by PriveCo Inc.
A few months later, my husband Steve got a phone call from Brian. He was working at a plastic factory in the evenings, but he didn’t start until midnight so he still had most of his evenings free.
One Wednesday night, Brian called Steve and asked him if he wanted to go out. They must have had a great time because they didn’t get home until about 4 am. I didn’t get to talk to Steve much when they came in, but we had quite an interesting conversation the next morning. He said that the two of them had been discussing the possibility of a threesome, and hubby had come very close to allowing it to happen that night.
I thought I was going to have a heart attack.
Brian spent the night on our couch, and I was left alone with him the following day while Steve was at work and the kids were at school. Every time I looked at him I thought about how close we came to actually having sex. I couldn’t think of anything else for the entire day. I don’t know if I’d ever been so turned on! He went home that evening, and I had honestly thought that my window of opportunity was now closed…and that Steve wouldn’t ever get into “that” kind of mood again. While taking Brian home, he asked me if I would ask Steve for him, if he could stay with us for a few days. Seems that his landlord wanted him out and he didn’t have anywhere else to go at the time. Oh, boy.
Steve picked Brian up the next day and temporarily moved him into our basement. Now was the real test. Could I look at him day after day and not touch? Did I have that kind of willpower? Only time would tell, as I secretly hoped that Steve would again get into the “mood” that he was in the week before.
Wednesday morning already, and Brian was back on his feet and heading home the next day. Steve and I had been having tremendous sex because of all the tension, and we were both a little sorry that Brian was leaving so soon. I still had the small hope that something might happen before he left…but as the day and evening wore on, my hopes got dimmer and dimmer. I was alone at the house and hadn’t heard from either of them.
Frustrated, I called Steve on his cell. He had just found Brian and they were having a beer at the bar and would be home soon. Great, I thought. His last night here and they are going to spend it at the local bar getting tanked. I had just about given up hope at this point and resigned myself to getting ready for bed…alone.
I prepared my bath and got into the hot tub. The warm water felt wonderful as I felt the stresses of the day dissipate. I had been horny all day, so I didn’t think twice about letting my hands roam down to my pussy…and lay there in the tub gently stroking myself, thinking about how things could have been so much more interesting. After awhile I was starting to feel a little down at missing this great opportunity, so I got out and dried off. Just as I was finishing up, Steve called and said that they would be home soon. He also said that after giving it much thought, and given the fact that Brian was leaving in the morning, he might just allow me to have a little fun with him. Oh...my...god. Was he finally going to allow this to happen? And with ALL the people I knew, this young man had to be the hottest and sexiest of them all
There was no way I could fall asleep. I finally heard them come in around 1:00 am. I lay there, so wet with anticipation, and yet terrified at the same time. In the 17 years that Steve and I had been married, I had never had sex with another man. What if Steve asks him if he wants to join us and he says no? All sorts of terrible things started going through my mind, but my pussy was absolutely throbbing at this point, and I knew that despite my fears, there was no way I was going to miss out on a once in a lifetime opportunity such as this one.
Steve came downstairs to our bedroom first. He had been drinking, but still had all his wits about him. We talked for a few minutes, to be sure that both of us were really sure about this. I’m glad that he was not just willing to jump into anything like this, but was also concerned with all the emotions involved. After a few minutes, it was decided that we were going to go for it. Steve went back upstairs and told Brian to be downstairs and naked in 5 minutes. He came back downstairs and we waited together.
After what seemed like an eternity (which was in fact less than 2 minutes), I heard footsteps coming down the stairs towards my bedroom. The door had been closed, but Brian knocked gingerly and opened the door a little. “Were you serious?” he asked Steve. Steve confirmed that he was and told him to come in. I turned to look at him. Here he stood, his 6’ frame, dressed in only a pair of tight black boxer briefs. He had a sheepish grin on his face and I could tell he was a little uncomfortable. I knew that he had quite a bit of sexual experience, even for his young age, but I was betting that he hadn’t done anything like this before!!
I could see the outline of his hard cock underneath his boxers, and watched it bounce free as he pulled his boxers off and let them hit the floor. He crawled into bed with us and I found myself in THE best possible position ever. If you have never been sandwiched between two lovers at the same time, I suggest you try it at least once. I was lying on my side facing my husband, and he told me to lie flat on my back. Brian leaned down to kiss me and I let my lips part without hesitation. His tongue felt so good inside my mouth, and I could feel his cold hands running over my body. I stopped kissing him long enough to reach over and kiss Steve. He was so turned on at this point and I knew there was no turning back.
Brian and Steve both took a nipple into their mouths, gently sucking and nibbling on the sensitive flesh. My nipples were so hard that they hurt. I had my nipples pierced last year, and the bar that goes through them was already barely long enough to accommodate their size, but when I was REALLY turned on, the piercings dug into my flesh, creating both pleasure and pain. Steve let his other hand roam down to my pussy and commented on how wet I was already. All I could do was moan my reply, as I let myself float in the pleasure of having the attention of two male lovers.
Steve turned to Brian and said, “Doesn’t my wife have a gorgeous pussy?” to which Brian replied, “Yes, she does.” Steve told him that not only did it look good, but it also smelled and tasted wonderful. He told him to taste my pussy. Brian got down in between my legs, and gingerly licked the sensitive folds of skin there. I felt an electric shock go through my body and my nipples again responded with their pleasure/pain. I could tell that although he did have some experience in the past, he wasn’t nearly as experienced as Steve was, but the mere fact that it was someone other than my husband doing it to me, as well as my husband being there and WATCHING, that made it hot just the same.
While Brian continued to eat my pussy, Steve got up and stroked his already hard cock. He brought himself to the side of my head, and I opened my lips to take him inside my hot, wet mouth. I have always enjoyed sucking my husband’s cock and this time was no different. I took just the head into my mouth at first, gently sucking and pulling on it. Steve moans and I look up to see him watching Brian between my legs. I take his cock inside further and further, inch-by-inch, until the full length is buried in my mouth and throat.
Steve looks over at Brian and asks him if he wants to fuck his slut wife. Brian excitedly replies yes and gives my pussy one last lick before getting up on his knees. This poor young man is SO nervous at this point, that he seems to have lost his hard on. Steve looks at me and says, “Suck his cock, slut. Once he is hard again, I want you to ride him so I can watch your beautiful pussy being pounded by his young cock.”
I get up and let Brian lie down. My god, he has got such a beautiful body and I want to touch him everywhere. I am delighted to see that he is completely shaved also. I take his semi-hard cock into my mouth and start to slowly let it slip until it reaches the back of my throat. I swallow and can feel my throat closing around his cock. A moan escapes his lips and he reaches down to stroke my hair as I continue to suck his cock. Now and then I take it out of my mouth, and while continuing to stroke him with my hand, I lick the tender flesh of his balls. He moans again. After only a few minutes, he is rock hard again and ready for fucking.
I continue to follow my husband’s direction
and climb on top of him, straddling his hips. I take his cock in my hand and rub it back and fourth over my wet slit, teasing him slightly and at the same time, coating his cock with my juices. I place the head of his cock at the opening of my pussy and slowly let my weight push him deeper and deeper inside. He reaches out and pulls on my nipples, as I slowly start to raise and lower myself on his cock, grinding my pussy against him.
Steve has detached himself from us at this point, and is standing behind us, watching Brian’s cock go in and out of my wet pussy. He tells me how beautiful it looks and asks Brian how much he likes fucking his wife. I lean forward and start to kiss Brian again. I love having his tongue in my mouth and I wrap my fingers in his curly hair. I can feel the tension building as I grind my pussy down on him harder, and faster. Steve is still behind us, and he puts both of his hands around my hips and pushes me down even harder onto Brian’s cock. Brian whispers that he is going to cum soon, and I can feel his hips thrusting upward to meet me. I reach back with my hand and cup his balls gently, massaging them.
Seconds later, I can feel my own orgasm approaching, just as Brian says that he is coming too. The room is then filled with the sounds of pleasure, as we both explode at the same time. Steve has come around to the side at this point and starts to kiss me, telling me just how fucking hot I am. I finally get off of Brian, and after a quick cigarette and trip to the washroom, we meet again in my bed and I got to fall asleep between these two beautiful men. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well in my life.
Early the next day, Brian left on a bus to go home. I don’t think he has any idea how much his brief stay with us affected our lives. He won’t soon be forgotten.
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(continued)
Chapter 9 – Spanish Dancing
A console stereo squatted in the corner of our living room when I was growing up; it had a turntable, radio and speakers enclosed in a wood-grain box, conical legs tapering almost to little points. The speakers on either side were covered with a beige fabric shot through with metallic gold threads. My dad worked as a store manager for Firestone in a dusty little Oklahoma town where farm families bought appliances, bikes, TVs and stereos, in addition to tires. The stereo had been repossessed, so my dad got a good price on it; it was a very fine piece of furniture for a young couple’s first house.
When I found an old vinyl record in a battered red cover recently, my heart skipped a beat. It was Maurice Ravel’s piece “Bolero.” On the flip side was Tchaikowsky’s 1812 Overture. It was the only classical music I heard growing up; my dad loved the 1812 Overture recording because, he always told me, they used real cannons in the recording. He would swing me up and around, narrating the events that inspired the music while the cannons roared.
Less frequently, my parents would play “Bolero.” The sinuous sound of the single oboe at the opening always made me dreamy; the drums added a strangely insistent note, never stopping through the entire piece. I knew a bolero was a Spanish dance, but that was all I knew about Ravel’s work. I let my imagination do the rest, picturing elegant ladies in black lace and men with slicked-back hair and tight pants.
My boyfriend laughed as he picked up the old LP. “Where’d this come from?”
I told him I’d found it packing away some of my parents’ old things. “The ‘1812 Overture’ used real cannons in the recording,” I said, proud of what little knowledge I had.
“Ooohhh, Ravel’s ‘Bolero!’” He caught my gaze, his lips twitching in that smug smile that usually mean he’s hatching a plan. “What do you know about ‘Bolero?’”
“It’s Spanish,” I said. I shrugged. “It’s a kind of dance, isn’t it?” That exhausted my entire store of knowledge about the classics. But he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his grin widened.
“A dance, indeed.” He turned and settled the vinyl disk on the turntable. “What’ve you got to do in the next, say, eighteen minutes?”
“What have you got in mind?”
He looked so lovely, standing there, grinning at me. His jeans were tight and his Black Sabbath t-shirt had been washed so many times it had holes in it. He plays guitar; I first saw him on stage in a nightclub, so immersed in his instrument he seemed totally unaware of the crowd. He has strong, muscular arms and amazing fingers. He touched his guitar with so much feeling I immediately wanted those hands on me. It wasn’t long before he—and all his guitars—found a favored place in my apartment and my heart.
He dropped the needle onto the record and bowed with a flourish, holding out his hand like a courtier of the eighteenth century.
“Would you like to dance?”
I took his hand as the drums took up their marching beat. He spun me slowly in a circle while the oboe began its plaintive melody. I relaxed, surrendering to his lead. With another twirl, he dipped me, low. He was looking at me with laughing eyes, not brown but dozens of dancing colors, amber to gold to deepest mahogany. We don’t dance often; usually when he is above me staring into my eyes we are making love. As that thought flashed through my mind, I could feel my nipples getting hard. He was looking at me with lust. I like that. As he pulled me back up, I could hear the violin section begin plucking notes with their fingers, not an ordinary violin sound at all.
After one last spin, he held me by my waist, and bent his mouth to my neck. As the harpist fingered her strings, he dropped tiny kisses to my throat and neck. I could feel my skin flushing: my body’s automatic response to desire.
“I think I like this dance,” I whispered. He only smiled.
The drums seemed more forceful in response to the clarinet’s introduction, its lilting tones higher, twining around the oboe’s sound. The melody spiraled down, deep, aching, lonely, then gone. Just in time, a French horn picked up the melody, sounding confident, strong and bold. Still the drums kept up their beat, a corps of snare drums, relentless.
Dave’s kisses were gathering heat, and my mind became attentive to the feel of his hands in addition to the sound of the orchestra. As I became aware of quiet piano notes slipping through the melody like water, I felt his hands become entangled in my long hair, his strong fingers cradling my head as he bent to kiss me deeply.
Now there were bright silver notes, chiming in a cool undercurrent, and I slid my hands down to cup the tight cheeks of his ass. With the same movement, I pressed his groin closer to me, acutely aware of the evidence of his growing passion. Now more instruments picked up the melody, driven by the steady drumbeat. Notes tumbled over and over, wanton and wild. Trombones, slippery, loud, unmistakable. Still the violins were only plucked, not bowed, and in my steadily declining thought process, I wondered if they yearned to be played.
No single instrument carried the tune now; at least three trombones joined to move the music forward. Bigger in my consciousness were the feelings slipping through my body; at some point Dave had pulled me down onto his lap, while his hands roved across my back, up under my clothes. With a deft twist he freed me from my bra; in the next instant he was rubbing his rough thumbs across my nipples. The sensation was so exquisite and the music so forceful it left me breathless but yearning for more of the same.
Greedy, I reached for the zipper on his jeans, but he gently removed my hands and held them, slipping my shirt over my head and exposing my breasts. The trombones played still, in harmony but with a hint of dissonance, a thread of warning, perhaps foreshadowing a darker passion to come. He caressed my breasts with mouth and tongue; I was so occupied by the sensation and the rising music I barely noticed his hand slipping my panties down. When he touched my cunt it was electrifying, an unexpected rush. I could feel my pussy juices begin to flow.
Dave’s tongue circled my nipple, teasing. From time to time he caught the nipple lightly in his teeth. The alternating waves of mild pain and delicate touch began to build a rhythm in my mind and body.
His hand circled on my lower belly; my skirt lay discarded on the floor. The soft skin of my belly yielded to the firm pressure of his hand; I wanted him to hurry and touch me, enter me, but his speed was deliberate, calculated to wring every second of pleasure from my body and his.
I heard more brass catch the melody, steadily rising in volume and complexity. With a last flurry of forcefully plucked strings, strings stretched to their limit, at last the bows come down with a crash to play violins, cellos, violas and bass as they were meant to be played. At that same instant, Dave plunged three fingers deep inside me, unexpected, making me moan out loud. He moved all his attention to the hunger between my legs. Passion surged, wild as the music.
We were on the floor, stretched out full-length now. At some point Dave had managed to get his jeans off, and I grabbed his ass and pulled him to me; now we were in the classic “69” position and I could see his beautiful cock, hard, veins pulsing, a creamy drop of semen topping the head. I love to suck him off, and forgot about my pleasure for a moment to focus on his.