it triggers a Turret’s, “Is this dessert?”
All three of us laugh and Devin says, “You want some dark chocolate for your cherry pie?”
Hey, now he sounds like me!
Jenna defiantly slaps our hands away—both Devin and mine—then pulls her dress to her knees and says, “I need to use the ladies room.” Her heels dig into the wood floor slightly and she pushes away from the counter—and the heat that still lingers in the air.
We both nearly fall off our stools as we spin to gape Jenna’s sauntering across the room. Just before turning the corner, she glances back, pauses and smiles as we both hold our stare. Devin says, “Are you okay man?”
“Huh, me? What do you mean?”
“Well, you know...”
At first I think Devin’s taunting me, but his emerald eyes have flecks of light that reveal an honesty. He genuinely does care how this whole thing is affecting me. My first knee-jerk reaction is usually humor—how’d you like my wife’s cherry pie? But a lucidity enters me. I inhale deeply, then exhale saying, “I’m good.”
And for the most part, I am. At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.
“If this gets too crazy, man, just say so. I understand. I don’t want to lose you as a friend bro.”
Gets too crazy? Are you shitting me? Like it isn’t already certifiably insane? So far, you’ve catapulted my wife to the moon and bitch slapped me—how much more crazy can it get?
My Turret’s blurts, “Do you want to fuck my wife in the ass?”
“Don’t mind me,” Jenna’s voice nearly throws me off the stool. I lurch around and notice she’s barefoot—no wonder I didn’t hear her. And her hair is up. Her expression tells me she not only heard my question, but she is not happy with me. Fuck.
After scolding me with her eyes, she glances at Devin and her expression lightens. Great. Her eyes wander as she says, “Who’s up for hot tubbing?”
&
nbsp; Without waiting for our reply, Jenna giggles as she darts toward the back door on her tip toes. She bounces with the grace of a fawn. I look at Devin and raise both eyebrows.
“Yeah, I’m up for hot tubbing, whatever. Hey, I gotta use the bathroom too. Is it just around the corner?”
“Yep, when you’re done, just come out back.” I stand and feel queasy again as the Kryptonite seeps into my legs and stomach. But my cock twitches. I trudge into the garage and grab the cooler I had prepared earlier. I chuckle as I imagine the look on their faces when I serve them.
I slide the door open and realize the greatest thing about living in the country is the stars at night. The twinkling stars and full moon look like a Hollywood movie set. Tonight, I am especially thankful for the privacy. Nobody can see or hear anything.
Jenna is already laying back in the tub—eyes closed, with her chin just above the bubbling, steamy water. The light inside the hot tub is on—and I notice Jenna changed it to red, of course. I notice her crumpled up dress on the chair and remember our last time in the tub together...she wore a swim suit. In a few minutes, a stranger—well, not exactly a stranger anymore—gets to see her in her birthday suit.
I slip off my shoes, then rip off my jeans and shirt in record time. Jenna’s eyes pop open as I’m about to enter the oversized hot tub.
“Oh my, somebody’s excited I see...”
“Yeah, kinda hard to hide,” I laugh nervously as I slap my boner and it flutters like a diving board. I plunge into the water and sit beside Jenna.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you...excited?” I slip my hand between her legs and comb her watery pubes with my fingernails.
“I think so. I’m a little nervous...where’s Devin?” She turns her head away from me, toward the door.
“He’s in the bathroom,” I say, then move her chin toward my face with my fingers and say, “I’m nervous too.”
“Hey, about earlier...”
Jenna’s eyes dart away but return as I cut in, “Shhhh, don’t worry about it...”
