There was something deliciously naughty about being at a party with Jordan, my wife of eight years, when I'd also been fucking the hostess on the side. This happened a few years ago, but it's no less alive in my mind.
It was a Christmas party in Lower Manhattan. The hostess was a divorcee I worked with named Barbara, a tall, slim, mid-30s sophisticate with large brown eyes, tousled chestnut hair, small tasty tits, and a pouty mouth with bee-stung, Julia Roberts lips. Jordan, by contrast, was more an Anette Benning type, only with short black hair and smouldering black eyes. Her body was small, slim, exquisitely formed. She possessed a demure, soft-spoken exterior which belied an inner passion secretly aching for forbidden games.
We had long entertained fantasies of her making it with another woman, for example, another man or couple perhaps. She had begun to voice suspicions---correct, as it happened, though I'd not yet admitted it--- that I was something more than workmates with Barbara. The fact was that Barbara and I had been meeting two or three times a week for lunch, and enjoying a long slow fuck, in this very apartment.
It was a spacious spread near New York's Grammercy Park. Outside, snow was falling. The streets had taken on that wasteland air of the wintry city night--- but inside, it was warm and getting warmer. The windows, streaked with steam and framed outside with snow, lent a cozy, private feeling to the place.
Christmas tree lights oozed off and on. The Grateful Dead's "Dark Star" spiraled softly through dark and twisting smoke. The sweet smell of grass mingled with the clean scent of Yuletide candles and the shimmering lights of the tree. A half dozen couples, writers and editors from New York's literary and journalistic scene, chatted quietly over wine and cheese, moved around, danced a little, exchanged sweet seasonal kisses under the mistletoe, shared occasional tokes, and not so innocent surreptitious fondlings---in the kitchen, where the champagne bar was open; in the living room, where the tree spun its soft-hued glow, in the long, dark hallway off which beckoned a bath and three empty bedrooms, including Barbara's.
As a house present, Jordan and I had brought an ounce of pure Moroccan hashish--- the pale green natural pollen collected from great stands of potent grass and pressed into cakes, part of a stash we'd brought back from our vacation in Tangier and Marrakesh. We shared a pipe with Barbara on arrival, and were now quite blissfully stoned. I had been moving among the guests, chatting with this one and that, noting as I did that Barbara and Jordan had been heart-to-hearting in the kitchen for what seemed like hours.
Seeing them together, I felt a sexual rush. I thought of them as they each had been, naked in my arms--- Barbara, long and lithe, with a reserve that turned to fury as she grew roused; Jordan, small, soft, ever-eager, with a wild gleam in her eye, an earthy tongue, and a ready lust lingering just below the surface of her outward cool. I recalled the clasp of their cunts around my hot stiff prick: Barbara's slim and slick, quick and pulsing; Jordan's, lush and warm and wet as a baby's mouth. God, I thought, we were good together--- and I was lucky to have them both!
Now it was growing late, and one by one the couples were leaving, drifting out into the wintry cold. I sat in the candle-lit dining room, giggling, finger-feeding rum cake into Barbara's pouty mouth. Jordan was off in the living room, in earnest conversation with a man who'd come alone. They'd been engrossed in whatever it was for quite some time. Then, in the soft light, I watched her lay her fingertips upon his lips. He hesitated. She whispered something. Her face came closer and their lips met. Her tongue slithered over his lips, his hand cupped her chin as he returned the kiss, and his tongue met hers. My surprise was accompanied by a jolt in the general area of my genitals. This wasn't mistletoe kissing. This was real.
Barbara's eyes followed my glance. We watched Jordan's arms go around the man's neck as his hand slipped down and gently closed over her cashmere-covered breast. They rocked in slow embrace, their mouths joined, parting for breath, whispering words we could not hear, then moving together for yet another kiss.
She was oblivious to me. Her hand lay along the inside of his thigh, inches from his cock. He was fondling both her breasts now, the cashmere threads caressing her, his fingertips lightly squeezing her nipples. I watched her draw a deep, heavy breath, watched his fingers manipulating her nipples, watched her go back to kissing him again. My cock thickened.
I was spellbound! I knew how excited Jordan got on hash. I recalled all the times we'd lain in bed, fantasizing about her fucking another man. "You'd let him fondle you, caress your tits," I'd whisper. She'd answer, "Yes! And feel his cock get hard in my hand!" I'd part her thighs and let my fingers find her cunt and say, "He'd finger you like this, wouldn't he..." She'd say, "Yesss... and then he'd move between my legs and slide his stiff, hot cock in me..."
And now here she was, twined in foreplay, before my eyes. The room seemed warmer, smaller. The snow outside was falling heavier. But the temperature was rising.
Barbara chuckled softly. "Turn about is fair play." Her familiar hand reached out and closed around my hardened cock. "It seems that you're enjoying what you see."
"We've talked... but I'd never seen her with another man," I stammered.
"Enjoy," she said. "You've often told me how you'd like to see her fuck another man."
"Oh, I would..."
"She's going to..."
"Meaning....?"
"Watch...". I was mesmerized. Jordan's sculpted throat gleamed like ivory in the Christmas lights. She had arched her back to give his hands full play on both her tits. Her hand was on his cock now. I imagined her nipples hardening in his fingers, her pussy weeping as her passion rose, his cock grown fat and full beneath her fondling hand. My prick swelled.
Barbara smiled. "You like it, don't you," she whispered.
"It's incredibly exciting...."
Barbara eyed me with amusement over the lip of her champagne. "She's going to fuck him, you know," she said.
I gasped. "How do you know?"
She brought her face up close to mine. "Because I told her about us. I told her how we come here lunchtimes and fuck."
I was stunned. I'd thought of telling Jordan sometime in one of our fantasies, but never dreamed she'd hear it from someone else--- much less from Barbara!
"How did she react?" I gasped.
Barbara put a finger to my lips. "She was cool--- as usual," she said. "First she wanted details: How did it start? I reminded her of that time last year when she was out of town. How often did we meet? I said 'Not enough...' What did we do? I told her how we did it all--- how we'd share a joint, and I sucked your cock, and how you licked me, and how I came when you sucked my clit... "
"You told her that?"
"I felt like we were sisters sharing secrets.'
"Did you make it with her?"
