The setting was perfectly romantic. A crackling fire staved off the late fall cold and added a warm glow, its dancing light flitting about the room. Some candles enhanced the ethereal mood, casting dim shadows that cavorted on the walls. Snugly nestled on the couch, my nudity covered by a long t-shirt and a warm, perfectly soft, fresh-smelling, wool blanket, I watched as my husband, shirtless and dreamy with his rippling muscles, hypnotic eyes, and sexy-as-fuck long, blond hair, ran his hands over my friend’s body.
Sylva was supine in front of the fireplace, her long, brassy blond hair splayed out. A soft towel covered her breasts and nether regions, not that we both hadn’t seen and feasted upon them before. Lying as she was, on the fur rug, a wine glass filled with potent absinthe beside her, it reminded me of a highly erotic movie scene. It was horny beauty, sensual art, and erotic voyeurism combined into one, lusty, visual thrill. I felt comfy and warm inside and out. My entire body tingled with relaxed, impassioned desire, every nerve fiber hungrily pulsing with sexual need.
I watched in desperate anticipation as his sinewy arms traced the contours of her exposed flesh. Sylva moaned in delight, covering my whimpering mews. I knew, all too well, the effects of those magic hands. He took his time, caressing her body as she slowly sank into a fluffy cloud of bliss. With agonizing slowness, the towel’s edge went lower and lower, revealing mere millimeters of her flesh at a time. As my husband’s deft fingers worked their relaxing, arousing magic on her body, the lower edge of the towel crept upward at a snail’s pace. Watching all of this had me so turned on that my fingers began rubbing my saturated cunt in time with her breathing.
“Mmm,” she moaned when his fingers brushed against her newly-exposed nipple. Her pink nubs were puffy and swollen, visual signals of her arousal. There was no faulting her; the man knows how to ignite one’s flesh.
“Fuck me, that feels good,” she sighed as he gently squeezed her round, full, youthful breasts. Sylva’s hips pumped slowly up and down, her stomach quivering under the constant barrage of sensual attention.
I yearned for his touch, wishing I were the recipient of his attention. Instead, I squeezed my breasts under my shirt, flicking my hard nipples in response to the scene unfolding before me. My fingers plunged into my pussy, searing, sexual lava coating them as I watched my husband leisurely guide my blond friend into a sexual frenzy.
“Ah fuck,” I moaned. “So close. Watching you purr under his hands has me so fucking hot, right now.” I couldn’t help it; the mood, the warm glow of the room, the heat of my loins, and the sexual tension all around had me close to losing physical control. I love that feeling.
Finally remembering I was in the room, they looked in my direction. My husband had his usual, pussy-drenching, crooked, roguish smile playing about his lips. That, combined with my hand frenetically fucking my pulsating cunt, shot my lust skyrocketing into the stratosphere. Neither hiding nor advertising my masturbation, they both smiled at the obvious motion beneath my blanket.
“Jealous?” Sylva said, coyly. “ It looks like somebody’s getting off watching her husband pleasure another woman.
All I could manage in response was, “Aaah, fuck. So hot.”
She smiled at me, then gazed into my husband’s eyes. I watched her expression change from mirth to affection and, finally, to open lust. It caused my hands to increase pressure and speed as they roamed over all my erogenous zones. She pulled the towel off her torso, exposing her nudity. Supple and smooth with enviable breasts and the most inviting pussy one could ever see, At that moment she was a sexual goddess enraptured in the throes of passion.
“My kitty needs a massage,” she said. She spread her legs widely, her hands caressing her inner thighs.
Not a word was spoken between us, but my husband somehow sensed that I wanted to watch. With a wink and shrug, he turned his attention to my friend, starting at her ankles, his fingers slowly snaking upward, delicately kneading every square millimeter of her flesh. Sadistically, every time his hands would travel near her pulsing slit, he’d reverse course, moving back down to her ankles. By the time his hands moved treacherously close to her cunt, her hips were bucking in desire, her hands pulling on her nipples, rubbing themselves all over her body. My appendages mirrored her activity.
A split-second before I screamed for him to touch her cunt, his fingertips grazed over her mound, feather-light, ghostly, half-touches that are so divine. Seeing her hips push up to meet his hands and hearing her lust-filled moan, caused my clit to jump, throbbing between my fingers.
“Please make me cum,” she pled. “Make me scream as only you can.”
Then, she turned to me. “Aah, mmm, fuck. He’s fingering me. Do you like that? How does it feel knowing your husband is mine, now, and you can only lay there and watch?”
Sylva turned to my husband. “Fuck me with your fingers. Is my kitty tighter than your wife’s?”
By then, I could hear the sound of her wetness as his fingers, two of them, thrust in and out of her pussy. The sexiness overloaded me and short-circuited my brain.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m fucking cumming,” I shrieked. My body flailed about, the warm blanket flying off me amid my convulsions. No longer bound by physical laws, my back arched into an inhuman position as my extremities wildly whipped about, my throbbing cunt ejecting so much cummy liquid that I soaked the couch cushions, my t-shirt, and my hand up to my wrist.
As soon as my eyes could focus, I was treated to one of the sexiest, most erotic sights. My husband had leaned forward, between her legs, and he was aggressively fucking her snatch as his tongue danced over her clit like a whirlwind, all perfect suction and stimulation. Sylva’s body was lost in the throes of passion; her legs had clamped around his head, holding him in place. Her hips humped his mouth, her hands alternating between pulling on her swollen nipples and caressing her torso.
“Oh, fuck; Oh, God,” she screamed as her body exploded in rapture. “Cumming. I love you, I love what you do to me.”
I watched, in awe, as my friend lost all sense of time and reality, her intense orgasm consuming her. As soon as Sylva had caught her breath, my husband renewed his massaging, this time with more attention paid to her newly-ignited sensitive parts. Panting and moaning, I left the warm, comfy couch and crawled over to them. Unable to control my urges, one hand reached out and stroked their bare bodies with longing, the other stroking my clit with horny need.
Despite her body being overwhelmed with horny bliss, Sylva managed to reach out and undo his pants, pulling his long, thick, beautiful cock out. Her lithe, feminine hands made it seem even larger with her inability to encircle it with her fingers.
“I want your cock, need it,” she told him. “Nobody makes me cum like you do, please take me.”
Then, she turned to me. “It must be torture to see him enjoying me, isn’t it?”
I nodded, my face a mask of horny passion and anguish.
“That’s cruel,” she smiled maliciously and then addressed him. “Carry me upstairs and fuck me, so the worthless slut doesn’t need to endure the torture of watching her man be pleased by a real woman.”
“But…” I whined.
“You heard me, bitch,” she scolded. She wrapped both of her hands around his hard shaft, stroking it. “You don’t deserve such a fine hunk of meat in your kitty.”
Crestfallen, my hand still a blur between my legs, mouth agape, I nearly cried tears of sexual frustration as she stood and led him upstairs, to my bedroom, leading him by his cock. Attempts to calm my mind and deal with the emotions raging through me were shattered as I hear the bedroom door slam firmly shut. All I could do was strip off my t-shirt and wipe the large volume of sex juice from my body and thighs. Lying there on the floor, pondering what to do, I sighed, emptied my glass of absinthe, and admired my overheated body. My skin was hot and flush with my arousal, the shame of being shunned in favor of another woman adding to the pink heat. Then I heard them.
Impassioned, feminine moans of, “Oooh, aaah, ummph, mmmm,” could be heard from upstairs. Even the thick, hardwood door barely muffled her ecstatic cries. Toking some green, herbal recreational herb and grabbing my potent drink, I tiptoed up the stairs, the sounds of wild sex growing louder.
The bed, specially chosen to endure the sexual Olympiads we put it through on a nightly basis, was rhythmically squeaking and thumping. Sylva’s moans were guttural, whimpering pleas for, “more,” and, “harder,” interspersed with her orgasmic shrieks. I heard a brief pause, a giggle, then a loud moan followed by choking and slapping sounds.
Chugging my drink to bolster my pathetic resolve, I plopped down against the bedroom door, my ear pressed against it. The “slap, slap, slap,” of his manly hand against her flesh rang in my eavesdropping ear.
That’s it, I thought to myself. Spank the little whore’s ass.
“It’s too big,” she moaned. “Just force it in and take me.”
I hope he’s fucking her ass. I thrust two fingers in my aching cunt, another one up my ass, and fucked myself to the sounds of her moans.
“Is it tighter than hers?” She grunted and groaned, her voice growing needier, louder, her lust evident with every moan. “Take my ass; it’s yours. You own me; make me your slave. Tell me I’m a better fuck than your wife, please! Fuck me, fuck me harder, deeper. Oh, fuck.”
The feelings of jealousy and inadequacy I’d been struggling with since the day I met him welled up inside me. She was younger than me, blond, and so bubbly that I couldn’t compare. Although I desperately wanted to feel his cock ravaging my ass, and get the reward of his hot cum shooting in me, on me, all I could do was lean against the door and add my other hand to my masturbatory efforts.
Fucking own her, my mental voice screamed through my shame. Take that pussy.
“Make her cum,” I pled, aloud.
“No man can fuck my cunt like you do,“ she yelled. “Can you hear me, you whore? I’ve got his entire cock up my ass while he’s fingering me. You don’t deserve a cock like this.”
Her verbal abuse had me on the edge. When she screamed, “Cum for me, we know she can’t make you cum,” I erupted in a screaming orgasm that ripped my soul apart. I was only shame and release, inadequacy and sex.
“Fucking fuck me,” she continued. “Use my body for your toy.”
The bed erupted in a cacophony of metallic thumping sounds as her wailing grew to explosive volume. The squeaking stopped as she bellowed her head off, her cursing devolving into primal, animal sounds. Then, the noise stopped, except for the sounds of her gagging and slurping.
More silence, then gentle sounds of motion grew once more. Her moans and cursing started timid and gentle, building to a crescendo of lusty heat. Over and over, he drove her insane with desire, to the point that she was begging, pleading, for his cock, for one more orgasm. Finally, she decreed that she simply couldn’t orgasm again. My husband always takes that as a challenge; he forced her body to submit to even more pleasure.
When she hyperventilated after an earth-shattering orgasm, things quieted down a bit. I could tell that she had moved around and was sucking her cum off his cock. I continued fingering myself, hearing her moan as the sounds continued. She had taken as much of that monster cock into her mouth as she could. I knew the sounds very well. Sylva’s moans increased, a constant sexual orchestra of passion.
“Shoot on my face. Give me your cum, so she can’t have any.”
Sylva “oohed “ and “aahed” encouraging him to shoot his hot spunk on her. I heard a few masculine grunts, which were quickly drowned out by my blond friend announcing that she was having another orgasm.
Imagining the scene unfolding behind the closed door, I pictured her on her back, hands buried in her cunt, furiously masturbating. Her head would be off the bed and tilted back, giving him full access to shove that monster cock down her throat and fuck her face.
“Fucking fuck,” I screamed. “Cumming so fucking hard.” My body heaved to and fro, the weight of my rocking body pushing the door open. I flopped through the doorway, my orgasm controlling me. Through blurred vision, I saw her, very closely positioned to what I had imagined, as stream after stream of my husband’s hot spunk saturated her face, neck, hair, and tits.
The dirty, sexual sight caused another orgasm to well up inside me before the first one had finished subsiding. Sylva and I locked eyes, her self-induced orgasm, at least her seventh in the past hour, washing over her as the smuttiness of her face being sprayed with cum pushed her over the orgasmic edge once more. We came together, feeding off of each other’s arousal.
“Crawl to me, you worthless slut,” she commanded. “Lick your husband’s cum off of me.”
On my hands and knees, a hungry look on my face, I approached her.
”Remember,” I addressed my husband. “Next week I cuck you.”
