Sunday Morning at the 'Big Top'
Challan Balaban woke up with heavy eyes and tried to focus, rubbing the itch and dryness away as he tried to remember where he was. His mouth felt like sandpaper, and he could still taste the combination of whiskey and pussy from going down on his wife a few hours earlier. He was still drunk, and his head ached from his groggy alcohol induced state as he tried to get his bearing. Realizing that he was still at the 'Big Top' where he apparently had passed out on the leather couch in the living room. A blanket had been thrown over him as he realized that he was only wearing his boxer shorts in which his dick had pitched a tent, thanks to the morning wood that sprung to life once again as the memories of last night's descent into immorality were coming back into clarity. The living room was still dark, and according to the nearby digital clock it was 4:15 am. Although it felt like he slept for hours it was still only a short time ago that he was digging his fingers into his wife's wet pussy as they were passionately embracing on this very spot, preparing her for the evening's debauchery.
He rubbed his hand across his dry mouth and could still smell the familiar fragrance of his wife's funk as he brought his fingers to his nose and deeply inhaled her womanly scent. He had thought that she would have been fast asleep and by his side, perhaps lying next to him in the same alcoholic stupor. However, once he was aware that she was no longer in the living room with him, he had a good idea of where she was and who she was with. He pushed the blanket off his chest and sat up reaching for a bottle of beer that was still half full on the coffee table beside him. Chugging down the remains of the piss warm liquid just too wet his dry rancid mouth. He then reached into the ashtray that was next to the beer, and grabbed the half-burned joint that was seated in the notch of the glass receptacle and brought it to his lips. Then feeling around the darkened table, he searched for a lighter which he quickly recovered and flicked it on, bringing the ignited flame to the burnt edge of the recovered reefer as he took a deep drag on the marijuana cigarette.
He inhaled long and hard on the joint, holding in the smoke for as long as he could before he felt his lungs burn. He began to cough uncontrollably for a few moments, releasing a fragrant plume of smoke around him. The strong odor overpowered the residual hint of his wife's perfume, and the spent sex that still lingered in the air. There was nothing like a good 'wake and bake' to start the day he thought to himself as he began to feel light headed once again as his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He leaned back against the couch and took another toke from the joint as he thought about his beautiful wife Makayla and his African American 'buddy', Slaughter. A man who he considered to be his alter ego. He was sure that they were in the 'Master's Bedroom' and that Slaughter had been giving his wife the goods throughout the night. The chemistry between them was undeniable whenever they got together for these sex-filled overnight get-togethers' and Challan was always eager to watch his wife get fucked by good friend.