by Hazel Parker
I gently roused myself awake, stretching out like a feline in the sun, moaning lightly as I arched my spine and worked a few of the kinks of sleep from my back, and then I turned away from him, putting my back to him completely, just to torment him a little bit, but smiling all the way.
“Mm, God, put that thing away,” I muttered playfully, “You're going to poke someone's eye out.”
And at that, he pushed himself just a bit harder up against me, and I could feel my body reacting to his touch, turning on, and heating up first thing in the morning. I felt his fingers beginning to slide onto my body, creeping down my arm, and latching onto my breast, squeezing on me like I was his damn teddy bear, holding onto my body as though he simply needed to know I was there beside him.
He leaned in, then, and began to put his lips on the side of my neck, kissing me with the utmost tenderness, running warm, wet pecks all up and down my throat, and then doing me in by nibbling on my earlobe ever so slightly with his teeth. He squeezed harder, harder, and suddenly my want for him verged on unbearable, and I had to concede defeat, letting down the façade of my playful rejection.
I turned around in bed to face him, leering into his eyes with the ferocity of a predator, and then pouncing on him accordingly, pushing my mouth to his own. The two of us made out like we were newlyweds all over again.
Pulling our throbbing bodies together beneath the covers, our tongues piercing one another's gullets and sweeping, lapping, licking around, tasting one another like there was no damn tomorrow. We both tasted like morning, honestly, but that seemed secondary to the sticky, dripping haze of the moment, and I felt as though I couldn't possibly get enough of that sweet, glorious bastard into my body fast enough.
At last, we'd pulled ourselves apart, gasping at our own ferocity, our nostrils flaring as we struggled to regain our breath, and our chests beating heavily against one another. I could feel his erection digging deeper and deeper into me, bowling me over, as he leaned in and whispered into my ear: “I thought since you were making dinner this evening for Ryan and I, I could at least serve you breakfast in bed.”
I had a pretty good idea of what he meant by that as he said it and braced myself, and sure enough, suddenly he was dipping his head beneath the covers, disappearing from view, and his fingers beginning to creep sensually around the fabric of my gown down below.
My thighs began to quake as he pushed the hem of the thing up, and his fingers slipped beneath the tight, lacy band of my panties. I tried to still myself, to sit back and enjoy this for what it was, but it became impossible to contain myself as he dredged the skimpy fabric off of me, tossing it from beneath the covers onto the floor.
And slowly, he lowered his face in between my hot, wet thighs, and I could feel my body tense up with the seeping of his warm breath into my feminine anatomy. He gingerly brought himself inside me, entering my body like liquid, putting his lips up against those of my pussy, and his tongue pushing along inside me, swiping along the floral folds, and kissing me with such softness, yet such enthusiasm, that I didn't have a clue in hell whether I was coming or going.
And so he consumed me, his head a bobbing lump beneath the sheets, his tongue sweeping and cascading and absorbing my delicate flavor, rolling along with splendid perfection, and getting me so worked up that I thought I might burst with pleasure.
My buttocks clenched, and my spine arched, every square inch of my anatomy on fire with sensitized nerves, my nipples hard, my fingers curling into the bedspread, and my legs wrapping around his bobbing, lapping head, tying him into me, and pulling, pulling, pulling him deeper into myself, as though my very life depended on it.
And then, God help me, I felt him hitting the sweetest of my sweet spots, at just the right angle, at just the right time, and my eyes shot wide open. I screamed, and moaned, and it turned into nothing but a feeble whimper as the orgasm pumped through my body, soaking through my flesh to such a degree that I thought I might somehow stain the sheets with my pleasure, and every bit of my body trapped by the sweet, carnal splendor of my husband's perfect cunnilingus.
And good God, what a wake-up call it had been...
How could a girl like me have been so lucky to wind up with a husband like that, a husband who eats you out first thing in the morning without you even having to ask for it, and whose skills are so incredible, so unthinkably explicit and powerful, that you feel like you could go for days on the high of such an act alone?
And now, how could I be lusting so intensely after this man, this stranger in my living room? How could I be allowing myself to give into such temptation, surrendering to my most primitive instincts despite how terribly wrong I knew it was? And how was the sheer fact of it being so wrong making me want it more and more, making me crave it like I'd never craved anything in my life before now.
Making me burn from head to toe with an unquenchable thirst for what this man had to offer me, even if I knew that could only ever end in heartbreak?
And how was it, suddenly, that I was finding myself edging nearer to this man? I hadn't even recalled standing up from the chair in which I'd been seated; I only suddenly appeared to be drifting in his direction. But now there I was, and there he was, doing the exact same thing.
Why weren't we stopping one another? Why the hell did we just keep going, those lips of his drawing nearer and nearer and nearer to my own, approaching me as though in slow motion, but with no signs whatsoever of slowing down?
But it was too late. Entirely too late for either of us.
My lips were on his. His lips were on mine. Our faces, shockingly, melted together, dissolving into a brilliant, unified, fleshy alloy, sparks popping in my mind, my head spinning wildly out of control, every nerve in my body reacting with shock and surprise, unable to fathom what the hell I was doing. At first, the last, few threads of resistance continued to hold me back, to resist just slightly, only half indulging myself in those oh so glorious of temptations.
Not wholly allowing myself to be consumed in the fashion that I so desperately desired. But then, Christ help me, I gave into the impulse, I collapsed, and I allowed myself to be sucked in entirely, to kiss this man after an evening of being so devilishly tempted by him, and to put out of my mind completely the fact that I had a husband whom I was betraying.
And God, how wonderful it felt. His flavor, his essence, were shockingly beautiful, pumping through my body, filling me up with splendor, and making me want so much more of him; I knew it was unhealthy for me to even fantasize about it.
But then he pulled my body into his own, and I could feel his erection suddenly pushing into me, and our tongues twisted and screwed and enveloped one another, and I knew that I might as well give up resisting, and allow myself to be ravished to the thorough, all-consuming extent that I knew damn well was in store for me.
And at last, after so long of this, my nostrils flaring and my breasts heaving like mad, I pulled away from him, disbelieving, and my eyes wide as sin as I contemplated just how far I was willing to take this perverse plunge into adultery.
And that was when my heart yet again skipped a beat, though for an entirely different reason this time around—the sight of my husband, standing in the doorway, leering over at the two of us with a very unclear expression painted across his face.
I quickly pulled away from Ryan, distancing myself to the furthest extent possible, and scrambled, trying to think of some way, any way, to clean up this horrendous mess I'd gotten myself mixed up in, but coming in far short of the mark, no matter how hard I tried.
“Jesus... Daniel, I... I... you're late,” I stammered, projecting the blame onto him until I could think of some explanation, but I knew full well this was pointless. I tried, though, I really tried, clawing at the walls of my mind, trying to think of something, something, that would justify this.
“Look... I can explain... I... I...” But I knew, even as I'd said it, that there was no possible way of explaining myself out of this, no justification for what I'
d done, and that coming up with anything was as good as pointless given how obvious and clear the situation was. I mean, hell, what was I supposed to say? That Ryan had been the one to initiate it? That he was responsible for all of this, and that I was just the innocent victim?
I couldn't do that, I knew. All I could do was wait for things to collapse around me, to take the punishment I was due, whatever that may have been, and hope that our marriage didn't implode outright from the implications of what he'd walked in and seen the two of us doing.
But then I noticed, from across the room, a smile was beginning to spread out across my husband's lips. I squinted my eyes at this, thinking, for certain, I must be seeing this wrong; this wasn't the sort of reaction a husband should be giving to finding out his wife has just kissed another man, and especially not his best friend.
But then I looked over at Ryan as well, and he had the same sort of grin on his face, devilish almost, seductive, and knowing. Although I should have felt some degree of relief, perhaps, I couldn't help but find myself downright annoyed at this, the fact that the two of them appeared to be in on some joke that was entirely on me.
Yet I was as oblivious as could be as to what the hell it was that was going on. I began to whip my head around back and forth, back and forth, back and forth between the two of them, trying my damnedest to get a read on just what was happening, but their expressions, though readable, gave nothing away in the least as to how I should have been reacting to all of this.
Then, at last, it was my husband who spoke, making everything clear to me, and sending the situation plummeting into even steamier, more forbidden territory than it had been at before.
“You know... Ryan and I have been very, very close friends for some time now. It's been a few years since we've seen each other, but only because our lives have taken on different directions lately. But, back in the day, the two of us did practically everything together... and I do mean everything.”
I swallowed hard, getting extremely nervous as the tense moments rolled along, and my husband began to walk across the room toward the two of us with measured, heavy footsteps.
“When you and I fell in love, I thought my days of fooling around—Ryan and I, sharing girls back in our dorm room, I mean—were over. Those were always fun times, and God, were they exciting, and the women we serviced always ended up leaving with a smile across their faces, often coming back for more.
“I never thought of you as that type of girl, though, and I didn't want to offend you with the suggestion... But, well... ever since Ryan and I got back in touch lately, we began to sort of long for our glory days, and I was curious to see how you might react around my friend here when it was just the two of you in a room together. He always was quite the lady's man.”
At this point, the two men were standing beside one another, my eyes darting feverishly back and forth from body to body and back again, and my breath short as I considered what it was they were proposing.
“So, if we are all attracted to each other, I guess I don't see much of a reason why the three of us just shouldn't simplify matters and make our evening together just the least bit more interesting.”
And that was when the two of them closed in on me, and I found myself putty in their collective grip.
To be honest, I couldn’t believe it was all happening, and yet, I loved this about it, feeling like it couldn't possibly be real, and allowing myself, therefore, to participate all the more fervently in it because of the fact. My husband was French kissing me like there was no tomorrow, his lips on mine and his saliva a welcome change to contrast with this other man's.
And Ryan, meanwhile, was kissing my neck, nibbling on my flesh, running his hands all along my body, and getting his first, real feel for the anatomy underneath. I was beginning to overheat between the two of them, I knew, the sweat rolling more fiercely than ever down along my skin, and my mind not fully able to process all of this, so that I had to focus to know which of the two I should be paying attention to at any given moment.
But now they were spinning me around, and around, dragging me across the living room and into the bedroom, draping me out across our marital bed and closing in on me once again. The problem of me overheating was half-solved by the placing of their hands onto the fabric of my dress.
The two of them, with some degree of effort, sliding me out of the thing, pulling it up over my head, and leaving me in nothing but my lingerie. My bra and panties felt entirely too small, too inadequate to cover me up in their presence, the straps of my bra falling down along my shoulder and the waistline of my panties bunched up in such a way that it revealed a generous portion of my mons pubis.
But, if my own partial nudity was any matter to be embarrassed about, then they, themselves, were soon to follow, agonizing me beyond belief as they began to peel out of their sweat-soaked shirts. Pulling the fabric up over their heads, and driving me wild with the sight of their perspiring, muscle-bound bodies.
It was a visual feast as I savored the contours of their respective anatomies, the devastating pecs and the rungs of their six-pack abdominals—not to mention their dual sets of Adonis muscles, two deeply cut Vs pointing like arrows to the respective treasures below their belts.
And speaking of this, suddenly they were unbuttoning and unzipping themselves, wriggling down out of their pants and underwear, sliding them to the floor, and leaving me beside myself as I gazed in awe as their taut, naked bodies. Both men, it was plain to see, were about as well-endowed as it was possible to be, their long, throbbing penises waving about through the air on either side of me, getting me so worked up with desire for them that I could hardly contain myself.
Surrounded by them, I began to service each man's cock, stroking the two of them from tip to base with my hands, my wrists getting tired quickly as I pumped them, and the streams of pre-ejaculate streaming down along their thick shafts in torrents. They seemed to love this, groaning with pleasure as I worked their flesh around, and then, much to my surprise, the two of them began to kiss.
I had had no idea, prior to any of this, that my husband had even the least bisexual streak in him whatsoever, but to watch the two of them now, going at one another like newlyweds, groping and feeling up one another on their tongues, you would have thought the two of them were lovers as old as the hills themselves.
Christ, how I loved the sight of it, their tightly compressed mouths latching together, and the masculinity of the two men's skulls creating an incredible, steamy contrast with the act of their kissing. My loins burned as I witnessed it, and I wanted so badly to touch myself, to play with my pussy, while my husband got down and dirty with another man.
Instead, though, I decided to escalate my pleasuring of the two men, parting my lips wide, and allowing my tongue to come out into the open. I began to lick them, sliding my mouth along each man's shaft and lapping up their long, hot rods, coating them with my saliva, and then proceeding to swallow each of them whole.
I deep throated each of them like a champ, gagging myself on each man's immensity until I couldn't stand it anymore, and then switching partners, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth between the two of them until I thought for sure I was about to receive a load or two in my mouth.
But then, the two of them seemed to take note of my effort, and instead of cumming on me, they pulled me in between the two of them, and stripped me out of my bra and panties. The three of us arranged our bodies on the bed into a triangular formation, and then each of us bowed our heads between the legs of the next in the line, sucking on whatever set of genitals happened to come into our path.
Ryan, as it turned out, was as skilled as a pussy licker as my husband happened to be, sliding his tongue through the wet, floral folds of my body, twisting and devouring me, soaking up my cunt and smothering himself so fucking deep in me that I thought I might collapse in on myself. It was difficult, then, to focus on sucking off my husband's cock up above, my lips suctioned around him, and my saliva poolin
g up around him as I struggled to breathe with flaring nostrils.
And finally, I looked down, and just about lost it altogether as I peered at my husband sucking his best friend's cock, his head bobbing wildly, almost brutally, smashing his lips against Ryan's body, fluids dripping down his chin, and Ryan's pleasure at this evident form the wild trembling of his thighs around my husband's bobbing head.
Son of a bitch, I thought. It didn't even matter which sex he was pleasuring: I simply had a husband who was absolutely phenomenal at oral sex.
Suddenly I snapped back to the present, orgasm coursing through my body on behalf of Ryan's own oral efforts, my muscles seizing, and my head soaring with the dripping, immaculate pleasure of climax.
And at last, it was time for the main event.
The three of us, heaving, panting, gasping for dear life, untangled ourselves with an immense degree of effort, reorienting our bodies once more on the bed, and the arrangement, this time around, even more amazing than the last.
Daniel splayed himself wide at the head of the bed on his back, his cock springing sharp into the air, and I crawled up onto him, still worn out just a bit from that first mind-boggling orgasm, but ready, oh so ready, for more. I leaned my full weight on the beautiful bastard, pinning his engorged penis up against his body, and loving the feeling of the hot, sticky thing pressing up against my stomach. I began to consume him, to kiss him wildly, grinding my pelvis up against his body in such a fashion that the intention of sex could not possibly have been mistaken.
