I sat on the ledge above the bathtub while my wife did her hair for the New Year’s Eve party and got her to spill all the horny details of she and Alex’s bedroom encounter at the Christmas party a couple of weeks ago.
Up until this point, we’d avoided the subject. (And maybe we hadn’t so much avoided it as much as we had simply declined to discuss it.)
We had all watched wide-eyed, my own heart beating out of my chest with excitement, as my wife had taken Alex’s erect cock in her right hand and led him to the back bedroom. I had become hyper-focused (I remember every detail). His foreskin had been gently tugged over the mushroom head of his hard penis as he’d followed her behind, drooling over her ass as it wagged back and forth in front of him, taunting him, until they’d disappeared off into the darkness.
“So what happened in there?” I asked. I felt my cock begin to grow in my pants. We had both begun to drink already, sipping white wine as she got ready for the NYE party downtown.
(I didn’t know it then, but her story was about to blow my puny mind.)
“I already know what happened between you and Aly,” my wife said. “She told me everything.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She just said that you fucked her and that was that.” Christine continued to curl waves into the back of her hair, making no fuss about the details as to my own involvement that night.
I didn’t have a response. I mean, I guess that’s what had happened, but it had seemed to me far more intimate than that. Maybe Aly was just trying to protect me. Or maybe she felt awkward talking to one of her best friends about what she’d done with her husband. (That was probably it.)
“So what about you and Alex?” I asked, taking another sip from my glistening wine glass. I grinned at her over its rim. (Tonight was the night–I could feel it!)
“We had sex,” she said. “I really enjoyed it.”
“When Aly and I walked back to the bedroom,” I said, “It sounded like a rat was tearing into the mattress in there.”
“He needed sex really bad,” my wife said. “Did you know he’s only ever had sex with a condom on?”
“I think I heard that,” I said.
“He rooted around for a while,” she said with a giggle, “He just sniffed around…you know…down there…for a good ten minutes, licking me every now and then, before actually doing anything.”
“Rooted around?” I asked.
“I don’t know how else to describe it,” she said. “It was like I was a playground or something. I mean, imagine: You’ve never had sex without a condom, you’ve never felt your bare skin inside something warm like a…You’ve never had sex with a woman before–He admitted his erection was from seeing me naked–And here we were on a soft-ass bed in a cozy little room, and my legs were spread…I guess he just wanted to…explore a little.”
“He sounds like quite the explorer,” I said.
She raised her eyes to the mirror, locking eyes with me, behind her, and I guess she could tell this was turning me on, because she didn’t get defensive (quite the opposite), and went back to curling the waves into the back of her hair.
“His sniffing was very loud,” she said. “It was almost like being sniffed up by a dog.”
“Not that you would know, though,” I joked.
“Right,” she said. “He just sniffed a lot, and every now and then, he would spread my pussy to lick it.”
“What else?” I asked.
“How much do you want to know?” my wife asked.
“Tell me everything,” I said. “You already know what happened between Aly and me; I want to hear your story. And why the fuck did it sound like a rat was trying to tear through the mattress in there?”
Christine looked back up into the mirror and eyed my warily. “He was a wild boy,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“He was literally shaking; his whole body was convulsing, clawing at the mattress as he sniffed my ass and pussy, and just…rooted around.”
“I’m glad he had a good time,” I said.
“I had a good time, too,” my wife said. “After he finally got past all that…” She paused.
“Continue,” I said. “Actually, hold on, I’m going to get the wine bottle.
I walked into the kitchen, fully dressed for the NYE party (always waiting on Christine), and took the open bottle of Chardonnay from the counter. I refilled my glass on the way back to the bathroom, and then topped her off before taking my place back on the ledge.
“After he got past all that?” I prompted her.
She blushed. She might not admit it, but she actually blushed behind all the makeup she had applied for tonight. “I don’t know,” she said.
“I actually enjoy this,” I said. “Tell me everything.”
“Well…” she continued. “He wriggled up between my legs and stood as upright as he could on his knees. His cock is…It curves upward a bit when it’s erect.”
“I noticed,” I said.
“It turned me on,” she said. “He began to thrust back and forth above me, slapping his balls against my pussy, and I just lay there, willing to do whatever he wanted.”
“Because you had the pleasure of being his first,” I added.
“Can you even imagine your dick being suffocated by a condom your whole life?” she asked.
The question was rhetorical; I knew that, but I answered her anyway. “It’s not like he walks around wearing one all the time.”
“You know what I mean,” Christine said. “He needed to get it bare like nature intended, for once.”
I loved her for what she had done for Alex (but more than that, I probably loved her even more for what she had allowed me to do with Aly).
“God,” she said, slapping the straightening iron down on the bathroom countertop. “He leaked so much fucking precum on me that I didn’t think he’d have anything left in his balls.”
“Did he have any left?” I asked.
“You wouldn’t believe,” she said. “As his nuts slapped my clit, I took his cock in both of my hands and used his precum to stroke him.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “When I thought I heard rats tearing into the mattress, I was just taking Aly into the bedroom. As soon as I laid her down, you began to yelp.”
“It turned me on!” she said. “To feel his begging cock and all that precum, I just knew–I guess it was just an instinct–that he was going to absolutely spray it when the time came.”
“This is crazy,” I said.
“I finally pulled his cock down to where he could actually, you know, get at me–If it weren’t for me, he probably would have just drizzled precum and sniffed around at me all night–and I definitely yelped when he penetrated me.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Why?” She asked.
“Did it hurt?” I asked.
“The opposite,” she said.
“You might have me beat,” I said.
“Why, what did you guys do?” She asked, going back at her hair again. (I would have wondered how much longer she would be, but I wanted this conversation to continue.)
“We just had sex, but it was still pretty great,” I said. To me, it had obviously been more erotic than that, but right now I just wanted to hear more about my wife’s adventure with Alex.
“Did you kiss her?” My wife now turned to look me in the eye before turning back to the mirror, holding my gaze there.
“Yeah,” I said. “People tend to kiss sometimes during sex.”
“Alex and I didn’t kiss,” she said. “His cock was literally jumping around in my hand as I pulled him down and put him inside me.”
“Continue,” I said.
“This is really turning you on,” she said. “Is this going to become a habit with us?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“He really got at me,” she said. “I really don’t know that we need to talk about it.”
“Well, I got at Aly,” I said. “So I guess we’re even.”
“Not like this,” she said, and something in her tone convinced me that what she said was true.
“It sounds like you’re just getting started,” I said. My heart rate had risen considerably since the beginning of this conversation. I wanted to excuse myself, pull down my pants in our bedroom, and masturbate to the thought of Christine and Alex together, how bad he must have wanted her!
She considered for a moment. “I can’t explain it,” she said.
“Try,” I challenged her.
“I don’t want to make it weird for you,” she said.
“How would you make it weird?”
“It’s just…” She was now blushing more than I’d seen her blush yet tonight. “It’s weird,” she said.
I took another sip of wine and stared at her in the mirror until she looked up and once again made eye contact with me before her eyes flitted away again.
“It was like I imagine having sex with a dog would be,” she said, “If we were dogs, of course.” She inhaled deeply, turned on the water full tap, and splashed some cold water onto her face, despite having already finished her makeup. When she looked back up at me, water still running, I must have had a curious look on my face.
“It felt like doing me was the single thing he’d been put on earth to do,” she said. “The way he latched onto me…”
“Describe it,” I said, buzzing lightly now from the wine, but highly intoxicated from this conversation.
“This is the best way I can describe it,” she said. “You know how when you’re fucking me, even when you’re fucking me hard, how you’ll sometimes stroke all the way in, and then pull it almost all the way out before pumping back in again?”
“Yeah,” I said, really wanting to know where she was going with this.
“There was none of that with him. Once he had it all the way in, he kept it in. He humped on me savagely, but always kept that cock buried inside me as deep as he could go.”
I didn’t know if she was sweating now, or if she just had some water from the sink left on her forehead.
“Jesus,” she said. “I can’t believe you really want to hear about all this.”
“Jesus!” I said, “Tell me more!”
“When he…went off…that’s the best way I can describe it…inside me…it felt like I’d stuck a nice, lubed-up supersoaker in my pussy and pulled the trigger.”
I stared at her (not intensely or anything I don’t think).
“The spurts were so long,” she said.
“Like deep?” I asked.
“Well fuck yeah they were deep,” she said. “But I meant long as in each one lasted a while, like the supersoaker.”
“How long are we talking?” I asked. I was jealous I’d never had an orgasm like that.
“The first few lasted probably a couple of seconds each, like one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two…And they were shot so hard. It was really intense.”
“How many were there in all?” I asked, trying to sound natural but way beyond that point.
“I didn’t count them,” she said.
“Estimate,” I said, knowing I’d gain pleasure from her answer. (The most I’d ever ejaculated was probably like eleven shots, with the last five or six being pretty weak spurts.)
“A lot,” she said. “The supersoakers, though…There were probably seven or eight of them, really intense.”
“Seven or eight?!”
“I told you; he sprayed me,” she said.
Now I was the one blushing.
“Aly’s poor bedspread…” she said. “I was literally laying in a massive puddle of cum.
“Jesus.” There was nothing left to say. Or at least I didn’t think there was.
“That’s not the craziest part,” she said. “Well, it probably is, but there’s more to it.”
“What the fuck,” I said.
“After he ejaculated, he just kept humping on me for the hell of it, grunting and moaning, and still going for it.”
I waited in silence for her to continue. If she’d said there was more to tell, there had to be more than this.
“This is where I don’t want you to get upset,” she said.
I groaned, more out of pleasure and sexual frustration than anything else. I would definitely need to change my underwear before we went anywhere later.
“You really want to know?” She asked.
“I have to know,” I said, now shaking a bit, myself. I took another sip of wine to hopefully calm me down.
“I figured that…you know…if he was still hard and rearing to go…I really don’t want to tell you,” she said.
“Tell me!” I implored.
“I just…you know…I just thought I might as well put him to good use.”
“Meaning?” My face was hot. I fanned my chest and stomach with my sweater.
“I got on my hands and knees, and he fucked me doggy.” She let it spill out without emotion.
“He fucked you again?”
“His dick stayed hard,” she said, and then she paused.
“Did he get off again?” I asked.
“Even more,” she said, sounding somehow defeated by having to admit it. “You’ll never fucking believe me, but there was more than the first time. He just had so much fucking spunk backed up, he had to relieve himself!”
“The poor guy,” I said, sarcastically.
“But this time,” she said, and then paused again. I didn’t say anything, and she didn’t either for quite some time.
“This time he came in my bottom,” she said, and dropped her hair straightener to the counter top. She looked up at me in the mirror. “I’m sorry!” she said.
Now (finally) I was jealous!
Christine had told me countless times how much she hated anything even remotely touching her butthole during sex.
“Is it because he’s gay?” I asked, feeling weird about asking that question.
“Maybe,” she said. “It just seemed right somehow. I can’t explain it.”
“Try!” I begged.
“I needed it!” she said. “He slid in really easily. I guess I was just that ready for it.”
“Plus, you were both covered in cum,” I offered.
“That too,” she said.
“Did you cum at all through any of this?” I asked.
“Oh, Jesus,” she said, and then let out a sharp exhalation. “I have to admit though, I came hardest when he shot it in my ass.”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. “Is there anything else?”
“He said the contractions of my butthole gripping his cock just make him keep going and going. His grunts…God, it turned me on so much that I smashed my ass back against him and encouraged him to keep going. It was when I grabbed a hold of his balls though that he really unloaded.”
“How much cum was there this time?” I was beside myself.
“More than before,” she said, blushing hotly.
“More?!”
“I’m telling you…There was somehow even jizz on the headboard.”
“What did it feel like getting it in the ass like that?”
“I’ve heard women talk about full-body orgasms before, and I’m sorry, but that’s the first one I’ve ever experienced. I was shaking uncontrollably,” she said.
I needed to put my cock in someone other than my wife in the worst way right now. What surprised me though was that I probably could have cum just as hard from masturbating to everything she had just told me.
“Should we swap again tonight?” I asked. I felt I had the right after everything I’d just heard.
“Fine with me,” she said. “Sounds like fun.”
We sat in silence until she unplugged her straightening iron, and began to put all of her makeup back in the drawer.
“At least we’re all staying in a hotel tonight,” she said.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“I still feel bad about Aly’s poor bedspread.”
We drove to the hotel, but neither of us said much. There was no anger or resentment between us.
We drove toward the hotel in the calm before the sex storm, and we both knew it.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/z4hpgl/the_new_years_eve_party_part_1_of_2christmas
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