This happened a while ago, early 2000's, after my first divorce but prior to my second marriage and second divorce. I was living in an apartment alone, like now, and was looking for fun in AOL chat rooms, a pretty new thing at the time. The chat room was for guys wanting to watch while someone fucked their wife. Hmmm.   He wasn't much of a chatter but said he and his wife would like to come over. So, I gave him my address and phone number to call when they got here, expecting never to hear from him again. About an hour later my phone rang and he said, "We're here, man." I made sure my sharpest cooking knife was handy, that 911 was on speed dial and met them at the door.

They were younger than I'd thought they'd be, maybe early thirties, and a little rough around the edges. He was medium height, short hair going to bald, a bit overweight and gruff--not a lot of personality on display and he had a look on his face like he was always challenging something or someone. She was shorter, also just a bit overweight in a paint-stained denim skirt, with a pretty face, short hair and wonderful tits--big for a small woman, with only a bit of a loose sag from the two kids she'd had. She wouldn't look at me, only warily at him. It was clear that she didn't much want to be here, that this was his idea and she might be a little afraid of what he'd do if she'd refused.

Okay, this wasn't turning out at all the way I'd fantasized. Sex is only fun for me with willing partners. Otherwise, it just doesn't work, and this wasn't. But I thought, "Well, of course, she's uncomfortable--brought here by her brutal husband to fuck a possibly just-as-brutal older stranger--while he watches and wanks."  So, I got out some beer and wine, and we sat at my table and talked, awkwardly at first, but the alcohol worked its magic. We talked about their young kids, about my older kids, about work and houses. For fun, he raced sprint cars on dirt tracks, so we talked about that for a while and drank some more. At least he and I did. She wasn't drinking or saying much, and she still looked pretty uncomfortable.

After a couple of beers, he wanted the bathroom. As soon as he was gone, I asked her, "Are you OK with this? Because if you're not, just say so and I'll come up with a reason to send you guys home. And I'll do it in such a way that you can't be blamed. Just tell me now before he comes out." She was quiet, looking at me now and the toilet flushed. She smiled at me, for the first time, and I saw how pretty, and how sexy, she was.

"I'm OK," she whispered.

He came back from the bathroom, helped himself to another beer and I could see that he was hard in his pants. Not big, but stiff and pointing out straight, restrained by thin cotton pants; probably not wearing underwear because I could see the outline of his cockhead and a drop of something had soaked through. I got up, put on some slow music and asked her if she'd like to dance with me. He gave her a look like, "Get your ass up and dance with the man." She rolled her eyes and looked back like, "Fuck you, I'm in control here!" Then it occurred to me that they'd done this before and that, yeah, she really was in control.  And of me too.

                                                                                    2

The music was old, maybe Tony Bennett or Sinatra; something that could only be slow-danced-to.  She and I moved to the center of my living room and I held out my arms.  She folded into me, holding my hand with hers, her other hand on my shoulder.  My left hand ran down her spine to the small of her back and I pressed my fist into that little indentation there.  She looked up at me and smiled when I pressed her back harder, nestling into me and feeling my hard-on against her stomach.

“Goodness,” she sighed.  Now I’m not one of those who brag about how big they are, mainly because I’m not!  I like to say I’m “good-sized” and I guess maybe that’s what she meant.  We turned slowly to the music, and she moved her hand from my shoulder to the back of my neck, squeezing and kneading with a surprisingly strong grip.  As I turned her, her back to him, I could see him over her shoulder, sitting on my fold-out futon couch watching us, looking at her ass.  He unzipped his pants and his stiff reddish angry-looking dick popped out of his pants, so hard that you could barely tell he hadn’t been circumcised.

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” and his voice caught a little and he coughed.  His dick flipped up when he coughed, and I almost laughed (but that probably wouldn’t have been a good idea).  As he watched, I slid my open hand down her back, across her butt to her blue-jean skirt, hooking my fingers under the edge and lifting.  “Oh, fuck yeah,” he gasped as my knuckles brushed her bare ass crack, as she tightened it on my fingertips.  He grabbed his dick with one hand and pinched the head with the other, probably to keep from squirting too soon.  She looked back at him over her shoulder and whispered in my ear, “He comes kinda’ fast.”

I was getting a little concerned about that too, as my dick pressed into her stomach and I held an asscheek in each hand, digging in with my fingers, squeezing and spreading.  I had only had sex this exciting a few times in my life.  And never with just me and a couple who magically appeared through the Internet and into my living room!

We turned again, now with my back to him, and she looked at him and said in my ear, “Will you fuck me?  Please?  While he watches?”  Still dancing, turning, she kissed me, her mouth loose and wet and sloppy and open.  Her tongue rolled into my mouth, her wet lips smacking while I sucked and tongued her tongue.  We broke, and she stepped away, again saying, “Goodness!” as she unbuttoned her white blouse.

He had stood from the futon and pulled down his pants, removing his shoes but leaving his socks and T-shirt.  Slowly stroking himself, he watched as she leaned forward, unclasped her bra and spilled her tits out of it.  Her medium-large brown nipples were stiff and contracted like pencil erasers, the aureoles puckered with little bumps.  She took each one between a thumb and a forefinger and rolled it at him.  She turned, slid the waist of her skirt over her ass and down around her ankles, kicking it to the side and standing naked before us.  He didn’t make a move to touch her or kiss her or feel between her legs, where it must be sopping wet by now.  He just looked and stroked, drank his beer and tried not to come yet.

                                                                                   3

Well, it seems I’d gotten this all wrong.  She’d turned from a diminutive, bedraggled, maybe-abused mother to a crafty, bewitching, sex-charged powerhouse, while he’d become a retiring cuckold with his raw-nerved dick twitching in his fist!   And me!  Thinking myself the experienced, worldly sexual playmaster, I’d played the “I'll come up with a reason to send you guys home in such a way that you can't be blamed” card, like a squinting, pipe-smoking Hugh Hefner-type pompously giving sage advice.  (Yeah right, Hugh, you’re about to come in your pants and all you’ve done is dance with her!)

She’d just turned to face me, her back to him, and I dropped to my knees and crawled to her, my face between her legs, pushing her back into him.  She squatted a bit, opened her thighs and leaned back against him as I pressed my face into her wet, furry, thick-lipped hot-pink gash.  I slid my twisted tongue along her slit and pressed the tip onto her clit, grinding and flicking it like the Devil until she squealed and spasmodically closed her legs around my head.  I tried to take a breath but only got sweet juice and steam.  Panting, she squatted down a little further, leaning into him for support.  I rolled onto my back, breathed deeply and put my upturned face just under her lowered bottom where, to my surprise and probably hers, Hubby had put his hard, angry prick.  He pushed it across her brown butthole, between her gaping lips and squirted a long gob of pearly sperm onto her clit and my chin.  He reared back and shot another and then a third smaller one that landed on my upper lip.  I clamped my mouth shut, repulsed by another man’s come on my mouth but, you know, kinda’ not.  I wiped it on my sleeve—I still had all my clothes on—and she laughed at me with a, “He gotcha’!”

As I lay on my back under her, wiping my mouth, she fell forward, settling her wet bottom on my face, her weight on her knees, one hand on the floor and the other deftly undoing my belt and zipper.  She must‘ve gotten skilled at the one-handed diaper change because she had my cock out of my jeans and into her mouth in one fluid motion.  And not just politely nibbling and sampling but gobbling, my cockhead lodged in the back of her throat.  She squatted down onto my face, rotating her hips in a gentle grind, painting my face with her--and his--juices.  He had fallen back, sitting on the floor with legs extended and leaning back against the futon, he watched me lick his wife’s bottom from stem to stern, running my tongue-tip from her clit through her puffed lips to her taut anus.  I gripped her head between my thighs and bucked my hips, jabbing deep enough to hit her gag spot.  She choked and spasmed from down deep, but, catching her breath, she snorted and swallowed me again.  From my vantage point on my back, between her legs, I could roll-up my eyes and get a look at him.  He was smiling, I think for the first time since they’d arrived, but his dick had shriveled back into its foreskin.

I really wanted to make her come before I did, so I concentrated on her clit.  Still under her, I sucked it, pulling it out straight with a tight vacuum-kiss, then hooked my twisted tongue up under it.  Her clit was hard in my mouth, a tight little pinkish-white nubbin that caught on the end of my tongue.  I flicked it off then pushed it as hard as I could with my flattened tongue-tip, grinding it from side to side.  When my fingertip pressed on her butthole, she dropped me from her mouth, shrieked and stiffened like a cartoon fish clubbed with a board.  I sucked her tingling clit like a little dick and pressed her anus with my finger until she shuddered and rolled off me.  On her back, she put her forearm over her eyes, maybe a little embarrassed by the surprise orgasm.

                                                                                             4

“Did he getcha’, baby? He asked with a phlegmy laugh.  She peeked over her raised forearm and she really was kind of embarrassed.  Her eyes rolled to the side, away from both of us, and she said, “Goodness!” again.  I realized then that I really liked her.  (But I really wish she’d stop saying “Goodness,” like Annie.)  It occurred to me that she deserved better than her surly lout of a husband and I wondered how that might be accomplished.  But before sagely pipe-puffing Hugh could return, I remembered my twitching hard-on.  Everybody at this party had come but me!  That seemed to occur to her at the same time and she looked straight at me and, narrowing her eyes into a sexy squint, asked, “How do you want me? “

As I sputtered, she got on her hands and knees and asked, “Does that futon fold out flat?”

“Yeah, if you release that crossbar thing at the back.”   He flattened the futon and pulled it to the center of the living room like a pedestal, or a stage.  She crawled across the floor and up onto the flower-patterned futon mattress, her ass in the air like a cat in heat.  I crawled, naked now, right behind her, and I’m a little ashamed to say, sniffing her like a tom.  On all fours, her ass in the air, she put a foot-and-a-half of space between her knees.  Resting on her elbows, she looked at me over her shoulder and said, “Fuck me hard, from behind.”

He was hard again, stroking it with one hand and massaging his scrotum with the other, slowly circling the futon to see us from every angle.  Standing on my knees behind her, I laid the length of my hard cock between her furry lips and noticed those beautiful, full, hanging tittys, the nipples hard and pointing straight down—"God, I haven’t even touched her tits yet!  What the hell’s wrong with me?”  

I reached under her and cupped them, one in each hand, feeling the hard nipples jutting into my palms.  I pulled, letting the nipples slide through my fingertips then rolled each one between a thumb and forefinger.  She reached back between her legs, gripped me and stuffed the swollen head into her snatch.  Then she slammed back hard against it, driving it into the hilt and nearly knocking me off the stage!

I could feel my dickhead bang against her cervix when she grunted.  I grabbed her hips with both hands and very, very slowly pulled out until only the head was between her lips, then rammed back down into her just as hard as she’d rammed me.  That slow withdrawal had felt so good that I knew I was gonna come soon.  I gripped her ass with just one hand, my fingers splayed across an asscheek and my thumb against her butthole, like holding a bowling ball in one hand.  I stayed straight, stiff and motionless and pulling her back against me by her ass, quickly and repeatedly until I pushed in deep, pressed my thumb into her butthole and squirted against her cervix, again and again, and once again.  When the tip of my thumb popped into her rectum, just like before, she screamed and fell flat on her tummy, trying to get away, but not really.  I followed her down and in, but only to my first thumb-knuckle.  Her husband made a squeaky kind of unmanly squeal and squirted onto her back, but not very much this time.

                                                                                                 5

As she lay face down on the futon mattress, I lay down right on top of her, my still-twitching dick nestling right into her asscrack.  I could feel the squish of her husband’s come between us, but I didn’t care.  With my mouth to her ear, I whispered, “I’m really sorry.  I didn’t wear a condom-- I have them, but I just lost control.  I’m really, really sorry.  I’m a pig.”  And I meant it.  I’d just put a bundle of my DNA right where it needs to be to make a little me and her.  She hesitated, long enough that I thought she might be angry, then she chuckled and said, “It’s OK.  I got you covered.  You don’t have anything, do you?”

“No.  Absolutely not.  I swear.  I just had my annual physical, for work.  They do all kinds of blood tests.  Probably so the insurance company can wiggle out of paying if I test positive for anything expensive.”

She smiled a little and said, “OK, I believe you.  But if I get anything, I know where you live.”

I looked her in the eyes and said, “Yeah, I know you do.  Maybe we….”  She cut me off with, “No.  We won’t.”

He was pulling his pants on and said from across the room, “OK you two.  Cut out the post-cooze-al pillow talk.  We got kids to pick up.”  Wow, I thought, he’s brighter than I thought.

Naked, I watched her dress, pulling on her jeans and then stuffing those beautiful breasts—that I only touched once—back into her bra.  She stepped into her shoes, picked up her purse and took his arm.  At the door, she said, ”I’m sorry too.”

“For what?” genuinely puzzled.

“For the stain on your futon.”  Sure enough, there was a big wet spot on the flowered futon cover.

“Man,” he said, “That won’t ever come out,” and laughed.

Then they were out the door and gone.  I walked over to the futon and returned it to the couch position, where the spot was now on the back, not on the seat.  I guess I could turn the mattress over and hide it, one of these days.