A Divorce Party Pt 01

Everyone having sex is at least 18. This is a work of fiction; I made it all up. Check reality at the door and enjoy it for what it is, a fun story. Special thanks to RF-Fast for editing my story and improving it. No story of mine is perfect, but rest assured, it would be a whole lot worse without cleaning up after me.

This is NOT a BSDM story, although there are traces in the story.

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Chapter 1 -- Divorce

Point of view: Gina

I got fired today. I was a waitress at a high-end bar where we wear sleezy outfits. The economy is in the toilet and several of us were let go. At thirty-two years old, it's getting harder to get a job these days. I still have a great figure, but I'm not twenty-two anymore. Fortunately, Gerald makes a decent living. My money was our fun money for going out and vacations.

I am tired, crying, and mad at the world. Our neighbors, Don and Cindy, seemed to be having a party tonight. There are several cars in their driveway and on the street. It's dark, but I can see a glow behind their house. There is a loud heavy beat to the music.

Both houses are side by side at the end of a cul-de-sac. Our two yards are surrounded by trees that belong to a large food delivery company. They put the trees in long ago to buffer the noise of their trucks. It works well.

Since I was feeling down, I decided to walk around the house and maybe hang out. I still have my uniform on, so I'm a bit shy. I want to know who is there before I strut in, showing a ton of cleavage.

We live in a lower-end community. We aren't poor, but there are many things we don't have and can't afford, like better cars. I peer around the corner, and immediately, I'm furious.

In the backyard are several large blankets, a good dozen naked men, and my three best friends. Usually, that wouldn't piss me off. My biggest problem is that the women are on their backs, and each has a man squatting over her chest, feeding his cock into their faces. The men not being blown are each being jacked off slowly to keep them stiff. The last of the men, including my husband, are fucking my three former friends.

I suppose some women would stand there and use a few fingers in their cunts to get off. Others might say, "The hell with it," and join in. I selected option number three. I became a heat-seeking missile. I sprinted with my gym-toned legs at full speed. A few people saw me, but nobody could react quick enough.

A few feet away, I scream, "Gerald! You son ..."

As his head looked up, my fist connected with his nose, and then my body slammed into him, with me stomping on his stomach.

"... of a bitch," as I spring to my feet, stand over my defenseless husband, and pummel the shit out of his face.

Several of his friends pick me up and then use their belts to restrain me. I'm rolled over, my skirt is pulled up, and my panties are pulled down. Fuck, they're going to rape me!

I hear my old friend Kathy say in as menacing voice as she has, "You touch Gina, and we will all testify at your rape trials. She didn't come here for this. Can't you hear her screams? She doesn't want this! LET HER GO!"

Greg snickers, "Once she gets us, she won't be screaming anymore, she'll be begging us for more."

I hear my old friend Linda, "Yes, my name is Linda Chapman, I want to report the start of a rape. 1123 Hemingway Road, Overland Park. Ok. Yes, I am recording now."

I am shoved onto my side. I ball up into a fetal position. I hear everyone scrambling to get their clothes on and run away. I hear sirens already. Damn, they're quick.

In the end, after three hours in the backyard and the police station, two men are charged with several counts for exposing me and restraining me against my will. Gerald and I have protection orders from each other, and I live in my sister's garage apartment. My sister and her husband retrieved all my personal effects with zero issues. My sister's husband is a police officer. He and three friends showed up in uniform to retrieve my stuff. I hate my friends and my future ex-husband with a burning passion.

Chapter 2 -- Clueless

Point of view: Stacy, in their home

Stan bellows, "Hi Honey, I'm home!"

I yell back, "Hi, honey. You have time to shower; I still have about twenty minutes to go."

My husband rambles into the kitchen, kisses me passionately, then runs up the stairs to shower. I sure won the lottery when it comes to husbands. It's been five years, and he still is as energetic as an eighteen-year-old in the bedroom. OK, bedroom, kitchen, living room, backyard, shower, and the back of his pickup truck.

The one thing I despise about him is his clothes. He manages a few groups of remodelers. He is a hunk of a man. He has enormous shoulders, magnificent pipes for arms, and his six-pack has six-packs. His legs are lean and muscular. You get the idea. He has the body of a god and a GQ model's face, and nobody knows because he wears baggy long-sleeved shirts and sweatpants.

I know he is 100% trustworthy. I had two ex-friends try to seduce him, and he told me. That is a man in love with me. He rarely stays late on a job and goes shopping with me just so he can be with me.

Tonight, I am waiting for the hashbrown casserole and meatloaf to finish. These are two of Stan's favorite foods. I have yeast rolls, fresh green beans, and a fruit salad to round out the meal. I am setting everything on the table as he comes down the stairs in shorts and an old college football jersey. He stops as he notices what's for dinner.

He looks at me, places his hands on his hips, and says with a commanding voice, "I don't care what it is. No."

He is so predictable that I laugh at him, which earns me a worried look.

I want to set him at ease, "We will enjoy dinner and then I want to ask you for a favor. I need some help and you're the first man that came to mind. You do have a choice, but you are the best option available. Let's eat dinner first."

His smile returns, and he seems to have relaxed. Mission accomplished. I smile through dinner because I am going to ask him for a favor and I'm not going to be 100% truthful with him. I wouldn't call it a lie, but I will withhold the information he won't like.

I have thought long and hard about this. Stan may not enjoy some points, and yet others will thrill him. I know this risks my marriage, but the odds are very low. Stan is hopelessly in love with me as I am with him, so I can allow this weekend to happen.

After dinner, I take Stan's hand and pull him into the living room and onto the couch. The dishes can wait until later. I don't want him stewing for long and thinking up end-of-the-world situations. Before I sit down, I remove my T-shirt and shorts. I am left with a sturdy 36D red bra from Victoria's Secret and the matching thong.

Noticed that I did not say that I closed the drapes. Our house isn't close to the street, but someone walking by could look in the well-lit home and see me. I am wet, my nipples are embarrassingly erect, and I have that wonderful butterfly feeling in my stomach because I'm uncomfortable.

Stan, on the other hand, loves it when I do this. For obvious reasons, it's not often. This scares the crap out of me, yet also reves up the horny engine and will turn me into a slut.

I kiss him lightly on the lips as my hand presses down straight onto his cock. His cock is swelling as his eyes continually look outside to see if anyone has spotted me. They haven't. Most of the neighborhood is still eating dinner. This conversation will be short.

I use my standard conversational voice. My sexy voice would trip Stan's alarms and make him defensive. That's the last thing I want right now. My hand lightly strokes his cock. This isn't part of my plan; it's a natural reaction. Stan is gifted physically. He's a thick ten inches of meat that hits all the right places. I love my husband. He doesn't need a huge cock; I would still love him. Getting a great man with a huge cock, and he knows how to use it, there was no way I was letting him get away from me.

I inquire, "You remember Gina, right?"

Stan replies defensively, "Yeahhhhhhhhh."

I smile at him, "Oh, come on. It's not like I'm going to kill you. Hear me out, please. Friday after work, Gina, a few friends from work, and our mothers meet for a drink at the bar and shoot the shit. We get hit on a lot, but we like Margaritas a lot. This might be important later; that's why I brought it up.

"Anyways, Gina announced that her divorce is now final. I thought she was going to cry. We all hugged her and explained there are lots of good men out there. Gina points out that I am the last married woman in our group. Your mother suggests we have a party for her. My mother says her friend at work does a 'Just Divorced' party and sex toy sale."

Stan is eyeing me suspiciously.

I continue with a smile, "They want to have it here. Everyone else lives in an apartment. They said having space is good for the games. If we move some furniture around, this room should be perfect. Now the interesting part. I need to hire an escort."

Stan laughs his ass off before saying, "Oh hell no. I'm not letting some disease-carrying gigolo come into my house and fuck my wife. No party."

I continue, "It would cost us each $1000 for a young well-hung man, without security, for an evening, restrained."

Stan blows up, "Not only does he get to fuck you, but we have to pay him $1,000 we don't have? How can you possibly agree to this? Have I done something wrong? Are you seeing someone? Oh my GOD, that's it. What the hell, Stacy!"

I look him in the eyes, "NOBODY IS FUCKING ME! OK, you can, but nobody else. Stan, look at my friends and our parents. I won the lottery and got you, by far, the best-looking, the smartest, the nicest, and the best in bed. I won the husband's lottery. You need to listen to me. I agree with everything you said."

He looks at me, shocked. I have confused him. This isn't going where he thought it would. His mouth is open, and he is adorable. My God, this man is so handsome I can't stand it.

I say, smiling, "Like I said, I agree with you. So, where do I get a young, well-hung beefcake?"

Bing, he can see the writing on the wall.

Stan puts both hands in a stop position, "Oh no. Your friends are vultures. They spit men out just for fun. I'm not fucking your friends. Our mothers will be there!"

I am trying not to lose my cool, "STOP! I don't want you to fuck them, either. This isn't a sex party. This is a party where a naked man will be there as a model. Most of the toys are for women. Some are for men or are universal. With six hot and sexy women, they want a good-looking model. I assure you there will be a great deal of teasing and oral fun. Remember, I'm your wife, and you are the most important thing in the world to me."

Stan questions, "Do you really want your friends to see me naked and touching me?"

I object, "No! Of course not. So, why am I doing this?"

Stan nods his head; yes, he wants to know.

My shoulders slump and all joy has left my face, "Gina isn't taking this well. Some comments have been morbid, and we're concerned about her. None of them do anything but Friday night and none of them can match our bedroom aerobics."

Stan smiles at me.

I look at him hopefully, "Please help my friends. I need a male that will knock their socks off, take some minor abuse, and not kill them. I am to get some Viagra from your doctor and Ann, the party master of ceremonies, will give you a pill from Chinatown that will make you cum by the gallon."

Stan snickers, "Like I need it."

I give him my sexy smile, "It sounds to me like you might get lots of action."

Stan asks with a sad look, "I don't need this. Why would you allow this? It makes no sense."

I kiss him again and place his hand on my right breast, covering my nipples. Immediately, he rubs his hands over my sensitive nipples.

I whisper, "You're the best man I know. You will be a great model. I can live with my friends blowing you. If they knew it was you, they would be fighting for you."

Stan looks confused again, "If they knew?"

I explain, "To protect the model and to add to his teasing, you will wear a black cloth hood over your head and shoulders. I will add a small ball-gag so you can't talk. There will also be hand and leg restraints. They had a situation in the past where the model was filled with lust and attacked the women, raping each of them."

Stan looks horrified.

I almost laugh, "Oh please. Everyone but Gina would fuck you gladly, especially our mothers."

Stan giggles, "Your mother for sure."

I add with a grin, "Both mothers. Your mom heard the rave reviews from women that came by your house for a good fucking. You see, when you date a woman for several months, they became friends with your mother. She never got fucked like what you do to me."

Stan is angry, "How the hell do you know that?"

I mockingly knock on his skull, "Hello, I dated you for a year. There are very few secrets between us. Your mom is a ton of fun."

Stan sits back, dropping his hand from my breast.

Now we seal the deal, "I want you to get a haircut, two tanning sessions, and take off your rings. I don't want them seeing your pasty ass or a wedding ring compression on your finger. You are going to look like a twenty-five-year-old escort and will make them drool."

I bite my bottom lip, "For your payment, you get my ass all night long."

Stan perks up, "All night? Not just ten minutes? I get to pound that gorgeous ass of yours with my huge cock all night long?"

I nod my head yes. Stan shoots to his feet and hoists me off the couch with ease. My thong and bra are gone in a flash. I am thrown over his shoulder as I see a look of horror on our neighbor, Mrs. McCarthy's face as I look out the front door. She was walking her little dog. For the party, I think I will close the drapes.

This story isn't about the pounding my ass took for several hours tonight. I happily sucked my husband, fucked him, and then rolled over two pillows as he skillfully brought me to three orgasms by fucking my ass. We both fell asleep exhausted. Tomorrow is Sunday, we will sleep in late.

Chapter 3 -- Preparation

Point of view: Stan

What the hell was I thinking? Why would I subject myself to a night of humiliation? Because you love your wife dummy. You always do what she tells you. Well, I trust her to take care of me. I know Stacy loves me without question. OK, cut grass, wash cars, take out garbage, move furniture, bring up the table and chairs, clean the cooler, get ice, and then take a shower. This had better be worth it.

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As I walk out of the shower, two women are standing just outside the washroom. One is my wife. The other is a mid-twenties tall blonde woman that works out. She has muscle and looks a bit butch. She has no smile on her face as she looks at me.

Ann asks my wife, "Is this the best you could do? Did you shop in the sale bin? You." She's pointing at me. "Stay there. I'll be right back." She comes back with a spray can and two razors. "Stay still or you won't have to use condoms."

What the fuck.

She pushes me back into the shower, kneels, and sprays shaving cream on my groin. She then uses a razor much faster than I would have liked. Either she is very skilled, or she was lucky. She drew no blood, but damn, that was way too quick with the valuable assets down there. She scared the crap out of me.

To spin me a bit, she slapped my ass cheek. I swear I am pink just from her slapping. Tonight is going to suck.

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Point of view: Stacy

Meanwhile, in the living room...

Everyone has arrived, is sitting in the circle of chairs. The topic of conversation is men. With five divorced women, all talk is about the cheating and terrible ways that men treat women. Stacy won't smile, but she knows she has the best husband in the world.

As they're talking, the TV cuts out as a phone call is coming in.

Stacy says, "Tevo, answer phone."

A video of Stan shows up in a bar with several of his friends around him.

Stan says, "Hey honey. I just thought I would call you and wish you well on your party."

I know this is a recording that is playing. I must be precise in my talking, or my friends will all know this is staged to make it look like Stan is at a bar. That will help prevent them from thinking our model is my husband. He is so clever.

I speak loudly, "Everything is great. Thanks for calling, but we have a long night ahead of us."

Stan shouts over the crowd, "Love you! Bye!"

I shout, "Love you! Bye!"

The picture closes and the music plays softly again.

Connie is disgusted by the display of love. She was fucked over in her divorce and is paying her ex-husband alimony and child-support. She hates men with a passion. Right now, she hates Stacy and wants to hurt her by rubbing their love into her still raw wound. An idea flashes into her head. She smiles.

Connie screams, "That wasn't Stan. That was Bill. Right after my divorce, I dated him for a while. He's a total player. I know two other woman that dated him as well."

Somehow, I don't break out in tears. I want to fall to the floor and die. I am embarrassed. I grow furious for not knowing. Here I set up a great night for him to reward him and I find out that he's been cheating on me! I feel sick.

My mother quickly gets up and rushes me. She's holding me, patting me on my back, and trying to console me.

Connie kicks more dirt on me, "What? Did you think you were special? Men use women. It's always been that way and always will be. At least you know now."

My anger is quickly rising.

Daisy, Stan's mother spoke up, "Connie. You're full of shit. There is no way my son cheated on Stacy. Do you have a picture to prove it?" Connie is frozen. "You date a guy, have sex with him, and you never took a picture? You have no idea the type of man he is."

Connie doesn't have a picture, that does seem odd. Why would she lie? I don't know what to think.

Connie responds, "I never had sex with him. I could tell he was a player, I just made him pay for dinners and drinks. Hey, he's your husband, not my problem."

Daisy looks ready to kill Connie.

I excuse myself, "I'm going to check up on our entertainment. I'll be right back."

I walk past the office, a washroom, a guest bedroom, another washroom, past the laundry room, and then to the master bedroom where I sneak in. Stan does not look happy. Fuck him! This is my party, you womanizer!

Ann was already in the room, trying to get a ball gag in Stan's mouth. He's resisting her. I motion Ann away and hide my anger. Ann has an oversized set of handcuffs. No, that's not right. They are thick, more like shackles, so the arms and elbows are somewhat parallel. I put those on Stan softly. A fur-lined metal brace goes around each leg. Each has a large thick hoop where a short chain connects them. This means that Stan must take small steps.

Now that he is restrained, I tighten the wrist restraints as much ass possible. My anger is back. I can picture Stan fucking Connie. Stan is complaining, so I take the ball-gag and stuff it in his mouth, pulling tight on the strap. His eyes bulge in surprise. He's trying to complain but I am beyond caring.

I threw the blinder over his head. It's snug around his neck and falls over his shoulders, hiding his muscles. His massive biceps, defined chest, and chiseled legs, still show. Nothing I can do about that. With no ring markings, a nice tan, and the headpiece, it's not apparent this is Stan.

I fear Daisy and mom might recognize him. There's nothing I can do about it now. His cock is cleanly shaved. Had Ann not done that, both mothers would have known. That was a master stroke of genius. I will get away with this tonight.

Chapter 4 -- Party Time

Point of View: Stan, still in the bedroom