Another Munch&Play awaited me at the end of the week. This time, I was to go with my husband, and while I was happy he’d decided to get out more, I must admit I was initially a bit disappointed. I’d been secretly hoping to recreate my experience with my friend, although the chances of that happening would’ve been slim even if I’d gone alone.

For someone who only ever dresses in black, my husband was surprisingly enthusiastic about the event’s secondary theme, “toga.” I bought yards of off-white fabric for him, as well as a second-hand dress in the style of a Greek goddess for myself, and added a few accessories I already had at hand. Despite being fairly certain that the main theme, “water,” would ruin any efforts in a heartbeat, I made up my face in luminous, golden hues, and we were good to go.

To my delight, we weren’t immediately assaulted by an army of water pistols. We weren’t the only ones dressed to the theme, either, and I was treated to some truly creative outfits. For once, white wasn’t banned from that event, adding visual variety.

An hour or so later, my friend showed up with his usual gang (his ex and her new partner). His presence once again distracted me, but I was hard set to focus on my husband. I actually told the latter about my pull towards my friend, and he thanked me for staying by his side. He did, however, offer to go talk to other people if I wanted a moment alone with my “lover.” I told him I didn’t need one, even if my mind was screaming for an opportunity.

We wandered between the rooms, and I started to receive regular squirts of water over my face and breasts. I had some well-founded suspicions about the culprit’s identity, but I never actually caught my friend red-handed. However, as a fervent fan of airsoft, his aim was so good that he could only have chosen where to hit me on purpose.

My husband and I eventually decided to visit the dungeons to find a private space. Just as we were about to ascend the stairs, my friend caught up with us and asked me if we were going to do something naughty. We bantered a little, and when I set about following my husband, who’d stepped out of view, my friend fleetingly seized my hand behind my back. He gave it a few light strokes before letting go, leaving me breathless again.

I purposefully stayed away from the cubicle he and I had previously occupied. My husband’s less of an exhibitionist anyway, so we settled at the back of another small space, where he sat down and I began working my “mouth magic” on his sizeable cock. I knew I couldn’t make him cum, but it didn’t lessen the joy I felt. Unfortunately, another couple entering the same cubicle completely ruined his erection. Besides, we’d already had sex earlier, so he was on cooldown anyway, and we left soon after. In the stairway, we once again ran into my friend, who was disappointed to have missed our “show.”

The evening went on between friendly chats, some spectacular waterboarding (which is definitely not my thing, but to each their own), and the usual soundscape of impacts and moans. I managed to thoroughly wet my friend, which forced him to trade his white T-shirt for a black mesh top. I don’t usually lust after male physique, but I have to admit it emphasised his shape very nicely.

Near midnight, his companions left, but they weren’t going to his flat. I’d already suggested taking him home if needed, so he accepted my offer, and we headed out together. The ride was almost silent, my friend being on his phone, my husband never having mastered the art of small talk, and me focused on driving – and also a little on the slightly awkward nature of our close quarters. The two men still weren’t, and would probably never be, friends.

After dropping off our passenger, my husband and I went home, and despite having teased each other at the event, we didn’t engage in anything sexual. We’d been more active when he (and our couple) had been younger, but now we were down to a solid twice a week, which mostly suited me.

The next day, in a message exchange with my friend, I reminded him that, despite him having given my sexuality a boost, I didn’t use him as a source of arousal for my couple. If I wanted to do something with him, it was for him (and myself). He replied he was still afraid of fucking things up for me, and also that he wouldn’t be physical with me in public or in my husband’s presence – not because he wanted to hide our caresses but because he didn’t wish to cause either of us any stress. I’d obviously surrounded myself with men who had much more honour than myself.

An after-work outing with the “usual suspects” had been planned for the following Tuesday. I’d almost finished getting ready when my friend messaged me to ask if he could ride with me. I hadn’t even been sure he was coming, so I was glad – if a little nervous – about the opportunity to talk one-on-one.

We’d already driven quite a while when he suddenly said we should probably stop flirting and having sex… only to add, “but it’s so damn fun.” I told him we’d cross that bridge when we got there, then went on to question him about his relationship goals. He expressed his wish to build something durable and definitely not open, as he’d been burnt before. I reminded him he would most likely get there in the end, but that he still wasn’t in a rush only a month after his break-up. Now, were some of my reasons to say such things selfish? Yes. But I was sincerely thinking of his well-being above all else.

After struggling to find a parking space, we speed-walked to join the others at the bar. I greatly appreciated their company that night, especially that of my friend’s best mate, whom I’d previously found irritating. As for my friend, he was distracted by his phone, which earned him reproaches from his ex. Apparently, most of his family had at last been made aware of his break-up, and an army of aunts and cousins were grilling him about the details. He also appeared to be on the lookout for someone, but either this was my imagination, or the person he was expecting never showed up.

He still found time to lightly touch my hands on the sly, and I’m not even ashamed to admit that this alone sufficed to wet me. Thanks to the scarcity of our encounters, the newness had yet to wear off, but I'd never been so easily aroused by anyone else anyway.

At some point, I went to the toilet, and when I came back, everyone had left our spot, making them nearly impossible to find among the crowd. I was craning my neck, about to conduct a thorough search, when a hand grabbed my arm. Naturally, a slight panic swept through my body, but it soon drowned under amusement and desire when I saw who the hand belonged to.

I don’t know if my friend had been waiting for me, but since we were now together and out of our comrades’ view, he asked me (in a roundabout way) what I might want out of him that evening. I answered I wanted to kiss him first and foremost, and maybe more, but obviously not at the bar. He was quick to say his flat was empty that night, and I’d already made my decision before he finished his sentence. We shared a kiss, then another… and then another one again.

We eventually found our companions, and after a little more socialising, I feigned tiredness, and my friend told the others he’d catch a ride back home with me. His best mate asked if I could also drop him off on the way, and I accepted with genuine pleasure. The two of them had known each other for ages and shared an unbreakable bond, and their banter and spirited conversation made the few miles fly past in a flash.

Once my friend and I were alone in the car, he didn’t lose any time. He began torturing my nipples, and also tried to slide his hand between my legs. Unfortunately, I was wearing trousers, so that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, he zipped open his fly and told me to touch him. After a while of me moving my hand up and down his shaft – carefully, considering I was driving –, he said: “At the next red light, I want you to blow me.”

I had to contort myself quite a bit because of the seatbelt, but I managed to reach his semi-soft cock with my mouth. He pressed my head against his crotch a few times, hardening as I struggled to keep him in. Alas, the light didn’t stay red for long, and we were tailed by another car, but the experience gave me quite a thrill.

I asked him if he’d tell his mate we’d fucked, but he retorted that along with everyone else at the bar, his mate was probably already in on the joke. We may have tried to be subtle, but that clearly hadn’t worked.

As soon as we reached his flat, we rid ourselves of our clothes. He briefly stopped to laugh at how well I’d been protected against his wandering hands by wearing not only trousers, but also a bodysuit and a thong. Now, however, I was utterly naked in front of him, and as his eager fingers discovered how wet I already was, he was impressed. My confession about his hand grazing mine having been enough brought about another fit of laughter, but I quickly silenced it by sinking to my knees on the living room floor to blow him for real.

I knew gag reflex could be lessened by training, but I would’ve thought all my experience with a cock against my throat would amount to something. But no, now that he was fully hard, I found myself choking again. My friend still made appreciative sounds, and I even heard a “fuck, that’s good,” so at least he wasn’t disappointed.

He soon helped me up and took me to his bedroom where I discovered a huge bed. He told me to climb on the edge of the firm, comfortable mattress and offer myself to him on all fours. Once again, he fished out a condom, then proceeded to fuck me hard and fast. I asked him to grab my hair, and he pulled with such force that my back arched.

I knew my friend liked it rough and primal, but I’d warned him I probably couldn’t take all he could give. My tolerance for pain is very limited, so he had to rein in some of his urges. He still bit my neck and put his hands on my throat, which I adored, but he didn’t go “all in.”

Like the previous time we’d been in bed together, we switched positions, from doggy style to missionary and “tired cowgirl” whenever he needed a break. Thanks to the otherwise empty flat, I was also able to be more vocal, although my sighs and moans are never very loud. My friend clearly liked to be told how his actions made me feel, but as much as I love words, my answers didn’t come out as very imaginative. I’ll have to work on that!

This time, I didn’t receive any verbal warning when he reached his orgasm, but I saw it in his demeanour. He closed his eyes and somehow increased his already impressive speed before stiffening and pulsating within me. To my surprise, he retreated right away, took off his condom, and poured his cum into my mouth. I gulped it down like the good girl that I was, then lay still, gasping a little.

My friend cleaned himself up and collapsed back onto the bed, drawing me to him. We talked and laughed for a while, my face inches from his, and he teasingly commented that my breath smelled “oddly” of sperm. At some point, I got to my knees while we were still talking, and he said, “Come back here, you,” while pulling my body closer to his again.

We stayed like that for as long as I dared, but it was already late, and I was working the next day. I also somewhat grudgingly reminded him – and myself – that someone was waiting for me at home (not that I wasn’t happy to go back to my husband), causing him to pout and say in an almost childish voice: “I wish someone was waiting for me, too.”

I got dressed, my friend’s scent clinging to me like a second skin again. He accompanied me to the door butt naked, and while I waited for the lift to arrive, I was treated to a brief iteration of helicopter dick. I stepped out of the corridor giggling, feeling anything but cheap this time. In any case, I’d voiced my fears to my friend, and he’d assured me that he definitely didn’t view me in that light.

Little did I know that the same week would bring us two more opportunities to explore each other in his bed.