Erotic Disclosure

Chapter 1 – The Hot Christmas

Paul and I have been married ten years and have two children.  It’s a good marriage – no dramas.  We like each other and Paul is an easygoing kind of guy.  On this particular day, it had been a blazing hot Australian Christmas, the start of a two-week holiday for both of us.  Paul and his friend Steve had been drinking cold beers all day.  It was late evening and our two little ones were finally blissfully asleep in their beds.  We sat sprawled around the pool, imbibing more alcohol and generally just chilling out.

The kids had had a ball, Paul and Steve did most of the food preparation and I’d been swanning around with a glass of cold wine in my hand since lunchtime.  In fact, reality was taking on a rosy alcohol induced glow.  Now the three of us – all relaxed by our drinks - sat chatting in the cool of the evening.  Stars sparkled overhead and an almost full moon cast a soft silver light. Conversation flowed.

Paul and Steve had known each other since school days.  This Christmas was different for Steve though.  He and his wife had just separated and he was feeling very sorry for himself.  Paul was trying to cheer him up and provide moral support.  That’s Paul all over.  He’s a gentle, sensitive guy.  Sure, we argue from time to time, but it always blows over very quickly. 

This Christmas I was also feeling a bit awkward about his present – or rather, lack of one. There hadn’t been a lot of money, so all he got from me was a cheeky, sexy card.  Everything else had been spent on the kids and Christmas fare. I felt very guilty when I opened my husband’s carefully wrapped package, a beautiful lacy black bra with a matching G-string and a bottle of my favourite perfume.  Paul teased me mercilessly.  He said he’d have to extract a Christmas gift from me in kind. 

Banter around the pool turned to sex.  I was embarrassed when Paul started praising my sexual skills, specifically that I gave great head.  However, I just giggled.  The alcohol was working its magic. Steve was listening intently to Paul’s description of my prowess and the now sexually charged atmosphere captivated me.

Steve glanced at me with an intrigued expression on his face.  I’d often caught him looking in my direction.  I’d often caught his eyes resting on me just slightly too long.  Many, many times his hand would brush my shoulder or arm, or a finger would trickle down my back.  In fact, I was very attracted to him – but it was a thought I’d never nurtured or entertained.  I was married to Paul.

Then, abruptly, my husband’s mood changed.  He shot me an unusual, questioning look, trapping me in his gaze. “Come here babe, I want to show Steve something,” his tone was soft and persuasive.

I wasn’t sure what he meant, but my curiosity piqued, I went to him.

He was sitting in a low chair and motioned me to kneel down between his legs.  Slowly, he pulled out a very erect, very stiff penis. “Kristin I want you to suck me off.  I want you to show Steve what you can do,” his voice was still soft, but a harder edge had crept in. 

I was shocked. 

“It’s OK babe, it’s OK.  Just do this for me.  Come on, just do it for me,” the hard edge in his voice had increased and he fixed me with an expectant stare.

I looked briefly in Steve’s direction.  He was transfixed by the unfolding tableau. 

“You’re beautiful Kristin” he murmured appreciatively. 

My belly tightened.

Paul was becoming more and more adamant. “Come on babe! Come on, do it – just do it!”   It was almost an order. 

Steve was now sitting in enigmatic silence, staring at me as if hypnotized.

I was wearing a short black skirt, my latest black lacy G-string and a very low cut lacy vest-top over my new bra. The situation was beginning to turn me on and the alcohol was releasing my natural inhibitions. I also scented a slight - and totally uncharacteristic - air of foreboding.  I was wary of defiance.

Heart pounding and palms sweating, I bent forward, wrapped my fingers around Paul’s straining cock and guided it into my mouth.  As I did so, my ass lifted up into the air, my skirt slipped up around my hips and Steve was treated to a birds-eye view of my barely covered pussy. I knew I had a totally mesmerized audience and that thought sent unexpected sparks through me. 

Paul let out a low groan of pleasure as my mouth almost covered his entire length. 

I began to suck rhythmically, in between playing my tongue teasingly around the very swollen tip.  

He ran his fingers through my hair and continued to moan in ecstasy.  “Suck it babe, suck it,” he whispered.

I became totally immersed in what I was doing, oblivious to who or what was around me.  Suddenly, I felt gentle fingers exploring the, by now, very wet and hot slit beneath my G-string.  It was Steve.  I started in surprise. 

Paul held my arms tightly.  “It’s OK babe, it’s OK.  Steve won’t hurt you.  He just wants to play,” he said it reassuringly, crooningly – anxious I should stay exactly where I was. 

What could I do?  I melted into the hot desire building between my thighs.

Steve very expertly and tenderly began to roll my engorged clitoris between a well-lubricated thumb and forefinger, whilst penetrating my moist cleft with a digit from his other hand. He timed his actions to a slow, lingering rhythm.  It was like he was taking control – arrogantly certain of my acquiescence. I heard him make a soft, low moan of pleasure as his fingers entered me.  “You’re so hot Kristin – so hot,” the words dripped from his lips like honey. 

My pussy oozed even more profusely at his obviously practised touch and I felt my body convulse in wave after wave of dark, sinful bliss. 

The whole scene was crazily exciting for Paul.  His cock seemed to bulge by another couple of centimetres and he commanded me to suck harder.  I felt his fingers digging into my flesh as he gripped my shoulders hard. His groin rocked in gratification at every pulse of my mouth. Meanwhile, my hips swayed in time to the exquisite stroke of Steve’s fingers.  I was drowning in bottomless swells of pleasure. 

Then suddenly, my husband’s mate withdrew his hand from my body. 

I glanced up at Paul.  His eyes were open wide and he was staring straight into Steve’s face.

“Yes man! Yes!  Come on, do it! Do it!” His words tumbled out, almost begging.  My husband groaned again in ecstasy.

At that, Steve deftly pushed aside even further the narrow band of my, by now, almost irrelevant G-string. 

I felt the large, wide head of his penis begin to pierce my sensitive, swollen vagina. 

Slowly and deliberately, he slid the rest of his entire fat length inside me.  It slipped in with ease. I was extremely wet. Another honey-like sound of pleasure escaped from his lips.

Paul’s chair was particularly low, sharply angling my ass in Steve’s direction.  It enabled him to enter me very deeply.  The feeling of his thickness opening me as he surreptitiously - though I’m sure eagerly - carried out Paul’s wishes, sent erotic shivers through me. 

At that point, I thought my husband’s eyes were going to pop out of his head.  I heard him choke out some gloating questions,   “Can’t you just feel her sweet pussy Steve? - How does feel, fucking my wife?”  Rivers of sweat ran down his body. 

Steve didn’t respond, I think he was darkly focussed on the ecstatic pulsing of his cock and the deliciously sexy undertaking before him.

I continued to suck as hard as I could at Paul’s now almost bursting erection. 

Steve was almost a sadist.  He kept up a long, easy rhythm – pushing in his entire length - next very slowly and very deliberately withdrawing it until he was almost out, then luxuriating in another deep, unhurried thrust. 

My hips tensed towards him, silently begging for more as he kneaded the soft, pliable flesh on my butt. 

It was all getting too much for Paul.  Brutally he pulled my head down further on to his gyrating, agitated flesh.  “Fuck her Steve! Fuck her hard!”  It was a loud, impatient cry. As it escaped his lips, I was still vigorously sucking his cock - admittedly with enjoyment, but with little choice. He then let loose with a series of deep, almost primeval grunts and his entire body spasmed more violently than I’d ever experienced.  He filled my mouth and throat with spurt after spurt of warm, sticky cum.

This seemed to be the cue for Steve to lose all self control as well. His long, slow deliberate thrusts became harsh and relentless. 

My tight slit opened up to him like a flower, opened up to him in total submission.  I clung urgently to Paul’s thighs, my face buried deeply in his sodden, musky lap. 

Paul gripped my arms tenaciously. 

My belly tensed again and my nipples strained pleasurably against the rough lace of my new bra.

Determinedly, Steve seized my hips in a vice-like hold and his fingers dug deeply into my soft curves.  Now his cock lunged into me time and time again – powerful, violent and fast.   Wild horses couldn’t have extracted him from between my legs. My husband’s respectable friend was copulating with me like an angry demon.

I could feel myself coming.  Everything else ceased to exist.  Then it was there, the most powerful convulsion I’d ever experienced.  My hot, swollen vagina gripped the straining head of Steve’s penis as he pushed hard, then harder still – forcing himself into each shuddering wave of my orgasm. 

My nails bit into Paul’s butt. 

Then Steve was there too.  I could almost feel the contractions that rippled through his hard flesh as he shot his load deep, deep inside me. 

After, all three of us lay exhausted – hot, sweaty, spent and still slightly intoxicated. I flaked there for a while, my head swimming from the alcohol and resting in Paul’s lap.  Then, with an act of will I stood up.  A warm trickle of Steve’s cum meandered down my thigh.  I glanced at my husband and his mate. 

Paul was sprawled on the chair, mouth slightly open and eyes closed – obviously asleep. 

Steve had retreated to the hammock.  He lay there naked, his flaccid penis hung to one side.  A leg was dangling.  Like Paul, he was oblivious. I studied him closely.  He was almost tall.  Dark hair curled from his chest and continued in a “V” to a point just above his now relaxed cock, where it joined with his bushy pubes.  His legs were covered in a matching down.  The muscles in his arms and chest were defined and visible – the result of his frequent workouts at the gym with Paul, but they weren’t too obvious or gross.  He had a slight tummy, which was gently moving in and out in time with his breathing.  He wasn’t bad looking.  He was also one of those guys who had a presence.  It reached out and hooked you in.  A dark tash covered his top lip and two days of stubble sprouted from his chin and neck.  Steve is an architect, a rather reserved and correct man with an eye for detail - always a gentleman, until that evening.

I stripped off my by now, dishevelled and sweat impregnated clothes.  My breasts bounced freely as they were released from the confines of the lacy black bra. Desperately wanting something to clear my fuzzy head, I jumped into the pool.  The water shocked my skin and woke me with a start.  I swam from one end to the other.  Then I’d had enough.  Barely bothering to dry the water that dripped off me, I stumbled to our bedroom and collapsed on to our king-sized bed.  Events had had the patina of a dream – a combination of alcohol and adrenaline.  Sleep quickly enveloped my sated body.

Light was beginning to filter through the thick curtains.  I was surfacing – no; I was being pulled from a deep slumber.  My genitals were still throbbing and sore from the night before, so I smarted when I felt eager, furtive fingers exploring those swollen depths. 

I was resting on my side and quickly became aware of a heavily breathing male body lying behind me, the owner of the exploratory hand. I felt a hot mouth on the curve of my neck where it joined with my shoulder.  I was being gently bitten, but hard enough, I knew, to leave a mark.  I felt the unmistakable tickle of a moustache – Paul was clean-shaven.

I was barely awake before Steve, from his rear position, slid a very stiff cock deeply inside me again. Again, my tender cleft stung – but his arms were around me like a vice and I couldn’t move. 

One of his strong hands squeezed and kneaded my sensitive breasts.  His groin moved in a sensuous, insistent rhythm.  His penis was well lubricated and my slit, despite its delicate state, was still sticky from the night before. He kept up a steady tempo, like he was just teasing me, like he was in complete control. 

A fiery arousal began to course through me.

All remnants of sleep quickly evaporated.  My eyes flickered open - before me stood a pair of legs, slightly apart.  My nose was just about level with the shins.  I looked up.  It was Paul.  He grinned. 

“Enjoying yourself Kristin?  Steve is.” He was naked and his hand was almost absent-mindedly stroking his erect cock. 

For a moment, he lewdly relished the scene in front of him. Then, as he knelt down beside the bed, soft lips gently brushed mine as he continued to play with himself.  However, the velvety kisses were quickly interrupted when my husband made eye contact with Steve, who was still steadily fucking me from behind.  “Good isn’t she Steve? I told you she’d be good,” he murmured hoarsely.  With that said, he gently but firmly pushed the swollen head of his penis into my mouth.  “Suck it Kristin, suck it.  Come on – be a nice girl.” His voice contained a liquid purring tone.  It was pregnant with aroused expectation as he stared compulsively at the fascinating sight of his hard flesh disappearing into my mouth.

Unable to move - Steve had me decisively pinned in position - I didn’t have much option.  My tongue slowly curled around the fat offering.  My lips opened wider and wider, like two reluctant red buds, as he pushed himself further in.  I began to suckle rhythmically. 

Paul let out a low guttural moan – I’d never heard him make that noise before – then “Suck harder! Suck harder!” It was a command, not a request.

As soon as Paul’s cock was in my mouth, Steve seemed to get even more turned on.  It was like he was waiting for this moment before he’d let go.  His previous restricted, slow rhythm was discarded and he was panting heavily as he began to fuck me with total abandon. 

The back of my neck was hot and moist from his laboured breath. 

He tightened his grip so intensely I couldn’t move a muscle – except for my mouth, which was busily dealing with Paul’s rising excitement.

This time, Steve came first.  His groin was pressed very, very hard up against my butt and I felt it convulse stiffly as he shot his load. The very controlled, very correct architect let out deep, reverberating groans of intense pleasure. 

That sound drove Paul wild.  He clung tightly to the side of the bed to steady himself.  His penis swelled even more inside my mouth and it began to pulse with an unmistakable warning.  Then he came, spurt after spurt of sticky hot cum.  It filled my throat and dribbled from my lips.

Steve now released his grip and lay spread-eagled and exhausted on the bed beside me. 

Paul’s head rested on my stomach.  He was still kneeling on the floor.  His fingers distractedly fondled my dripping, enlarged, red slit. 

Despite the excitement, I hadn’t come and my clitoris was swollen, aching to be satisfied.  “Paul,” I said in barely a whisper, “Help me”.  

Instinctively, he knew what I meant.  He moved his mouth downwards and very tenderly began to suckle on that bulging, sensitive spot.  It didn’t seem to bother him that another man had just been there.

I noticed Steve had roused himself enough to take an interest in the action.  He studied my face intently as my excitement escalated.  Unexpectedly, I felt his soft lips on my mouth and his tongue gently exploring mine.  His hands rubbed my aching breasts appreciatively and he teased my erect nipples. 

Meanwhile, Paul continued his soft, butterfly rhythm on the tip of my clitoris. 

I was floating on an upward spiral of ecstasy, getting higher and higher. The only reality that existed was the heat of Paul’s hot, sticky tongue between my thighs and the exquisite sensation of Steve playing with my tingling, sweat soaked body.  I was building oh so sweetly – then it overwhelmed me.  My vaginal muscles convulsed involuntarily in intensely gratifying surges – blissfully, delightfully pulsing again and again in an orgasmic rhythm.  My whole body shuddered with satiated desire, then shuddered once more.  Rivulets of moisture ran down my neck and pooled at the nape.

Again, all three of us were sweaty and languidly replete – all craving satisfied for now.  Our bodies sprawled openly on the crumpled bed sheets.  I dozed off again.  I came round before Paul and Steve, who were both still ensnared by sleep.  I got up, showered and put on my black cotton caftan.  It’s a garment embroidered with rich colours and graced with a low-scooped neckline, displaying the soft curve of my breasts.  I combed my long red hair and lightly applied some make-up and a gentle fragrance.

I felt a bit shell-shocked, like I was walking through a dream.  The kids were up.  It jerked me back to reality. I made them breakfast and poured myself a cup of coffee before sitting at the table deep in thought.  The scenes of last night and this morning were surreal – like events from a bizarre hallucination.  However, the evidence of my throbbing, sore vagina was very genuine.  I decided to grab the newspaper as well as another coffee and retreat to the veranda.

After a while, I heard Paul and Steve.  They were bustling and chatting and playing with the kids.  It all sounded so normal.  I stayed where I was.  Eventually I heard Steve leave. 

Paul meandered out to the patio and gave me a lop-sided grin. “Hi babe – how are you feeling this morning?  I think we all had a bit too much to drink last night”.  He sounded cheerful.  He had the satisfied air of the cat that got the cream. 

I looked up at him, “Yeah – you could say that,” I answered dryly, seeing my husband in a new light.

He stood behind me, lightly rubbing my shoulders as he became aware of my tension.  It bothered him. 

“You’re beautiful Kristin  – you know that don’t you, just beautiful.” The statement was crooned in a soft, meaningful whisper. 

I relaxed under his touch.  I decided to say nothing – it was all too confusing anyway.  The memory of those sultry events kept running through my head like a movie.

Then Paul spoke again, more business like this time,  “I’ve got to go out soon - I’m meeting Steve for lunch.” 

“What for Paul?  He’s only just left” I responded, curious and irritated. 

“Just a few issues.  We’ve got some things to discuss.  I’ll tell you later.”  His tone precluded further questioning. He retreated get his own cup of coffee, before returning to sit with me. 

We talked about comparatively inconsequential things, but neither of us mentioned the horny exploits of last night and the early hours of this morning.  It was dangerous territory.  Both of us knew that.

Paul is not the quiet type, being in sales he can talk underwater.  Reticence about anything is alien to him.  A few times, I caught him looking at me intently. 

My belly filled with butterfly wings.  It crossed my mind he was planning something. 

He got up to leave.  He had an appointment to keep.  “Don’t worry Kristin – I’ll be back later.” He didn’t say when before he kissed me ever so softly on the lips. 

I heard his car engine and he was gone. I rang my girlfriend, Wendy.  We are good mates.  I work part-time as a legal secretary and she is my boss.  I was also studying for a psychology degree and she’d been a great help.  Psychology had been her first degree, law her second.  That dance of intimacy between female friends is irreplaceable and profoundly sustaining.  Some men are threatened.  Some men are envious.  I begged her to come round for coffee. Soon, I heard her car in the driveway; it was like music to my ears. 

We sat deep in conversation and I poured out my story. 

She was fascinated. 

I’d been deeply disturbed by recent events.  They’d woken feelings in me that perhaps I’d suspected, but up until now had been hazy wraiths at best – glimpsed only in half-remembered dreams.  They were dreams that knew nothing of rules or political correctness. I’d been shamelessly used and humiliated by my husband and his best friend, yet my belly tightened and my pussy became moist as I replayed those events in my head.  Strangely, I couldn’t feel angry.  My husband loved me – I felt that to my core.  I certainly loved him. 

As my friend and I explored the complexities, I tried to put the puzzle together.  “Put it this way Wendy,” I said, “Not everything Paul does, or even most of what he does is because of me – it’s because of him.  What occurred didn’t happen because he doesn’t adore me, it happened because he’s a horny bastard and the scene turned him on.”

Wendy was great – a brilliant sounding board, but she knew I was capable of returning the favour. 

We cracked up laughing when I talked about Steve – so much for the correct, respectable veneer.  I obviously stimulated his baser instincts.  I loved that power.  I also found him incredibly dark and sexy.  The problem now was how to handle things.  If those two over-sexed musketeers thought they were going to call the shots, they had another thing coming.  Despite my own arousal, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue.  The rebel in me smarted at the manipulation.  There was an internal war.  Who was going to win, the mutineer or the hedonistic slut?  Could there ever be a truce, or even a merging? 

It was dark by the time Wendy left. 

Paul still wasn’t home.

I must have been asleep when he returned.  I woke the next morning and found him still gently snoring beside me.  I’d tried to contact him the night before, but his mobile had been turned off.  Now, he lay beside me in all his glory. 

He’d kicked off the sheets and was spread-eagled on his back.  His almost erect cock moved up and down in time with his breathing.  He’s fair-haired with a slight downy growth on his chest and belly.  He touches on six foot and has a powerful, classic male physique.  Though he could probably stand to lose a few kilos, it doesn’t detract.  His thighs are particularly attractive. They’re very powerfully built.

As I gazed approvingly at his body, I had the impulse to gently kiss his stiff, warm penis – but resisted the urge.  “No you bastard,” I thought, “Fuck you!” 

I rose from my bed, showered and was on my second cup of coffee by the time Paul wandered from our bedroom.  “Where were you yesterday?” I snapped, “And what’s the point of having a mobile phone if you keep it switched off?” 

He looked at me a bit sheepishly.  “Sorry Kristin.  Steve and I lost track of time.  He was showing me the new house he’s building and we had a few beers.  That’s all.”

My eyes narrowed, “Well, you’ll have to make it up to me,” I remarked with some acidity. 

His face relaxed into its customary grin, “Yeah, I can make it up to you.  I don’t mind doing that.” 

“Get lost Paul, I know what you’re thinking,” I smartly responded. 

His grin widened.  “Actually Kristin, I’ve got something for you.” He pulled a very small, beautifully wrapped package from the pocket of his jeans. “Here, open this,” he insisted. 

I was curious.  Inside was a pair of beautiful amber teardrop earrings, set in silver.  They were gorgeous.  Paul knows I love amber.  “Thanks babe – what are they? Payment?”  I shot the words in his direction.

He winced.  “Don’t be like that Kristin.  I can’t help it if you’re such a turn on.” He said it in a soft persuasive tone as he pulled me towards him, squeezing my butt and kissing me passionately on the lips to underline his point.

It’s hard to remain mad with a guy like that.  However, that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to make him work.  As far as I was concerned, he could crawl.  He deserved nothing less.  “How is Steve Paul? Who’s he screwing today?  Did he enjoy me?”  I spat the questions with venom. 

Paul blanched. “Look Kristin, we all had too much to drink.  We all got turned on.  Let’s just leave it at that, OK?”  My husband’s words were anxious and pleading. 

“Alright,” I thought, “I’ll leave it at that for now, but I’ll make you suffer.” I gave him a long, dissecting look.  “Want coffee, Paul?” 

“Yeah” he said, with some relief.

It was lunchtime before Paul dared to broach the subject of Steve again.  “Look – I was thinking.  We both need a bit of a break.  I spoke to Mum and Dad yesterday.  They’d love to have Chloe and Daniel for a few days.  The kids would have a great time.  Steve’s invited us to stay at his new house.  You’d like it Kristin.  You know, I’ve told you about it before – it’s on 10 acres.  You can see the coast.  He was a lucky bastard to get that mountain acreage so cheap.” 

I’d heard about the new house a few times.  I gathered it was a sprawling, luxurious folly.  My belly tightened at the thought of seeing Steve again and a few days away from the kids wasn’t something to be sniffed at.  “And what position will he take me in this time Paul?” I dryly responded. 

Paul’s pupils widened and his tongue briefly flicked through his teeth, licking his bottom lip.  “It’s nothing like that Kristin.  Just a few days away, that’s all.  We could both do with a break.” 

“OK,” I agreed, “We’ll go.”

Paul’s face relaxed. 

I thought I detected a fleeting look of satisfaction, a sort of “Cat that got the cream” expression again. 

We planned to leave the next day, in the morning.  Considerations about what to wear were running through my head.  I spent the rest of the day on a cloud.  Obviously, my inner slut was getting the upper hand.

Paul was very solicitous.  He even cooked dinner and cleared up afterwards.  When the kids had gone to bed, he offered me some wine.  We were sitting on the veranda casually chatting when, unexpectedly, he lifted up my top, gently felt my breasts and started to suckle.  His other hand found it’s way inside my panties and appreciatively squeezed my butt. 

I returned his passion for a while.  He was getting hotter and hotter, but I suddenly sat up, looked him straight in they eye and whispered nastily, “No Paul – it’s not that easy.” I left to go to bed, leaving him frustrated, enjoying the power.  

The next morning was a flurry of preparation.  The kids were excited about staying with their grandparents.  They knew they’d be spoiled rotten. 

I’d packed all I needed the night before, carefully choosing sexy, flattering pieces and my silkiest, laciest, briefest underwear.   I love black.  It contrasts against my skin, which is pale ivory.  My Celtic ancestry precludes any sun worshipping.  I applied my make-up.  Dark, smoky eyeliner, two layers of mascara, perfectly groomed eyebrows, a slight stroke of blusher and deep wine-red lips.  My long brunette red hair fell down over bare shoulders and a low neckline.  I put on my new amber earrings.

Paul sometimes says I look like a dark, beautifully curvy witch. 

I mused about my heritage.  Perhaps my female line contained some wise, wicked women – women who knew a thing or two about leading men by their groins.  I liked to think so. 

A little later that morning we were all readied in the family car, Paul driving.  The kids were dropped at grannies - to their glee - and we were speeding to Steve’s new mountain retreat. 

I lost myself in contemplation.  It was also one of “Those” days, when that dark, deep space between my thighs was making its presence well and truly known.  It throbbed with desire and my breasts were bloated and tender. My thoughts wandered some more. I was deeply intrigued about Steve’s impending reaction to me.  My belly tightened again at the thought and that hidden crevice between my thighs became even stickier.

 

09.09.07

story continues in Erotic Disclosure 2

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