Gangland Surprise

I recently wrote a story called "The Surprise" - a non-consensual story with a twist. I deliberately picked a vague title, and so I will try and write a different tale under each of Literotica's twenty-five writing categories with the same name. This is Number Nine

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I nervously cleared my throat. "Honey, I think I might be bisexual."

"Yeah, of course you are. Tell me something I don't know!" Those words, from my wife of two years, hit me like a tonne of bricks! I had agonised for weeks over how to mention it to her. "The last hundred eBooks you've read. Your late night porn choices when you think I'm asleep. That you love a finger up the bum during a blowjob, and I know you have a dildo in your bottom drawer that isn't for my use. And you loved the uncut version of the Raspberry Reich. Sweetheart, you haven't been straight for a long time!"

My heart pounded as the woman I adored casually dismissed my painful admission as insignificant. She chuckled as she undressed, preparing to enter the shower. "You knew?"

Louise snorted. "Yeah, of course I knew."

"And you don't mind?"

"No, I don't care! I think it's hot, and it could open up plenty of possibilities for us. To be honest, if it wasn't for the way you fuck me every night, I'd guess you were gay!"

I stared as she stood at the end of the bed, naked. "I'm not gay," I quickly replied, looking at her svelte body, with her smattering of trimmed pubic fuzz and "C" cup breasts.

"No. You want to play with cock and cunt. Bums and boobs. You're a dirty, nasty, sexually promiscuous bisexual." She chuckled as she teased me, shaking her bosom as she spoke. "I reckon it's fit, hairless, dominant men that turn you on and I'm sure you fantasise about being a bottom, not a top. Definitely leaning towards being the bitch to some powerful guys." I blushed as my lover grabbed her towel and grinned as she shimmied away from me. "Am I right?"

Her assessment was rather accurate, and I lay on the bed, thinking about her reaction. I heard the shower jets fire water against the tiles, and closed my eyes, pondering the past two minutes. Louise had always told me she had a chequered history, with a wild few years, before we met, but refused to disclose any details. At the time, I was 26, and she was 22, and we stumbled across each other as we hunted for a late night train from London into the suburbs.

My alcohol consumption at a colleague's birthday party gave me the confidence to talk to the brunette beauty, sexily dressed and exuberant, as we tried to navigate a rail network plunged into turmoil by delays and cancellations.

She had a warm laugh and delicate hands, and we chatted as we waited on the cold platform. I gave her my coat, and she giggled. "Thanks. I've still got a short skirt and no knickers on!" She said, chuckling as she cuddled against me. Our connecting train was thirty minutes late.

We made it to my town before 1am, and the trains stopped for the night. Her flat was ten miles away, and I offered to let her stay the night at my home if she didn't want to chance a taxi. I had a spare room in my three-bedroom townhouse, and she gratefully accepted. I woke to a naked woman bringing me breakfast in bed. As I drank my coffee and ate my muesli, she slipped under the duvet and gave me the best orgasm I'd ever had.

Reward, for being a gentleman, she said. "And no man should face the world without a morning blowjob," she added, giggling.

Now sober, I drove her home, and we exchanged numbers. I had a date the following week with her, and we ended at my house, screwing on the lounge carpet. My third-ever sexual partner, and my fifth-ever fuck.

She laughed when I told her, and she refused to tell me her number. "It's over three," she said, chuckling. "A big load more than three." But we connected. We made each other laugh and smile; we may have been polar opposites, but I loved spending time with her, and I took her to restaurants and on dates as often as I could. She introduced me to a world of sex I never knew existed. The variety of sexual positions and sexual practices astounded and entranced me.

I had a good job in the City, and I proposed six months after we first met. We married three months later in a small, intimate ceremony in a tiny village church. She didn't invite her family, and only a few friends attended; I was told not to ask why and I didn't.

Throughout our relationship, she encouraged me to explore my sexuality. I never knew what was possible with our bodies. I read erotica, on the train, on holiday and at home. Stories about BDSM, orgies, hotwifing, bisexuality, public exhibitionism and more. We watched porn together, and she demanded sex nightly, each day doing a different position from the day before. I got blowjobs every morning before work, and we had two large drawers of toys.

For me, my married life was stuffed with sexual adventure, but I always felt that Louise hankered a little for the world she left behind. We watched the film Eyes Wide Shut, and when I said that it was fantasy and not reality, she scoffed. "I've been to dozens of sex parties and orgies," she replied wistfully, her eyes glazed. "They're good fun. You should try it. Can you imagine watching other men fuck me?"

I could, too easily, and she giggled at the resultant hardness in my loungewear shorts as the image sparkled across my brain.

The following morning, after the admission of my bisexuality, my naked wife entered the kitchen as I prepared breakfast. She kissed me on the lips, knelt in front of me, and took my cock from my sleepwear.

"Hmmmmm," she cooed. "You're hard already! Dreaming about me or some buff men?" She teased.

"Maybe both," I replied.

She beamed. "Sounds like a lovely dream." Her hand wrapped around my dick, stroking my shaft up and down. "I know what'll wake you properly."

A warm, wet suction on the head of my cock accompanied my wife's words, as my prick slid into her mouth. She expertly worked her tongue and her lips over my sensitive head as she bobbed on my dick, sending waves of pleasure radiating across my body.

"You're so good at that."

She flicked my frenulum, and I gripped the counter, groaning, as her hand jerked my shaft. "I'll teach you how to suck cock," she said, looking at me as her grip tightened on my shaft, stroking it furiously. "You can't be bi and not know how to be a cocksucker." Her lips kissed the tip of my prick as her eyes looked at me.

"I've got no-one to give blowjobs too!" I muttered.

"I know a few guys who'd love to play with us. Imagine sucking on a cock, sweetheart," she said, increasing her pace. I found it a simple image to conjure in my mind; I'd fantasised about blowing men for months as I read the erotic eBooks and watched bisexual or gay pornography. For weeks, I had dreamt about taking a smooth shaft in my mouth and enthusiastically bobbing on it, sucking it until it erupted.

I closed my eyes, imagining a thick cock sliding past my lips as Louise jerked my dick, drawing me towards my orgasm. I felt my prick twitch and she sucked the cum from my climax, smiling as she swallowed my seed.

I tasted my muskiness as we kissed, and she backed away, allowing me to continue to make breakfast.

The comments about my bisexuality continued over the coming weeks whenever she fellated me. For a treat she bought me some new underwear from Bum Chums Clothing and when we watched pornography together it was gay or bisexual erotica, often with a cuckold or wife-sharing theme.

Louise made several comments about me "exploring my sexuality," when we were in bed, and one night, as we ate our evening meal, she broached a sensitive subject. "Love, can we arrange a date with a guy I know for dinner? He's a bisexual-top and if we get on, maybe we could explore that side of you." I spluttered over my Caesar salad. "We wouldn't do anything unless you're comfortable."

"But ..."

"All those stories and fantasies that you have about touching dicks and giving blowjobs. We'd be one step closer to making that a reality."

"What about you?" I asked.

"I love watching guys getting it on," she replied, and looked away as she cut her chicken on her plate.

"How many times have you seen gay sex?"

She giggled and raised her eyebrows. "Once or twice." She put her hand on mine. "And then one or both of you could fuck me? We watch a lot of wife-sharing and cuckold porn as you love it." She shuddered. "I'm getting excited thinking about being shared!" She grinned, imploring me for a response.

I hummed and said nothing. I didn't give an answer, and she did not press me for one, but she raised the subject on multiple occasions over the next few weeks, and the thoughts churned around my brain.

It sounded exciting and adventurous, and the enthuasism that Louise had when we discussed it, edged me closer to agreement. I did want to explore my bisexuality, and thought the sight of my wife being screwed would be hot. I was prepared to try it, at least once, and agreed. My wife arranged for us to see Claude at a local pub that Friday.

I felt nervous all day; my wife had refrained from my normal morning blowjob, and my lustful expectation multiplied my anxiety. I read suitable erotica on the train, and almost ran to the pub to meet my lover and her "friend."

She had not invited Claude to our wedding, and she never mentioned him before that week. I didn't know what to expect. A mixed-race guy in his early-thirties, with black buzz-cut hair, and trimmed facial hair. He wore a yellow singlet, and baggy, pale blue, white and green check shorts, with a chain around his neck. His arms were beefy, and full of tattoos.

He turned to face me as Louise called. "Hello?" He said in a French accent.

"Hi, Stuart, this is Claude. Claude, this is Stuart." He eyed me up as I sat down next to him in the semi-circular booth, still wearing my suit and carrying my case from work. He had dressed for an informal occasion and I wore my smart work attire. I removed my jacket and tie and loosened my shirt.

We made dry small talk as we ordered food from the basic menu. I expected a slightly uncouth, aggressive man - from his appearance - but he was confident and engaging with a wicked wit that I loved.

Over dessert, the conversation turned to sex. "I fuck girls and boys," he said, in his flamboyant French accent. "I love ménage à trois." He put his hand on my thigh, seductively rubbing it as he looked at me. "You love it too?"

I shrugged, as I didn't know.

"I think we'll enjoy it. Shall we settle up and find out?" My wife suggested.

Claude met my gaze. He took my hand in his and placed them on his crotch. I felt his warm breath on my ear as he whispered. "You know you want it," he said. "And I love playing with Louise." My cock twitched in my pants.

I paid the bill, and we walked back to our house. I felt a sense of anticipation building within me as my wife and her friend chatted warmly. His hand patted and groped her rear as they walked, causing her to coo as we navigated the short distance to my home.

Louise guided our guest into our lounge, and we sat on the leather settee as she prepared drinks. I didn't know what to say or do, but Claude leaned against the cushion, pushing his bum to the edge of the sofa. "Tell me what you love about men," he said. My eyes flicked over his frame and to his crotch.

"I - I - I dunno," I confessed. "I guess it's the hierarchical power of the play. And cocks are so different."

"How many erect cocks have you ever seen?"

"Two," I admitted. "Mine and my friend in the shower."

He smiled. "I love seeing les derrieres. I fuck many of them." He licked his lips. "Shall we get naked?" He asked with his continental intonation.

"Fuck," I muttered. His hand stroked my thigh through my suit trousers and I gulped, nodding. I wanted this, and my heart pounded as I unbuttoned my shirt. I stood up and discarded my outer clothes, folding them onto the back of the armchair. His palm patted my buttocks through my boxer shorts.

"All of it," he quietly demanded, watching as I pushed my black cotton briefs to my ankles, bending in front of him. His finger swept along my crack, and he chuckled. "My turn."

He wasn't wearing underwear; his clothes were on the ground in seconds. I saw his chest tattoo - a French phrase inked over his pectoral muscles. He licked his lips as my eyes followed his nudity, gliding over his bare skin to his flaccid prick.

"Come here," he whispered, almost hypnotically. "Kneel here." He pointed to the floor between his legs. His gaze watched as I fell to my knees. My gaze never moved, transfixed on his black dick. Spellbound by its captivating power, he ran his hand through my short hair. "Touch it."

"Touch it?" I murmured.

"Touch it. Smell it. Kiss it. Taste it."

My hands shook as I reached for it; a few seconds felt like a lifetime as my fingers extended, eager to touch the dark cock. Veiny, meaty, and so warm. My dick sparkled excitedly as I rubbed the velvety soft shaft in my hand, pulling the skin to expose his glans.

His hands guided my head closer, pushing on the back of my skull, and I took a deep sniff of his manhood. Earthy, tangy, unique. And yet, my dick immediately responded to the zesty aroma. Unlike the sweet fragrant piquancy of my wife's delicate flower, this was a sharper, stronger, sapid smell that caused my arousal to swell.

"Kiss it. Taste it. Become a cocksucker. There's no way back!"

My lips parted, allowing his dick to slip into my mouth with no resistance. He grunted as my tongue swept over the head of his shaft, shifting his hips as his hand rubbed the back of my head. "Yeah, that's nice, cocksucker. Can you taste it? Can you feel it? Do you like that?" He groaned.

I loved it. The moist, subtle firmness slid a couple of inches into my mouth as my tongue tasted and explored. The ridge along the base of his glans was slightly tangy and salty, and his cock oozed masculinity. But most of all, I had a black prick in my mouth and I slowly bobbed, just as I had seen in the porn films. I sucked my cheeks around his dick as I pulled upwards, taking more and more of his shaft.

"That's good, sweetheart," Louise said, touching my naked flank as she knelt beside me. As Claude had seduced me into becoming his cocksucker, I had forgotten about my wife. "Make him nice and hard for me."

Claude's cock grew into a good size; definitely thicker and longer than my manhood. His shaft became rigid, no longer as velvety malleable but wet and stiff.

"My turn," Louise whispered, and I reluctantly removed my lips from his cock. She leant over me, to unroll a condom over his thick dick, and then my completely naked wife straddled his erect shaft, directing his dark prick into her cunt.

She slowly sank down his length to his root, groaning as he filled her further than I ever could. She ground her body into his, leaning over him and pushing his face into her bosom.

The sight of my wife, riding Claude's cock so passionately as her skin glistened with sweat and her groans of pleasure were arousing. My manhood hardened as she bucked her body, chasing her own climax.

"Fuck Louise! I forgot how good your cunt is."

My wife panted. She kissed her French friend, snogging amorously and lustfully as she rode his cock. I saw his hands grip her buttocks as he groaned into their kiss. "You gonna come? Another man's wife is riding you. Is she going to make you come?"

He squealed as his prick pulsed, filling the condom. He slouched on the sofa, eyes glazed, and panted. "You're good. Très bonne!"

She rose from her kneeling position and glanced at me. "I guess you want to fuck this slutty bitch, too?" Her hand pushed me onto the carpet, and she straddled me, squatting over my erect prick. It took just a few rocks of her hips to bring me to orgasm, and I fired my load into her pussy. She laughed at my facial expression. "Good?"

"The best," I admitted, panting.

We cleaned ourselves but never dressed. Louise passed us the beers she retrieved from the kitchen and we had several drinks as we chatted. Claude never disclosed his role in Louise's past, but he inadvertently revealed my wife had worked at a strip club until she left abruptly.

It got late. "Mate, do you wanna stay the night? We have a spare room," I offered. Louise rubbed my thigh as I made the offer and Claude accepted. She kissed me when we settled into our bedroom, and the following morning, all three of us were naked in the kitchen; Claude had no pyjamas and neither I nor my wife had worn any.

"It's tradition that men in this house get a blowjob to start the day," Louise said. "But I can only give one. Will you help, sweetheart?"

I chuckled, meeting Claude's gaze as I knelt in front of him, taking his magnificent cock in my hand. He sighed as my lips sucked the few drops of his morning piss left on his glans. The strong aroma of his masculinity replaced the harsh flavour of his pee.

It felt natural. My mouth bobbing on his dick was innate. I wrapped my hand at the base of his shaft as it engorged with blood, jerking his prick as I sucked on the last few inches. His hands pressed on the back of my head as he rocked his hips, grunting. "Your bitch is a great cocksucker!" He called.

My inner pride rose as I doubled my intensity on his dick, chasing his orgasm. I wanted to taste his cum and feel his climax in my mouth. I needed it. My mind focused on the black shaft between my lips as I bobbed faster and sucked harder.

Claude never warned me when he came. A few twitches of his dick and then a warm squirt of musky, slightly salty goo filled my tongue. My cock twinkled with arousal when I tasted it. He grunted as I sucked his climax from him, savouring every drop of his visceral emission.

Once again, Louise didn't need to do much for me to orgasm. A few sucks on my cock left me grunting and exploding in her mouth, groaning with lust and enjoyment.

We talked about the wild sixteen hours after Claude left. I had bonded well with my wife's French friend and had enjoyed furthering my bisexuality. Any lingering doubt that I liked the fantasy but not the practise had been extinguished, and I found the sight of my wife fucking another to be erotic. She set up a WhatsApp group between us and Claude.

"Great night, C. Just like old times. Fancy doing it again next Friday?" she asked.

"Love to."

Louise fastened a suction dildo to our shower, and I was under orders to fellate it every day "for practice." She forced more of my head onto the phallic sex toy, to "train my gag reflex away."

I struggled, but she was insistent. It would not come immediately, but if I "wanted to be bi, then I needed to practise." She also pegged me; before tea, she douched me and inserted a butt plug into my anus. After dinner, she tied me to the bed and seductively took my anal virginity, whispering encouragement as she fucked my hole.

A world opened to me. The feeling of helplessness and violation as she sensually brought incredible pleasure to my body was addictive, and I felt I was in a constant orgasm as her dildo stroked my prostate, leaving me gasping and breathless as I made a huge wet spot on the bed.

That following Friday, I fluffed for my wife again, and then her well-endowed black friend ploughed into her cunt, bringing her to orgasm. The following day, he blew a load into my mouth as we made breakfast.

I arranged with my employer to work from my third, and smallest, bedroom every Friday when Claude became a regular entry in our calendar. Comprising a single bed, a desk, the printer and a bookcase, processing the weekly reports from the comfort of my house, meant that I could meet our bull with my wife at the beginning of the evening, and not when I had battled through rush-hour trains.

For several weeks, things progressed nicely between us. Claude became as much my friend as Louise's and often, she went to bed on Friday after sex and left us watching football and drinking beer. He refused to tell me much about my wife's past life - and admitted she had ordered him to stay silent on the subject - and was a little evasive about what he did for a living, but he was well-read, erudite, good company who loved screwing my partner, and I adored fellating.