The husband stares blankly at the open newspaper in his lap. He’s already tried reading the main article in front of him a dozen times, and each time he’s stuttered to a halt after little more than a couple of lines. The article may as well be written in Lithuanian.
He glances up at his wife. She’s sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed, looking out at the snow-blanketed world through the window on her left. He regards her profile. She looks calm, almost serene. She is a vision of absolute composure.
Is that how she’s really feeling? he wonders. Composed? Serene?
The creatures deep inside the husband’s abdomen flutter and scurry, and he knows there’s no way that his nervousness isn’t being translated and transmitted by his face. Perhaps that’s why she hasn’t looked at him in so many minutes: she’s offended by his fear.
Of course, she has every reason to feel assured. She’s the one with prior knowledge, the one with experience. It gives her the power and leaves him feeling as if he’s only along for the ride, even though he fully endorsed this trip.
The husband checks his wristwatch.
“It’s three minutes later than the last time you checked,” his wife says in a voice half an octave above being utterly flat. He looks up guiltily, and sees that her attention is still fixed to the brilliantly white view through the window.
He can’t maintenance his silence. “Aren’t you nervous at all?” he asks.
“Of course I am.”
“You don’t seem it.”
“I’ve had more practice at masking my apprehension.”
Whether she intended it or not, it’s a reminder to him. Normally, he remains behind when she goes off in search of adventure. The thought sends twin ripples of conflicting emotion through him: arousal at having such an extremely sexual woman for his wife, and jealousy that her appetites often compel her to find satisfaction at the hands of others.
For once, though, the husband will be there to see her satisfaction for himself. It’s a prospect that both thickens his cock and leaves his armpits damp in spite of his antiperspirant.
There’s a solid knock at the door. His wife gets up and crosses the room swiftly. In her white blouse and her black pencil skirt, she might be dressed for a business conference, or a new exhibition at one of the local galleries. Her husband doubts that anyone one who saw her right now would imagine she is about to be sexually pleasured by two men.
The door swings inwards, and the man filling the doorway steps inside the room. She closes the door just as swiftly, locks it and then slips the security chain into place. The ‘do not disturb’ card is already hanging from the handle in the corridor. It should be enough to guarantee them the privacy they need.
The husband folds his newspaper and stands up to greet their guest. The visitor’s handshake is firm, and no more. There’s a light dusting of snow on the shoulders of his heavy coat. He takes it off and hangs it from the hook on the back of the door.
The two men appraise one another. They’ve met only once before, in altogether more platonic circumstances. Neither of them had the slightest idea of where that encounter was destined to lead them. Since then, though, the visitor has fucked the woman half a dozen times that her husband knows of, each of them with his acquiescence. He’s imagined their couplings more times than he can readily count; today, he won’t need to rely on his mind’s eye to see their flesh join.
He stuffs his hands deep into his pockets before their trembling can shame him.
Are we really going to do this?
Fortunately, there isn’t time to draw out the pleasantries. The husband is relieved: any delay might allow his doubts to ambush and overwhelm him. Instead, he sits back down as he wife steps up to their guest and kisses him full on the mouth. The sight of her passionately kissing this pseudo-stranger as she begins unbuttoning his shirt makes her husband’s senses lurch, as though he’s standing on the deck of a wildly pitching boat. Watching the visitor’s hands move familiarly to the buttons on his wife’s blouse only increases the strength of his bewilderment.
How is it possible to be aroused and dismayed all at once?
The husband watches as his wife finishes with the last of her lover’s shirt buttons and sets about unfastening his belt. Can she feel her husband’s eyes upon her, burning into her? What would she make of his expression if she could see it? What would he make of it himself? Which emotion would be sketched most obviously upon his visage? Lust or dismay?
As though she has plucked the thought from his mind, she turns to face him, her eyes half-closed with delight as the stranger kisses his way down the side of her slender neck. Her blouse is fully undone now, and the visitor pulls the two halves apart and then cradles her breasts through her black brassiere. With the practiced skill of the consummate philanderer, he eases the cups down until he’s exposed her hard, dark nipples. He plays with them adroitly, strumming them lightly with his thumbs, squeezing them until they stand even prouder. The woman gasps, and she grinds her arse back against the visitor’s loins; he responds by slipping his large hand over her mound.
The visitor looks up, straight into the husband’s eyes. “Your wife is a very sexy woman.”
The husband nods. A part of him wants to say Don’t you think I already know that, you fuck? But he doesn’t say that. What he says is, “Yes, she is.” He sounds almost out of breath. “Very.” He looks at his wife, and their eyes meet and lock. He can see the lust gleaming in her gaze. Can she see the same in his? She smiles wantonly, wickedly.
Perhaps she can.
The loins of his jeans feel uncomfortably full. He reaches down and unbuttons the waistband, and draws the zip part of the way down. The urge to touch himself is great, but he resists, uncertain of the etiquette, content to take his lead from the others.
There’s not even a hint of nervousness about their visitor. If the man feels any sort of apprehension, it’s buried beneath layers of assuredness and naked lust. His fingers peel the wife’s blouse from her shoulders and her arms, and then release the fastenings of her skirt and then her brassiere. She’s pantieless, and the visitor plunders her gleaming mound for a few seconds before he steps back from her. He swiftly strips off his shirt and then sets about removing his trousers.
The husband gets back to his feet, eager not to be left behind. He’s enjoying the voyeuristic aspects of the encounter, but the stranger has brought a scent of threat into the room with him, one that is rousing the husband’s competitiveness, his need to assert himself as this woman’s chosen mate. He quickly strips off his own clothes, not hesitating until he’s about to remove his shorts. The possibility that the visitor will be bigger than he is, that – no matter what his wife might say or do to convince him otherwise – her preference will be for her lover’s cock and not his, makes him want to call an end to proceedings right now.
He looks at his wife – on her knees, dressed in nothing but the black suspender belt, her stockings and her black patent stilettos – and sees the hunger, the naked desire as she looks back and forth between the two men, and he knows that he cannot possibly say stop now; he does not dare disappoint her.
He strips off his shorts and stands waiting.
His wife looks at both men, and beckons them towards her with a crook of an elegant finger.
Without looking at one another, the two men advance as one.
They stand a foot away from her, eagerly awaiting her inspection, their cocks jutting out proudly, arrogantly, from beneath their bellies. Both are desperate to be the first to garner her attention. The husband glances down and to his right, and he sees that the other man is no better or worse endowed than he is himself; if anything, the husband’s cock is a little straighter, his glans more swollen than his rival’s.
She’s going to feel you more, his mind whispers conspiratorially.
The wife licks her lips, and reaches out with both hands, grasping the men at the same time. Her fingers look tiny against the thickness of the shafts they encircle. The husband shudders when he realises that her wedding and engagement rings are pressed against the stranger’s cock.
She strokes them slowly, lasciviously, still licking her lips. Both men sigh with the pleasure of her touch.
“Do you like that, gentlemen?” she asks, the tenor of her voice dancing mischievously.
The visitor grunts his assent; the husband merely nods enthusiastically.
She smiles. “I guarantee that you’ll like this more.”
She leans forward from the waist, guiding her husband’s cock into her mouth. It’s so familiar a moment and sensation, and yet completely different to any other time she’s sucked him, given that there’s a spectator standing next to him, scrutinising everything, waiting for his turn, that soon the husband will watch his wife pleasuring the visitor’s cock in just the same way.
Slowly, her mouth withdraws from her husband’s hard flesh. He watches breathlessly as she guides the stranger’s cock between her glistening lips, as she takes the majority of his shaft into her mouth. Again, he feels the duality of conflicting emotions: bright red jealousy and jet black excitement. He shudders again, and his wife’s eyes look up and hold his once more as she moves her lips back and forth along the stranger’s prick.
Her husband quickly loses count of how many times she switches her mouth between them. As she sucks one, she strokes the other. Occasionally, she will lean back from both of them, a cock still in each hand, and she looks up at them lasciviously. The pauses never last for long. Her husband wonders if she wants to bring forth their come, to experience their thick semen spurting across her tongue in unison, running down her chin and spilling over her heaving breasts.
She stops again, but this time she gets to her feet.
“I think it’s time for me to have some cock,” she blithely announces.
She sits down on the edge of the bed. She smiles at both men, her fingertips lightly strumming her hard nipples as she waits for one of them to make a move.
Her husband regards their guest. “After you,” he says magnanimously, scarcely able to believe how casual his voice sounds. As if to underline the offer, he walks to the side of the bed and lies down on his wife’s left. He wants to run the sole of his foot across the small of her back, but he doesn’t: that’s too intimate a gesture for this act of congress. This is about lust, about physical pleasure. Emotion must be reserved for another time, another place.
Their visitor doesn’t need inviting twice. He moves forward quickly, as though he’s been waiting for a word of assent or encouragement to release his coiled muscles and nerves. It’s as though a switch has been clicked. The husband watches his rival’s expression, wondering if it would be possible to click the switch back now. He doubts it.
His wife immediately turns around, onto all fours, presenting her rear to her lover. At the same time, she bends her mouth over her husband’s loins, and as his cock slips back into her mouth, the stranger’s cock thrusts deep inside her cunt.
Her breath rushes out around her husband’s hard flesh.
The husband stares, aroused and aghast all at once. She’s fucked other men with his consent before, but actually seeing it… His emotions are a whirlwind, the images in his head a flesh-toned kaleidoscope. He grasps his own shaft with one hand, stroking himself into his wife’s mouth as he lightly grips her hair with the other. He can’t take his eyes from the thick shaft plundering his wife.
The stranger grips her about the waist, and his long, even strokes begin to increase in pace and potency. The wife moans with pleasure, over and over and over. Soon, it’s all she can do to keep her husband in her mouth. He can’t help but wonder if that is part of the reason for the stranger’s vigour.
If it is, then it works. She slips her husband’s cock from her mouth, rubbing the side of her face against his shaft as she cries out, “I’m coming! Yes, fuck, yes!”
The orgasm passes through her. The stranger withdraws from her gasping body. His erect cock gleams with her wetness.
“Your turn,” he says to the husband, with just a hint of arrogance.
Now it’s the husband’s turn to fly out of the blocks. He swings his legs off the bed and walks behind his wife. He strokes the taut cheeks of her behind as he regards the parted, pouting lips of her sex. Well fucked, he thinks, and his cock twitches excitedly. He won’t deny himself any longer. He can’t. He kneels on the bed behind her and thrusts his full length inside her still spasming cunt, a cunt still carrying the imprint of another man’s cock. It’s something he’s fantasised about for years.
“Oh fuck!” she gasps; it’s a sound that brings a smile to her husband’s lips.
Now she’s sucking the stranger again. Her husband can’t see what’s going on, but he can tell that she’s enjoying herself, that she’s fellating her lover with gusto. He knows how much she enjoys tasting herself on hard, male flesh, how she relishes the blending of cunt juice and precum.
He has to slow himself. His excitement at being inside her fucked cunt is carrying him dangerously close to peaking. He buries himself inside her and then pauses, the tip of his glans against her cervix as he reaches beneath her to tease and stroke her clit. After a short time, he feels his control returning. He begins thrusting again, but after a dozen strokes, the stimulation of being inside her is close to overwhelming his resistance once more. He tries pausing again, but the result is the same.
He looks up at the stranger’s face. Is that the suggestion of a smirk on his face? The husband mentally shrugs the breath of paranoia away. It’s irrelevant anyway; the bottom line is, he doesn’t want to come yet. Reluctantly, he withdraws from his wife’s velvet flesh.
She waits a few seconds, and then, when she realises that her husband isn’t coming back inside her for the moment, she moves up over her lover’s body and lowers herself onto his waiting, greedy cock. She doesn’t even glance back as she begins to rise and fall over his length.
Her husband walks to the nearest chair and sits down, watching his wife lose herself within her consuming desire for flesh and fulfilment. He strokes himself at a tempo that matches the leisurely pace she is setting for herself, staring at the thick shaft – slick with her lust – each time it emerges from her body. He suspects that her deliberateness is in no small part for his benefit, that she is pandering to the voyeur within him. It touches him that she still thinks of feeding his hunger in the midst of satiating her own.
Soon, her pace begins to quicken, and her husband sees how hard she is pressing herself down against her lover’s pubis. He looks at her face, sees her eyes screwed tightly shut, sees her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip, and knows that her senses are climbing towards yet another crescendo.
Without warning, her lover reaches up and grips the back of her neck; he tips her over onto her side, then onto her back. He doesn’t wait for her to ready herself; he pushes her thighs wide and thrusts forward, piercing her cunt to her cry of ecstasy. He fucks her hard, savagely, and her husband realises that the stranger is close to reaching his own climax. His laden balls smack against the cheeks of her arse each time he penetrates her, and her breasts bounce wildly in accompaniment.
“Oh, yes! Fuck me hard!” she cries.
The knowledge that the stranger’s semen will soon spurt against his wife’s most intimate flesh, that she wants to feel it erupting inside her, and that he himself can do nothing to stop it, excites her husband more blackly than anything he can ever remember.
He gets to his feet, pumping his cock with a fury he has never felt before. He can feel the pressure building in his face, can feel the sinews standing out along the sides of his neck. He watches his wife’s contorted expression, and then she sees him, sees his pleasure, sees his furious strokes.
“Oh fuck!” she gasps. “Don’t come yet!”
The stranger trembles and emits a drawn-out growl as he spills himself inside her. He withdraws quickly, and her husband looks down at his wife’s dark red, swollen cunt, sees the thick, milky semen already oozing out of her.
Another man’s come in my wife, he thinks.
The sight tips him over the edge. He staggers towards the edge of the bed, almost throwing himself towards her as he explodes, anointing her belly and her pubis with thick streams of his own come. Then, spent, he collapses at her side, gasping for breath as his wife runs her fingers through the seed of two men, blending it against her sex as she uses it to lubricate one final, frantic orgasm.
Slowly, the husband comes to his senses. The stranger is gone, but only as far as the en-suite bathroom. The husband listens to the sound of water flowing into the washbasin. He wonders how long the man will linger. He wants him gone, wants his wife to himself, to fuck her alone and reclaim her as his. But when he looks at her face, he sees that she is still hungry, that the lust within her is yet to be satiated, and he knows that the stranger will be here for some time yet.
The bathroom door opens and the stranger emerges. He smiles at the woman as he walks back to the bed and stretches out on the other side of her.
“Isn’t this a wonderful way to spend a December morning,” he says confidently.
“It certainly is,” the wife answers.
Her husband nods, but he says nothing.
“So would the two of you like me to be on my way now?” the stranger asks. They all know that he’s really only asking the woman.
Just say ‘yes’, the husband thinks.
The woman smiles. “I think I’ve still got some excess energy that needs using up first,” she says, reaching out on either side of her to fondle their flaccid cocks. She turns to look at her husband. “Wouldn’t you say so, darling?”
The look in her eyes, the feel of her hand on his cock and the sight of her hand on the stranger’s are combining to excite him again, almost in spite of himself.
“Oh, absolutely,” he says. “Absolutely.”