Greg and Jessica (aka Jess, as relabeled by her lover) accepted Larry’s invitation of a weekend at The Royal, a posh hotel an hour’s drive away. After arrival and a few drinks in the lounge, Larry went first.

Greg flinched when Larry said, “Look at my beautiful date for the weekend!”

Greg settled back when Jessica reminded her husband that all three knew what they were there for. Larry had artfully arranged a carriage ride touring of the grounds and handed Greg a few joints to tide him over.

Larry escorted Jess to their honeymoon suite he had reserved. Each performed admirably for each other. (See Chapter 4).

A couple of hours later, when Greg called her cell, Jessica told him, “Give me about ten minutes and come on up to Room 1312.”

Greg took his time and by the time he opened the slightly ajar door, Larry was gone and Jessica was in the jetted tub, soaking.

She called to him, “I’ll be out in a few. Grab a pair of craft beers from the fridge and meet me on the patio.”

She’d opened those louvered doors so that her husband could see her luxuriating in her bubble bath.

“Swan-keeee,” Greg whistled, admiring the room, the balcony view and the sight of his wife giving him her come-hither look.

When Jessica emerged, the aura of flowers and desire flowed in her wake. She settled into a chair, picked up a bottle of beer, lifted it and said, “Cheers.”

“Cheers back at ya!” Greg echoed and they both took a swig of the pungent ale.

Jessica couldn’t read her husband’s next comment.

Was it sarcasm or praise?

“Larry knows my favorite Irish whiskey, is a good judge of saison brew and seems to have all the right moves.”

She was determined to not get into a discussion of her lover. That could only end in disaster. She knew that despite an unbridled love for her husband, she liked fucking Larry.

She thought, “No. Not just fucking him, but sucking him, allowing him into places she’d never let my husband go.”

The beauty on such a patio is that one does not have to keep a conversation going. Nobody’s going anywhere, so lines can just hang out there as long as one wished. So it was with Greg’s (faux?) compliment.

Both knew that she had to respond, but was careful not to mention her lover’s name.

She instead asked, “Do you like my outfit?”

Students of diplomacy would fairly point out that she was indirectly shouting ‘Larry-Larry-Larry’ because it was Larry who’d given her what she wore for her husband.

Her husband assessed the outfit and its wearer. He gazed on an ivory white, diaphanous in some areas, silky see-through, with webbing around her ample breasts and crotch. The robe was full-length and fitted her perfectly, the hem just shy of her pretty, self-purchased sandals. The garment’s half-sleeves could conceal or reveal, as the wearer chose. The slit from the beltline down on both sides provided a view of her legs. She tied a soft, white tasseled cord around her middle.

The whole ensemble was engineered to be worn in public, perhaps if a matching g-string and push-up were desired. The couple would need to be daring, because the robe was easy enough to shed for a quickie out of guests’ sight. Or it was a prelude to a long, romantic interlude.

“I like it,” Greg said, as he offered his hand to help her stand.

She led her husband into the bathroom and proceeded to undress him. She took her time, just as she had with Larry.

She thought, “Damn. Larry called me his whore. I am better than that. I could be a courtesan on any stage or bedroom.”

Jessica played the courtesan, unbuttoning her husband’s shirt, stripping him of his pants, underwear, socks and shoes.

When he was naked, she said, “Step into the shower. I want you to be squeaky clean for this round, so wash yourself. Meanwhile, tell me what the ride was like.”

“It was okay, the waterfall was taller than I imagined. Larry’s smokes were fantastic. Next time, I’ll take you with me and we can share the visions.”

Jessica was not being a conniving bitch, just being practical when she thought, “Greg actually used his name. If Greg and I worked on this as a team, we might be able to make this three-way shit work!”

From a cabinet drawer, Jessica pulled out a jar of salts and ordered her wet husband, “Turn around.”

She began to rub the salts into his back, feeling the tense muscles relax. She kneaded the sinew down his back, to below his beltline. Then she rubbed more into his thighs and calves.

“Turn around,” she whispered. She was not expecting Greg’s dick to be sticking straight out.

She finished quickly, “Hose yourself off and put on one of those hotel-issued robes.”

With that, she turned, closed those louvered doors and went to the stash Larry had left for them.

When her husband emerged from the bath, he saw his wife lounging on the bed, joint in hand and a third beer to share resting on the nightstand.

She offered both, one in each hand.

'If he takes the joint, I will be kinda in charge and I know what I am going to do. If he wants the beer first, he can be the man to reclaim me any way he wants. I am his either way.' Jessica also knew that the more smoke her husband had, the friskier, more liberal, the more willing to experiment he would become.

Results, she knew, would be the same: Greg would dominate her, make her do things, say anything he tells her to, then fuck her senseless. He would reclaim his wife, no doubt!

The only difference was that, if he chose the joint, she had carte blanche to be filthy as well.

Greg said, “Gimmie the joint.”

This would be his fourth of the afternoon and the effects of the first three had not worn off. Jessica knew she could call Larry’s name without fear of buzzkill.

She replied, “It’s my lucky day. I am all clean after Larry’s fucking, but nobody can lick my cunt like you do. Please, though, let’s kiss like teenagers, love my tits like you did to your college girls, and then use your magic on my pussy.”

Off came her husband’s robe to expose that love-pole again.

She was wowed, 'Jesus! That damn thing just grew another inch in length and another in girth as well. I have to taste it now.' Greg lay on the bed, dick waving in the breeze of the still-open patio doors.

“I accept the invitation and the challenge, master,” she said.

Jessica learned to suck dick a long time ago. She knew how to approach and swirl the crown around her mouth, how to deep-throat a guy, how to massage the gentleman’s balls and have a finger wander to his asshole. She also knew when ‘enough is enough,’ before the event was ruined by a premature ejaculation.

At the perfect time, she climbed aboard, offering her titties to her man to suckle. Greg’s dick slid right in.

She raised herself by her thighs so that only the head of the prick was inside her and stayed there. Greg’s hips chased her, rising up off the bed to bury his pole into her pussy. She stayed still and let him fuck her.

When she sensed that he could use a breather, she surprised her present lover by slamming her cunt all the way down his shaft until their pelvis’s met in bliss.

He started to move again, gyrating back and forth.

She thought, 'Where the fuck did he get that move?'

She took it, though, and reciprocated.

Greg grabbed her by her hips and drove even deeper into her. When he squeezed her ass cheeks and pulled himself into her and her enveloping him, he screamed.

“God damn, shit, fuck, oh no. Oh yes. Give it to me. This pussy is mine. I want it, now.” The ‘now’ word lasted over Jessica’s next three deep breaths.

A heartbeat later, Greg realized that his wife was still on the edge, not yet complete.

He roused himself and started kissing her hand that lay limp. Up that arm, he nipped, kissed, licked and hummed.

When he reached her belly button, she knew what was next.

“Open,” he commanded.

She complied and spread her legs for him.

Jessica shaves all of her pussy except for a small landing strip of hair she already dyes. Greg dive-bombed that first, lapping up a bit of his cum.

Her outer lips were still bright red and he pulled on those with his fingers. She moved. He gently touched her clit and she flinched, “Not yet.” He knew.

Greg gripped her hips with his hands and was strong enough to lift her middle, opening her sex even wider. He pulled at the outer lips with his own lips, first one side, then the other. Instinctively, he knew when to switch. On the third switch, he tried his tongue.

He lapped her outer lips and she moved toward him. He gently let go of her hips and used his fingers to massage the inner lips. More encouraging movement. It was time. He slipped two fingers into her waiting hole, found her g-spot and rubbed it oh-so-softly.

She purred.

The husband slipped his tongue in, besides his two fingers and the three of them (tongue, two digits) opened her cunt up even more.

Greg allowed the fingers to stay, stationed on her g-spot while he went for her clit.

He sucked on it like a teenager might suck a dick for the first time, hesitantly but determined to please. He knew the clitoris was the female version of the man’s penis, so he had no problem attacking it, albeit stealthily.

He was rewarded with screams that must have startled the turtledoves nesting outside their room. He also got his hair pulled and his face smothered in her cunt. Now it was his turn to watch his lover be satisfied over another three breaths.

Because they were in a king-size bed, Jessica made a magnanimous decision. She slid down the bed to where he lay, kissing her own juices (and his) off his face.

One last kiss and they fell into the kind of beer/pot/fucking stupor that leaves one immobile.