Wife's Evening with Husband and His Friend

Yvonne crossed the living room in the black dress Alastair liked, the fabric clinging to her hips and the heavy curve of her breasts. At thirty-two she had the kind of body that filled a room before she spoke: soft waist, thick thighs, an ass that moved when she walked. She set three glasses on the low table and looked at her husband.

Alastair, thirty-five, loosened his collar and smiled the way he did in boardrooms, certain and a little mean. “He’ll be early. Hugo always is.”

The doorbell cut him off. Yvonne opened it on Hugo, thirty-four, broad through the shoulders, sleeves rolled on forearms that looked like they worked for a living even though he didn’t. He kissed her cheek longer than manners required. His cologne hit warm. She felt the press of his hand at her waist and didn’t step back.

“God,” he said, looking her over without apology. “Alastair’s been hiding you.”

“He’s been showing me off,” she said. “You just finally showed up.”

They drank slowly. One glass each, barely touched, the evening sharp and chosen. Hugo took the chair across from the sofa. Alastair sat beside his wife with a hand on her bare knee, thumb stroking once, then staying. Talk moved from work to nothing. Hugo’s eyes kept dropping to the neckline of her dress. Yvonne didn’t fix it.

“You’re staring,” she said.

“You wore that so I would.”

Alastair’s grip tightened. She felt him harden against her hip and didn’t move away. Heat crawled up her throat.

“I told him,” she said, looking at Hugo, then at her husband. “I told Alastair I think you’re gorgeous. That I’ve thought it for years. That I get wet when you laugh at his jokes and look at my mouth.”

Hugo went still. Alastair exhaled, low and rough, and the bulge in his pants was obvious. He didn’t hide it.

“Say it again,” Alastair said.

Yvonne held Hugo’s eyes. “I want you. Both of you. Tonight. If you want me.”

Hugo’s answer was a slow nod and a filthy little smile. “I’ve wanted you since the first dinner. I just needed you to say it where he could hear.”

Alastair’s hand slid higher on her thigh. “Then stop sitting all the way over there.”

Yvonne turned into her husband and kissed him hard, mouth open, tongue greedy, one hand fisted in his shirt. She let Hugo watch. She wanted him to. Alastair groaned into it and palmed her breast through the dress, thumb finding her nipple. When she pulled back her lipstick was smeared and her pulse was loud.

She stood, crossed the rug, and bent over Hugo’s chair. “Your turn.”

He caught her face and kissed her like he’d been waiting all night, slower than Alastair, deeper, one big hand spread over her ass. She moaned into his mouth and felt her panties soak. Alastair watched from the sofa, stroking himself through his pants, eyes dark.

“Bring her here,” he said.

Hugo walked her back. They sat her between them on the wide sofa, Alastair on her left, Hugo on her right. Two pairs of hands started on her at once. Alastair kissed her throat and tugged the dress off one shoulder. Hugo pushed the other strap down and cupped her breast, weighing it, pinching the nipple until she gasped. The dress pooled at her waist. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her tits spilled into their hands, heavy and flushed, nipples tight.

“Fuck,” Hugo muttered. “Look at these.”

“She’s been aching all day,” Alastair said against her ear. “Haven’t you.”

“Yes.” Her voice shook. “Touch me. Both of you.”

They did. Hugo’s mouth closed over one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking. Alastair shoved the dress up her thighs and dragged her panties aside, two fingers sliding through slick folds. She was soaked. He pushed them in and she cried out, hips jerking. Hugo’s free hand joined, rubbing her clit while Alastair fucked her with his fingers. The wet sound filled the room.

Yvonne reached for both of them. Her left hand found Alastair’s cock through his pants, thick and hot, straining the fabric. Her right hand closed on Hugo and found him just as hard, longer, twitching when she squeezed. She stroked them together, clumsy and desperate, palms riding the lengths through wool and cotton.

“I can feel how bad you want it,” she said. “Both of you. God, you’re so hard.”

“Take the dress off,” Hugo said.

Alastair peeled it over her head. She lifted her arms and let them. Panties followed, dragged down her legs and tossed. Naked between two dressed men, she spread her thighs and kept stroking, working their cocks through their pants until the fabric darkened at the tips.

“Tell us,” Alastair said. “Out loud.”

“I want your cocks,” she said, breathless, looking from one to the other. “I want you to fuck me. Both of you. I want to be used until I can’t talk. Please. Take me. Take me completely. I need it. I’m asking. I’m begging.”

Hugo kissed her again, filthy and open. Alastair bit her shoulder and ground his fingers deeper. She shook between them, already close, and didn’t come yet because she wanted them bare first.

“Pants off,” she said. “Now.”

They stood long enough to strip. Shirts hit the floor. Belts. Pants. Hugo’s cock sprang free, thick and veined, the head already wet. Alastair’s was heavy, curved, familiar and mean. Yvonne slid off the sofa onto her knees on the rug and looked up at both of them, mouth open, spit shining on her lip.

“Give them to me.”

She took Alastair first. Her lips stretched around the head and she sank down, tongue flat, sucking him into the wet heat of her mouth. He cursed and held her hair, not forcing, just guiding. She bobbed, sloppy, saliva spilling down his shaft and over her chin. Then she pulled off with a wet pop and turned to Hugo. He was thicker at the tip. She had to work for it, jaw aching, taking him inch by inch until he nudged her throat. She gagged once, eyes watering, and did it again because the sound made both men groan.

She alternated. Alastair’s cock, deep and steady, her hand pumping what she couldn’t swallow. Then Hugo, messier, spit strings connecting her mouth to his shaft when she came up for air. She licked them both, sucked their balls, smeared her face against them until her cheeks were glazed and her tits swung with every motion. The living room smelled like skin and sex already.

“Look at her,” Hugo said. “Fucking starving.”

“She is,” Alastair said. “Aren’t you, baby. Our little cockslut.”

“Yes,” she gasped around Hugo, then pulled off. “Use my throat. Use my cunt. I want it filthy.”

They hauled her up and bent her over the back of the sofa. Her ass tipped high, pussy glistening, thighs shaking. Alastair stepped in behind her and dragged his cock through her folds, coating himself. Hugo moved to her face and fed her his cock again.

“You ready?” Alastair asked.

“Yes. Fuck me. Please.”

He pushed in. One long stroke, thick and relentless, until his hips met her ass. Yvonne moaned around Hugo and the vibration made him swear. Alastair didn’t give her time to adjust. He fucked her hard from behind, balls slapping her clit, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. Every thrust shoved her forward onto Hugo’s cock. She took it. She opened her throat and let Hugo fuck her mouth while her husband pounded her soaked pussy, the sofa creaking, her tits swinging, spit and arousal dripping onto the cushions.

“Tight,” Alastair grunted. “So fucking wet. You hear that?”

The wet smack of him driving into her was obscene. Hugo held her hair and slid deep, careful enough that she could breathe, rough enough that her eyes streamed. She loved it. She reached back and spread herself wider for her husband, then cupped Hugo’s balls and swallowed him to the root.

“Switch,” Hugo said, voice wrecked. “I need that cunt.”

They pulled out. She whimpered at the emptiness. They laid her on the rug in front of the sofa, on her back, knees up. Hugo knelt between her thighs and lined up. Alastair straddled her chest just enough to angle his cock at her mouth, one hand braced on the sofa.

“Open,” he said.

She did. Hugo sank into her in one slow, brutal push, stretching her differently, hitting deep. She cried out around Alastair and the sound broke into a moan as Hugo started to fuck her in earnest, missionary, her ankles near his shoulders, his muscular body working over hers. Each stroke ground her clit. She came the first time like that, sudden and violent, cunt clenching around Hugo while Alastair fucked her mouth, her whole body shaking, a muffled scream vibrating on her husband’s cock.

Hugo didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, harder, the slap of skin loud, her tits bouncing. “Again,” he said. “I want another.”

Alastair pulled out of her mouth so she could breathe and talk. “Harder,” she begged. “Hugo, harder. Alastair, give me your cock. I want to taste my husband while his friend ruins me.”

Alastair fed himself back between her lips. She sucked him sloppy and desperate, one hand on his thigh, the other clawing at the rug. Hugo pounded her, changing the angle until he hit the spot that made her vision white. She came again, harder, gushing around him, thighs trembling, voice broken into wet little sounds on Alastair’s shaft.

“Floor’s not enough,” Alastair said. “Stand her up. I want her ass.”

They lifted her. Her legs barely held. Hugo stayed in her pussy, backing her toward the open space by the window, holding her under the thighs. Alastair came up behind, spit-slicked his cock with a rough hand, and pressed the head to her asshole.

“You want this,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but he waited.

“Yes,” she said, wrecked and clear. “Both. Fill me. Fuck my ass. I want you both inside me. Now.”

He pushed. The stretch burned sweet and huge. She bore down and took him, inch by inch, until he was buried in her ass and Hugo was buried in her cunt and she was pinned between them, full to the point of shaking. For a second nobody moved. She felt every throb, every vein, the obscene pressure of two thick cocks separated by almost nothing.

“Move,” she begged. “Please. Fuck me. Don’t be gentle.”

They moved. Hugo thrust up into her pussy. Alastair drove into her ass. They found a rhythm, one pulling back as the other pushed in, then both slamming deep at once until she screamed. Her feet left the floor. They held her up between them and used her, relentless, sweat slicking all three bodies, her tits crushed to Hugo’s chest, Alastair’s mouth on her neck, biting. The standing double penetration wrecked her. Every thrust knocked a moan out of her. She came again, then again, clenching so hard around both cocks that Hugo swore and Alastair had to slow or finish too soon.

“Don’t stop,” she sobbed. “Don’t you fucking stop. Use me. I’m yours. Both of yours. Pound me.”

They did. Faster. Meaner. The wet sounds were filthy, her ass and pussy taking them, her voice gone hoarse. Hugo kissed her, messy, then looked at Alastair over her shoulder.

“I’m close.”

“Mouth and pussy,” Alastair said. “She asked to be filled.”

They pulled out carefully. Her holes fluttered, empty and obscene, cum-ready and dripping. They put her on her knees on the sectional’s edge, ass up, face turned. Hugo slid back into her soaked cunt from behind and fucked her in short, brutal strokes. Alastair knelt in front of her and pushed his cock into her open mouth.

“Take it,” he said. “Swallow what I give you.”

Hugo groaned, hips stuttering, and came hard in her pussy, thick pulses flooding her, hot and endless, some of it leaking out around his shaft and down her thighs. The feeling tipped her over again. She shuddered through it, crying out around Alastair, and he grabbed her hair and came down her throat, heavy spurts she swallowed greedily, the rest spilling over her lip and chin when he pulled back to paint her tongue. She licked him clean because she wanted to, because the taste and the mess made her cunt clench around Hugo’s still-throbbing cock and wring another pulse out of him.

They collapsed onto the oversized sectional in a heap of sweat and spend, Yvonne dragged between them, cum leaking from her well-fucked pussy onto the cushion, more of it shining on her mouth and tits. She was still twitching, aftershocks rolling through her, holes sore and open. Alastair’s hand slid between her thighs and pushed two fingers into the mess Hugo had left, fucking it back into her while she licked a stray streak off Hugo’s stomach.

“Again,” she said, voice raw, already stroking both softening cocks, working them with greedy hands. “Next week. And the week after. I want this cock in my ass and that one in my cunt until I can’t walk, and I want to swallow every drop you give me.”

Hugo laughed, breathless and filthy, and smeared his thumb through the cum on her lip, pushing it back onto her tongue. She sucked it clean and smiled like a woman who had gotten exactly what she begged for, already spreading her thighs wider for the fingers still pumping her used, dripping cunt.