My husband and I meet him at one of our favorite spots. A coffee and wine bar where local musicians play. The coffee is great and the wine is even better.
We find a good table in the back corner. You can see and hear everything, but there’s also enough privacy to talk.
The music that night is a jazz guitarist and vocalist — a talented and beautiful woman in her late forties.
I’m one glass of wine in when our play partner shows up. We’ve been friends with Dean for well over a year now. We like and trust him.
I’ve had a crush on him since the day I met him — he’s tall, broad-shouldered, has light-brown hair, a close-trimmed beard, bright blue eyes, and glasses. Especially sexy is his sense of humor. The guy makes me laugh. That, mixed with my intense physical attraction to him, makes for a powerful aphrodisiac.
We’ve decided to invite a friend into our bed because the idea of sex with a stranger doesn’t sit so well with me. And the idea of sex with a friend I’ve known and liked and become quite attracted to over the past year is much more enticing.
The build-up of my fantasy with him has been exquisite torture. I’ve thought about him while I masturbated in the tub more times than I can count. And tonight, after a lot of planning and talking and taking great care to make sure everyone feels safe and comfortable, my fantasy is about to finally become reality.
We both greet Dean with hugs. The three of us laugh a lot as we work on the bottle of wine we ordered for the table. All three of us remark on how attractive the musician is, and also how sexy her voice sounds.
When the bottle is empty, we know it’s time to make the transition. We all walk outside together. Dean shakes my husband’s hand before kissing me on the cheek, dangerously close to my neck.
“See you in a few,” he says.
My husband and I head back to our place to meet Dean there.
There’s a fire going in our fireplace as the three of us sit on the sofa, me between the two men. I sip from my glass of wine while we chat. I’m at that lovely spot where I’m not drunk, but I’m feeling super relaxed and warm. I’m feeling very sexy and affectionate, and I tend to touch whichever man I’m addressing.
Our conversation bounces around for a few minutes, from film to mutual friends to music. My husband heads over to our stereo, hooks up his phone, and picks a song. I smile when I hear the first chords of “Twisted” by Two Feet. The kind of song that makes you wonder if you can orgasm from just listening to a song.
He hangs out by the stereo and watches me walk to the opposite end of the room to refill my glass at the coffee table, which we’ve cleared to the side of the room, away from the couch. Dean is left between us, on the sofa.
I meet my husband’s gaze and catch the glimmer of excitement in his steel-colored eyes as Dean stands and approaches me.
My friend reaches for my glass. I take a long sip and hand it over. His fingers linger on mine a moment longer than necessary as I slip the glass into his hand. He enjoys a sip himself before he sets it down.
“You look flushed,” he says.
“I feel pretty warm,” I admit. “Not because of the wine, though.”
The corner of his beautiful mouth lifts in a half-smile as he pushes my hair over my shoulder, baring my neck to him. He leans in slowly, and just before our lips meet, I see my husband over his shoulder, watching us intently.
I freezeframe this moment in my mind. The suspense. The sexual tension. The feeling that this thing I’ve been yearning for is finally about to happen.
The second Dean’s mouth is on mine, I feel that telltale flutter in my chest. These aren’t the butterflies of an innocent school-girl crush — these butterflies travel downward, making me feel wet and aroused as his lips coax mine to open and his tongue slips into my mouth. He puts his hand on the back of my neck and I lean into his body, my chest rising and falling with my quickening breath.
Dean moves from my mouth to my neck, sucking my skin gently. He pins me against the wall with my body, and I let out a sigh as I enjoy his weight against me.
“She fucking loves that,” my husband says quietly. Dean is smiling as his lips travel from one side of my neck to the other. His hand finds my breast, and I arch my back as his thumb grazes my nipple over my thin blouse and even thinner lace bra.
Dean stops kissing me and suddenly grabs me by the arms. He manhandles me just a little as he pulls me from the wall and turns me around to face my husband. I feel his erect cock through his jeans as he presses it against my ass.
My husband stalks slowly toward us as Dean grabs a fistful of my hair, yanks my head to the side, and this time adds a bit of teeth when he sucks on the sweet, tender spot just above my collarbone.
When my husband is an arm’s length away, he reaches out to unbutton my blouse. But that’s all he does. Dean follows his lead, bringing his hands over my shoulders and slipping his fingers into the cups of my bra from above. He shoves the material down, releasing my breasts. He feels the weight of my full orbs, one in each hand, and grinds his erection into my ass.
Then Dean zeros in, grabbing my hip with his right hand and pressing my nipple between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand. I gasp and let my head fall back against his big, strong shoulder.
I’m loving the feel of his hands on my body. Loving the feel of my husband’s eyes on me as Dean gives me such immense pleasure. I’m feeling shameless. Confident. And so turned on that I have to squeeze my legs together in an attempt to relieve some of the delicious tension building there.
I lift my hand up and caress Dean’s face as my husband places his hands on the tops of my thighs and lets his fingers roam my skin. Every inch of me feels so sensitive right now that the sensation is glorious, even there. That mixed with Dean’s fingers playing with each of my nipples in turn is almost more than I can take.
Suddenly my husband grabs the hem of my black pencil skirt and shoves it up to my waist.
“She wants this,” he says. Then he takes Dean’s hand in his and guides it inside the waistline of my panties.
Dean doesn’t have to be encouraged any more than that. His fingers graze over my clit. “You’re so wet,” he whispers in my ear as he slips first one finger, then a second, inside my cunt.
I thrust the air with my hips, grinding against his fingers and loving the feel of them inside me. When he pulls his fingers out of me, they’re well lubricated as he begins massaging my clit in a circular motion.
“Fuck — yes,” I breathe, barely getting the words out. I moan as I hook my arm back and around Dean’s neck, needing something to ground me. His body is solid, and I’m sure I’m not going anywhere. Which is a good thing, because at this rate, the magic his hand is working on my clit makes me feel like I could melt into the floor at any second.
I spread my thighs, wanting to feel more, and Dean shifts from circling my clit to rubbing in an up-and-down motion.
“She’s getting close,” my husband tells him. He’s right. I’ve been turned on since we were chatting and listening to some great fucking music at the wine bar, so yeah, I’m pretty damn close.
As my hubby watches Dean play me like an upright bass, he removes his jacket and tosses it aside. His eyes don’t leave my cunt as he loosens his tie, undoes his belt buckle, and unzips his pants.
“Faster,” I whisper. “And…fuck yes…harder. Mmmm,” I moan, closing my eyes as the muscles in my core tighten in painfully delicious tension.
Dean, ever the attentive friend, increases his speed and pressure. “There — yes! Don’t stop.” Like Emma Austin advises, “Don’t stop” does indeed mean “don’t change a damn thing,” and Dean seems to have gotten the memo.
Dean keeps up the speed and pressure. As my moans turn into shouts of pleasure with every breath I take, I’m vaguely aware of my husband’s hands on my wrists. He takes my hand from around Dean’s neck and crosses it over my other hand. Then I feel the sensation of his silk tie tightening around both my wrists.
It’s not easy to keep track of everything in the moment of my climax. I open my eyes when the first wave of pleasure hits, my orgasm bursting from my cunt to my fingers and toes like an electric current of pleasure pulsing through every vein in my body.
The muscles of my vagina contract again and again, and I wail with each passing wave of ecstasy. My wails turn into low, soft moans as the orgasm begins to subside, and my entire body feels like jello.
I lean even harder into Dean, my hands useless now that they’re tied up. I trust the men to take care of my body, and that feeling of handing control over makes me want to come all over again.
I’m still moaning when my husband kisses me, muffling my vocal pleasure as his tongue dips into my mouth. The feel of both of their bodies against mine — my husband in front and Dean behind — is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. This feeling, I think to myself. This right here makes every bit of effort worth it.
“You’re going to suck my cock now,” my husband says between kisses. “While he fucks you.”
I lick my lips and nod obediently. I can’t stop my eyes from rolling into the back of my head in anticipation. I’m practically drooling at the thought.
They guide me to the sofa, where I get on my knees and lean over the arm of the couch, resting my weight on my elbows. My wrists stay tied as I watch my husband pull his generously proportioned cock out of his pants.
I hear Dean rustling behind me, and I look over my shoulder at his cock. My eyes widen at the look and size of him. It’s different than what I’m used to. No two cocks are alike, and I’ve had the same one for ten years, so this is something to take note of.
Dean pulls my black lace panties down my legs slowly, until he gets them over each of my ankles and shoes. My black Mary Jane heels are staying on, apparently, because that’s where the undressing stops.
I look at my husband, who nods at Dean. I lower my head, opening my mouth wide, and my hubby guides his beautiful cock between my lips at the same moment that Dean slides into my waiting wet pussy from behind.
I feel Dean’s hands digging into my bare hips. I feel my husband’s fingers digging into my long hair and pulling it as he fucks my mouth. Both men inside me make me feel complete, filled to the brim. My moans of pleasure are stifled by the cock in my mouth.
I feel possessed by both of them, and it’s glorious.
I’m still able to play with my husband’s balls. My wrists are tied, but my fingers are free. He grunts with pleasure as Dean groans with each rhythmic thrust inside me. His cock makes the walls of my vagina clench with pleasure — remnants from my first climax, which are sending me well on the way to my second.
We go like that for more than ten minutes, and then Dean is grunting the loudest, pounding me harder. I can tell he’s almost ready to come inside me. We’ve all been tested, and I have an IUD, so I’ll get to enjoy the feel of his hot semen filling me up.
My husband notices Dean getting close and buries his cock deep in my mouth, practically down my throat. I gag on the head of his dick, my muscles clenching all over my body. That — the tightening muscles from my gag reflex — sets Dean over the edge. He moans and comes inside my tight, clenching pussy.
He stays inside me for a moment, and I moan as my hubby resumes his thrusting in my mouth. I meet each of his thrusts with a bob of my head. When Dean pulls out, my husband does the same. Daen sits on the sofa beside me, and I kneel on the cushion, waiting impatiently for what I know is coming.
My husband comes around the arm of the couch and puts his hands on my shoulders, urging me to sit. I sit on the edge of the cushion, careful not to spill Dean’s come from inside me.
My husband kneels on the floor in front of me and shoves my knees apart. Dean alternates between kissing my lips, massaging my breasts, and sucking my nipples as my husband eats me out, tasting Dean with every lap of his tongue.
With both of them attending to me, I feel myself falling over the edge again in record time. I grab on to my husband’s hair and grind my cunt into his face. Dean catches my moans with his lips as I come, hard, my juices and his come mixing together and spilling out of me.
The waves of my pulsating orgasm are still causing my muscles to spasm when my husband pulls me down to the carpet and enters me in one quick, deep thrust. Dean is on the floor with me, by my head, playing with my hair and breasts, kissing my neck from an upside-down angle.
My husband fucks me into oblivion as I ride out the remnants of my mind-blowing second orgasm, then he comes inside me.
Two men have just ridden me to the breaking point and filled me up with the evidence of their ecstasy, and I’m shaking as I come down from a high like nothing I’ve ever felt.
Afterward, it’s not awkward. Dean doesn’t run out right away, and we’re glad about that. My husband and I invite him to stay, if he’s so inclined, and he takes us up on our offer.
We fall asleep in bed together, and the next morning, we enjoy going out for coffee together. There is plenty of chat about how lovely the night before was, and plenty of innocent flirting.
We agree that it went so well, we should make a plan for a second date. We spend a good portion of the conversation discussing how both the men would like to interact more with each other the next time, and I’m completely on board with the prospect.
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