"We have a little surprise for you."
I read the message again as I waited for the damn elevator to reach the penthouse floor. I'd received it an hour ago, but my meeting had run late and I knew I'd kept them waiting. My wife, and my best friend who'd become our live-in boyfriend over a year ago had traveled with me to Chicago, both of them taking time off of their own jobs to support me emotionally through the merger that had been keeping me awake at night for months. I didn't have much time for them during the day when my life was filled with board rooms, fake smiles, and schmoozing, but they certainly had helped me relax in the evenings.
Relax in a major way.
When I got the text of course, I knew what it meant. The three of us had been together long enough that often times there was no sex at night, only cuddling and conversations. But the pair of them had ramped up their libidos since coming here, keeping me thoroughly distracted, and exhausted, so I could sleep whole nights without worry and wake up rested. Their "surprises" had often meant plenty of fun for me, but usually they banked on me being on time.
The minute I touched the key to the electronic lock and pushed the door open, I could hear her whimpering. Even the sounds of their heavy breathing filtered through the hallway toward me. I stepped over what looked to be one of her little black dresses discarded on the floor, and rounded the corner to the living room of our suite.
She wore red lipstick, her mouth hanging open in a soft o shape, her blond bob falling away from her face as she leaned her head back at an impossible angle. The panties and bra she wore matched, black lace to set off the paleness of her skin, and she'd gone to the trouble of putting on old-fashioned stocking with the seam up the back, and a garter belt that held the stockings up to her mid-thigh. Her heels lay in a heap on the floor and she sat on his lap, draped across his athletic chest, her creamy white thighs spread as if he'd laid her out as a delicious treat for me. One of his hands was beneath her bra, pinching and rubbing her nipple which peeked out just above the lace, and his other was shoved into the front of her panties. I could see his fingers sliding up and down, and I imagined how wet her slit would be and how easily his fingers would move.
I looked up at his face to find him watching me, that devilish smirk curled across his lips. "You're late," he muttered, and I heard her groan aloud as his fingers sank deep into her. From what I could see of him, he wore a pair of slacks and a black t-shirt. I knew there had to be a nice suit jacket discarded somewhere - she would have peeled that off of him first. I loosened my tie as I let my gaze trail down to the front of her underwear, watching the shapes of his hand move beneath the fabric.
"I'm sorry," I said, my throat so tight that the words came out in a hoarse whisper. I found myself sliding out of my own suit coat, and peeling off the tie as I moved, gravitating toward the erotic scene. He didn't have to tell me what to do. I knelt, and pressed my face close to where his hand moved beneath the fabric. I was already getting hard and I couldn't help the little sound that left me as he slid his hand out of her underwear and held his fingers up to my lips. They were glistening and I looked up to see both of them watching me.
