Wife's College Friend Gets Blown

The living room was dim except for the flicker of the movie, a low-budget thriller none of them were really watching. Henrik, twenty-eight, sat at one end of the couch in a soft gray T-shirt and old pants, a bowl of popcorn cooling on the coffee table. His wife Corinne, twenty-seven, had claimed the middle cushion in a thin tank top and cotton shorts, her dark hair loose, one bare thigh warm against his. On her other side sat Mateo, twenty-nine, her college friend from years back, broad-shouldered and easy in a faded henley, his long legs stretched out as if the apartment belonged to him too.

They had been like this for half an hour, trading quiet comments about the plot and letting the evening stay lazy. Henrik liked Mateo well enough. The man had a low laugh and never overstayed, and Corinne always seemed brighter when he visited, a little more restless, a little more aware of her own body. Tonight that restlessness showed in the way she kept shifting, the way her hand drifted along Henrik's thigh and then left it again.

During a dull stretch of dialogue she sighed, stretched both arms overhead, and slid down until her head settled in Henrik's lap. The weight of it was familiar and intimate. Her hair spilled over his thigh. She drew her knees up, then extended her legs the other way so her bare feet came to rest across Mateo's lap, toes flexing once against the denim.

"This okay?" she asked, voice lazy, not looking at either of them.

"Fine," Mateo said.

Henrik's hand found her shoulder. On screen someone ran down a hallway. He felt Corinne settle deeper, her cheek against the seam of his pants, and then he noticed her feet. They were not still. One sole pressed lightly along the inside of Mateo's thigh, then the other, a slow idle motion that could have been nothing. Mateo's jaw tightened. He did not move her feet away.

Henrik watched, pulse ticking harder. Corinne's toes traced the growing ridge under Mateo's fly with deliberate patience, up and then down, the ball of her foot rubbing once over the head through the denim. Mateo's cock thickened under the attention, the outline unmistakable, longer and thicker than Henrik had expected, pushing hard against the fabric. Mateo exhaled through his nose and let his hand rest on her ankle, not stopping her.

Heat climbed Henrik's neck. He should have said something. Instead he stared at the movie and felt his own cock begin to stir against the warm weight of his wife's head.

Corinne must have felt it. Her mouth curved where it pressed his thigh, a small private smile he caught when he glanced down. She did not look embarrassed. She looked pleased. Her foot kept working Mateo's erection in unhurried strokes, toes curling, sole gliding, and each pass made the bulge strain harder against the zipper. Henrik's cock answered, thickening fast until it pressed up into her cheek through his pants, obvious, aching, impossible to hide.

She turned her face just enough to meet his eyes. The smile was knowing now, almost wicked, and she held his gaze while her toes dragged once more along the full length of Mateo's cock. Henrik's breath caught. He was hard enough that it hurt, and she knew it, and she liked that he knew what she was doing.

Then she moved.

Without a word she sat up, hair falling forward, and reversed herself on the cushions. Her feet slid into Henrik's lap this time, warm and careless, and her head came down in Mateo's. She settled there as if she had always meant to, cheek against the thick ridge she had been teasing, one hand braced on Mateo's thigh. The movie kept talking. Nobody turned it off.

Mateo looked at Henrik over the top of her head. His expression was taut, hungry, waiting. Henrik's mouth had gone dry. He did not speak. He did not reach for her. Shock held him still while his cock throbbed under the sole of her foot.

Corinne's fingers found Mateo's belt. She worked the buckle open slowly, the metal clicking soft in the quiet room, then popped the button and drew the zipper down tooth by tooth. The sound seemed loud. She tugged the denim and the waistband of his briefs aside, and Mateo's cock rose free, heavy and flushed, the head already wet. It was bigger than Henrik's by a clear margin, thick enough that her fingers did not meet around the shaft, long enough that it rested against her cheek before she even opened her mouth. A vein stood along the underside. The smell of him, clean skin and heat, reached Henrik across the small space between them.

She had never done this for him. Not once in their marriage. Henrik liked her mouth and had asked, early on, and she had laughed it off, said it wasn't her thing, and he had let it go. Now she opened her lips and took Mateo in without hesitation, a slow wet slide that buried the head and then more, her throat working, a soft sound leaving her as she sank down.

Henrik stared. His cock jerked against her foot. She pulled back with a slick sound, saliva shining on the shaft, and went down again, deeper, hungry, her hand stroking what she could not swallow. Mateo groaned, low and rough, and his fingers threaded into her hair. She sucked him with a focus Henrik had never seen, cheeks hollowing, tongue working the underside, spit gathering at the corners of her mouth and sliding down onto Mateo's balls. Each stroke was eager. Each one said she wanted this cock in her mouth, wanted the size of it, the weight, the way it stretched her lips.

"Fuck," Mateo breathed. His hips lifted a fraction. Corinne took it, moaning around him, and the vibration made his thighs tense.

Henrik sat frozen, rock-hard, watching his wife blow another man with a greed she had never shown him. His hands stayed on his own knees. He could not find a word. The shock was total, and under it his arousal burned so hot he felt dizzy. Her foot pressed down on his erection as if to keep him there, to make sure he felt every second of it.

She worked Mateo for long minutes, sloppy and devoted, pulling off to lick the head, to mouth his balls, to look up at him with wet lips before sinking down again until her nose brushed the dark hair at his base. Spit coated her chin. Mateo's cock glistened, huge and rigid, twitching against her tongue. Henrik's own pants were damp at the front where he leaked. He still had not moved.

Corinne came off him with a wet pop and turned her face toward Henrik. Her mouth was swollen, shining. She crooked two fingers, beckoning him closer, and her eyes were bright with want.

"Come here," she said, voice husky. Not a question.

Henrik's body answered before his mind caught up. He shifted along the couch, cock straining, and she reached for him, fingers closing in his hair. She guided his head down toward Mateo's lap, toward the thick glistening shaft still wet from her mouth. The heat of it hit his face. The scent was stronger here, salt and skin and her spit.

"Open," she murmured, and pressed him forward.

His lips parted. The head slid over his tongue, broad and slick, heavier than he had imagined. He had never had a cock in his mouth. The reality of it—hot, smooth, tasting of her and of Mateo—sent a jolt straight to his own erection. Corinne held him there, gentle but sure, and he took more because she wanted him to, because he wanted to, shock melting into a stunned, hungry obedience. His tongue moved. Mateo groaned above them both.

"That's it," Corinne said, close to his ear. "Suck him. Look how big he is."

She let him work for a moment, watching his mouth stretch around the shaft, then pulled him back by the hair and took Mateo herself, deep and greedy, spit stringing between her lips and the head when she rose. She pushed Henrik down again. They traded like that, her mouth and then his, a sloppy rhythm that left Mateo's cock shining, dripping, never dry for more than a second. Henrik learned the shape of him, the way the head flared, the pulse under the skin, the bitter-salt taste of precome that smeamed his tongue. Each time Corinne guided him back she held his head a little longer, urging him lower, and he went, throat fluttering, eyes watering, cock aching untouched in his pants.

Mateo's hand joined hers in Henrik's hair. "Both of you," he said, rough and grateful. "Fuck, don't stop."

Corinne licked along one side of the shaft while Henrik sucked the head, their mouths meeting around him, tongues brushing, spit mixing. She kissed the corner of Henrik's mouth and then the cock between them, filthy and sweet, and pushed Henrik down again until he gagged softly and she eased him back just enough to breathe. Mateo thrust up, shallow at first, then deeper, fucking Henrik's mouth in slow strokes while Corinne stroked the base and whispered encouragement against Henrik's temple.

"Take it. God, you look so good with him in your mouth. He never gets this from me and you are, you're taking all of it—"

Henrik moaned around the thickness, the sound vibrating, and Mateo swore. Corinne pulled Henrik off, strings of spit connecting his lips to the head, and swallowed Mateo down herself, throat working, nose pressed to his stomach, holding there while her husband watched, wrecked and hard. She came up gasping, chin wet, and fed the cock back to Henrik, guiding him with both hands now, setting the pace.

They found a shared hunger. She sucked while Henrik licked Mateo's balls, heavy and tight, then they switched, Henrik taking as much as he could while she jerked what remained with a slick fist. Mateo fucked whichever mouth was on him, hips rolling, one hand on Corinne's hair and one on Henrik's, using them both with a control that made Henrik's cock leak steadily into his pants. The couch creaked. The movie had become meaningless noise. The only sounds that mattered were wet, obscene: mouths, breath, the soft slap of spit, Mateo's low groans getting shorter and rougher.

"Close," Mateo warned, voice strained. "I'm gonna—"

Corinne pulled Henrik's mouth down onto the shaft and held him there, fingers firm in his hair, her other hand stroking the base in quick slick pulls. "In his mouth," she told Mateo, eyes locked on her husband's face. "Give it to him. All of it."

Mateo thrust once, twice, deep enough that Henrik's throat clenched, and then he came. The first pulse hit the back of Henrik's tongue, hot and thick, and then more, spurt after heavy spurt flooding his mouth while Corinne kept him in place, watching with lust-bright eyes, lips parted, one hand still working Mateo's shaft to milk every drop into her husband. Henrik swallowed on instinct and still more came, salty and endless, coating his tongue, spilling at the corner of his mouth until she thumbed it back in. Mateo shuddered through the last of it, cock twitching, a final weak pulse sliding over Henrik's tongue.

Corinne eased him off slowly. Henrik swallowed again, throat working, the taste of Mateo's cum thick and unmistakable. His own cock throbbed, untouched and desperate, but he stayed where she had put him, lips wet, breathing hard.

She leaned in and kissed him, deep and unhurried, tongue sliding into his mouth to taste what he had just taken. She licked the corner of his lips, hummed, and kissed him again, sharing it, claiming it. When she drew back her eyes were dark and satisfied, a smile tugging at her swollen mouth.

"Swallow every drop," she murmured, though he already had. She brushed her thumb along his lower lip, then glanced at Mateo's softening cock, still heavy against his thigh, and back at Henrik. "This is only the beginning of our night."

Henrik's pulse hammered. The movie murmured on. Mateo's hand rested warm on the back of his neck, and Corinne's mouth found his again, slow and filthy, the taste of another man still between them.