After a point, mostly fictional, so not a problem with unprotected sex.
*****
During the power failures, my wife and I meet two lonely linesmen.
Remember the recent snow and ice? Big storms all over the East, took out trees and power lines over a dozen states. Well, we were in one of them. The power failures were so widespread that they had to import electrical linemen crews from many states far away. Our power was out for a couple days. However, the town about twenty miles away got turned on before us, so went out to dinner over there.
My lovely wife was dressed in those wonderful leggings that women wear lately, like a second skin, black but lycra and shiny, wonderfully tight all the way up her legs to her hips and butt. A wet dream for all us pervs who are thrilled with the shapes of women's bodies. And she covered the goodies with a long sweater, almost what used to be called a tunic. Long enough to cover the goodies, oh, rats, but short enough to keep male attention tightly focused. Tempting, teasing, sexy but not revealing, just what women always strive for. Works. Yum.
On the way to dinner we saw a couple motels with utility company trucks parked there. All those imported crews brought their own equipment.
We found a decent burger and steak kind of restaurant. While we were waiting for a table, having a drink at the bar, we talked with two guys who were one of the crews. They joined us for dinner, and we were all glad of the company. The beer and wine flowed over dinner.
The guys had come to the restaurant by taxi. We offered to drive them back to their motel. When we got there, they offered to buy us a drink for the ride. Hey, why not. So we went in to the motel's bar and had a drink. Then another. In the middle of the third round, we noticed the good music track playing. One of the guys asked her to dance. "Sure go ahead." I have no problem with my wife dancing with someone else. I enjoy seeing her flirt with other guys, touch them and be touched by them. I'm just not the jealous type. I think my wife is a very sexy babe, and I appreciate it that other men agree with me.
She danced with one, then she and I, then with the other guy, rotating. I tend to hold her close, my hands on her butt when we dance. She doesn't mind if I do it or if anyone sees. These guys did it, too, when their turns came. She didn't seem to mind. I noticed that, during a slow number, one guy got his hand under the hem of her sweater and directly onto her butt in the leggings. She didn't seem to mind that either. He pulled her hips closer to his, and his friend and I watched his hand reaching down under her butt, down between her legs. Wow, I thought, this is a real grope. And she's allowing it. He had to be very close to her goodies under that sweater that was shorter than a miniskirt. I was surprised she was letting them feel her up quite so much. A little alcohol does wonders for the inhibitions. I wasn't upset with her; on the contrary, I was turned on watching their hands on her. How far would she let this go, I wondered?
We had more drinks. She could only gulp them between dances with one of us. During one slow dance, my hand wandered up to her boob. I tried not to be too obvious, but they saw anyway. The next dance, he did the same, too. Then the other, so they were both feeling her up on the dance floor and she wasn't objecting to it. Well, it was okay with me, too. We just continued to rotate partners.
Way too much had been drunk that evening. We were all a little blitzed. The bar was going to close, and neither of us was safe to drive. She was really well oiled. I'm sure I was over the DUI limit, and I just didn't feel that I could drive safely. They asked us back to their room, we needed some time to come to our senses, so sure, we went.
In their room they had a big bottle of tequila and a case of beer in the little fridge. They figured that they were going to be there more than a couple days, and having your own was a lot cheaper than bars. They also had a couple little metal shot glasses and the hotel's ice bucket. Well, this made for more fun, a couple small shots. Hardly the way to sober up to drive, but, neither of us was working tomorrow. Dan turned on music. There was more dancing. And we guys all took the same liberties with my wife's body, feeling her more or less anywhere we pleased. She was not objecting at all, and I think rather enjoyed the attention. She held all the men close when dancing. Kissed me passionately, and, after they got the idea, kissed them, too.
Vin suggested that we do some belly shots, we're all drunk enough to agree, she lay down on the bed, untucked her turtleneck, and he poured tequila into her navel. She laughed because it was cold and tickled, and most of it got spilled. Still, he sucked up what he could find all over her belly and then boldly licked the spilled streak down her side, more giggling, this won't do. He turned up the thermostat a couple degrees, probably in the hope that she wouldn't feel cold and want to keep her clothes on.
I suggested a better place for the shots: put the shot glass in her cleavage and the guys would pick it up with their mouths and guzzle it. We all laughed hysterically. We were keeping the shots very small so that no one got too plastered and passed out - and missed the fun. I helped her up and lifted off her sweater and then her purple turtleneck. She had a lovely red bra under it. I told her to pull her leggings up nice and tight. She said, "They'll be really tight in my crotch. They'll get up between my lips."
"Precisely," I replied.
"Oh, cripes," she whispered, and did it, wriggling the waist of the tights high up over her hips. They outlined the delicious shape of her crotch, mound protruding a little, outline of her labia slightly visible but not really obvious.
She took another little drink and then lay back down. I put the half-full shot glass between her breasts. If one just concentrated on her breasts holding the little glass, the sight was erotic enough. I looked down specifically to see her lady parts, and sure enough they were precisely outlined by the tight leggings and its wonderful center seam.
Dan leaned over, hands behind his back, took the glass in his lips, stood up, tilted his head back, and swallowed. Success! This is like the drink that brides-to-be often have to drink called a "blow job," a small, narrow glass filled with booze that they have to pick up with their lips. Always fun to watch. We all cheered and had a good laugh about it.
So all three of us guys take a shot from her boobs. She takes her shot from one that I'm holding in my lips, sort of a combination wide-open-mouth kiss and a "blow job" drink at the same time. Pretty cool.
The next round, she gets her shot from Vincent's lips. And I push the fun a little further: before I lift the shot glass from between her boobs, I kiss one of her breasts, right over the very erect nipple. Through the bra still, but this was a real change. I blew my hot breath through the fabric of the bra so she could feel it. She gasped when my lips touched her breast. And my other hand was on her thigh, caressing, moving way up it, up to her crotch so I could feel her lips beneath the tights, and feel the heavenly crevice between her legs. She kept her legs tightly together, but I still got to feel her sex while I kissed her breast. She moaned with me, in passion I think. I drank the tequila to the whoops and laughter of the other guys.
